Still, what could he do? Besides the only thing he was good at. Charlie dropped to the ground and whipped out his laptop, still miraculously unbroken from today’s events. The advanced technology he was dealing with was surely well beyond his grasp, but outdated tricks can sometimes lead to surprising results.
The blue light had poured over Jade and Angelo and froze them in time. Whatever its technology was, it wasn’t a light Charlie cared to bask in. Genesis locked on Charlie. He advanced, ready for a kill.
Sweat poured from Charlie. His eyes bulged in fear as Genesis approached. He typed away frantically. He was into the Genesis content file. Genesis’s code poured in front of him with a complexity the likes the world had ever seen. Charlie didn’t always know how to build the best code, but he did know how to mess it up. He had been responsible for cleaning up a disgruntled ex-employee’s last act of sabotage. Erase some database records, change some global variables, and you have an unstable system. However, since this programing was much more advanced, it wasn’t quite as easy to locate such things. But thankfully, it was easier than that. An old trick the most basic of programmers could have solved. Simply add @echo offProgramsvirus.bat into the code and voila! This futuristic programming was so evolved they had moved on from worrying about such simple tricks.
Suddenly, the blue in the room dissipated and the warm light returned.
Charlie let out a victorious squeal.
“Ha! Take that!” Though, there wasn’t much to take. It didn’t slow down old Genesis in the slightest. He sprinted at Charlie, who had no time to react, fists joined and raised like an opalum sledgehammer. It rained destruction down on Charlie Richards.
Except, Charlie wasn’t there. Jade, in a streak of unbelievable speed, had tackled Charlie out of the way just in time. Left behind was a five-foot-deep hole and a whole lot of dirt in the air.
Genesis turned to Jade and Charlie who lay on the ground mere feet away. Charlie grabbed his laptop and went back to work. As Genesis approached he suddenly veered to the left. Then more left. Then more. Until he completed a perfect circle.
“Ha!” Charlie cried.
Genesis continued left. Again, going around in a circle. The way to attack a computer in the 21st century was to make it go around and around in its code, create a hopeless cycle that it can’t break free from. Apparently, this was still going to be the case in three hundred years.
Jade gave Charlie a brief nod. “Good work.”
Angelo landed before Jade and Charlie, hard but perfectly balanced on his one leg, his single arm held forward. He bowed as Genesis circled around to face Angelo.
“Good to…” Angelo began. Genesis went around. “See you…” Genesis went around. “Again.” Around. “Good sir.”
As Genesis went around one last time Angelo’s upper half began swirling around in a blazing tornado. Genesis came by and Angelo’s fist struck Genesis with a huge clash. Part of Genesis’s face dented slightly.
“No,” Jade cried. “We gotta go.”
Angelo crashed into Genesis with 328.854468 metric tons of pressure (max calibration in case Angelo ever needed to make a diamond.) Like a football punted by a mid-level NFL punter, Angelo flew into the air 47 meters, crashing through the side of the warehouse and out into the world beyond.
Angelo, for his part, was just north of being a scrap of sheet metal. His face was virtually flattened, he had one limb and it was a badly damaged leg, and wires sparked out of his stomach. Still, he crawled towards Charlie and Jade.
Jade could have cried seeing Angelo. But there wasn’t time. There was a mission to fulfill. Genesis would be back. They were needed back in the present (her present.) Jade and Charlie ran for the machine. Jade grabbed hold of a piece of dirt by the time travel fridge and lifted. The hatch flung back revealing a large, sterile white underground room. Two silver circles on rods outlined the room, slowly moving in opposite directions.
“See!” cried Charlie. “I knew there was more to it.”
Jade put her eyes up to a scanner on the DarkM’attr container. Below, the silver circles began to spin. Faster and faster.
Angelo crawled closer and closer. “I dare say, my Jade, I am ready to go home.”
Jade smiled at Angelo. “Me too, Angelo.”
Faster and faster the wheels spun. Energy filled the white room below, a white sheet of power spread across the room. Angelo began to glow, white as an angel. The white light from Angelo covered Jade and Charlie. Genesis lunged at the figures but he found nothing but air as Charlie, Jade and Angelo fell into the machine below and into the future.
Chapter 8
Blake Crowley - the pioneer in hybrid technology, the C.E.O. of C.I.A. (Crowley Innovativeness Acquisitions), the city founder - sat in a Telpher-skinned chair (quite rare, very expensive) watching a plethora of monitors. One would not guess that he was pushing seventy, due to a full black beard, strong jaw line and access to the best ageless drugs and cosmetics a man could buy.
Behind him, military orders were being shouted in the background; officers barked, scientists pleaded, Warren (we’ll get to him in a minute) shouted at someone. Throughout the control center buzzed humans, hybrids and bots in frantic importance. The wall in front of Blake was covered with hundreds of monitors, showing every nook and cranny of the city of Crowley.
Blake crossed to the huge windows overlooked the bustling capital. Blake- controlled drone ProtectoBots raced around the air, watching the citizens below. (Humans and hybrids were allowed citizenship. Bots had to earn theirs, but since bots did whatever programmed to do… it never happened.) The drone PB’s came in and out of the large man-made electric clouds covered the sky. The ominous dark clouds sparked by angry electric currents matched Blake’s mood just perfectly.
Jade had been gone for an entire day. The scientists with their science had said they’d be gone no more than a few hours. Things were not looking good. Blake looked at Warren Relic and frowned. Warren was an impeccably dressed fellow with narrow cheeks and a slick air of power and ruthlessness. This was Blake’s right-hand man (if you want titles, there are lots of C’s for Chief: COO, COS, CAO, etc.) Warren didn’t look worried at all. He was flanked by his PB Genesis, a black opalum bot. Blake looked at Genesis closely; something was off. The eye slit was slightly narrower.
Warren didn’t look worried, and that worried Blake. He pushed the thought aside. There was a lot on his plate. A plague haunted his hybrids, the Lowsmiths (rebel human forces that weren’t a fan of Blake or his company) kept invading the south walls, and Jade, a major player in his corporation/government and an expert at taking care of things Blake didn’t want to, was lost in time. He didn’t have time to start being paranoid about Warren.
A young nervous-twitching twenty-something marketing kid came up to Blake. “Sir,” he said, “I have the latest copy you requested.”
Blake took the marketing pamphlet and looked it over. They had a huge marketing campaign focused on converting the Lowsmiths to his side and avoiding an all-out war (note: he was going to go to war with them no matter what.) It was something to keep his mind off all the problems. He was just too rich to have so many problems. Life was unfair.
He read:
“Hope. Sanctity. Mechanical organs. A chance at a hybrid life with near immortality. All is possible in the city of Crowley. Its doors are open to any (please see rules, regulations, and fee structure below to qualify.) Come be part of our city. Our family.”
Blake looked up at the kid and nodded. “Not a bad start”. Blake read on.
“The age-old question of who the most important figure in human history was, or is, has led to age-old arguments. It has spawned wars, bar-fights, and pipe pointing in fancy libraries. It has beleaguered religions, historians, scholars and philosophers. In consideration were Gods, inventors of online commerce, the founder of the United Sea Nations, the discoverer of pain elimination medicine; the list goes on. But they are not in the same league as the one man who ends this argumen
t for good: Blake Crowley.”
Explosions boomed through the control room. On one of the monitors, the South Wall had collapsed and Lowsmiths were filtering in. They were quickly met by a bot army and…dealt with. This was par for the course over the last few weeks.
Blake ignored it and finished the pamphlet.
“Blake Crowley - the man patented the code linking the languages of genetics and computers, creating the Hybrid technology enabled us to live on when the human body fails. He is the man who gave humanity hope. Blake Crowley – the man built this utopia of Crowley; a vast, beautiful city where humans and hybrids live together in peace. Best of all, the city is open to you. We are here to say, ‘Come in! Come in! Come to the majestic city of Crowley and its hope, sanctity, mechanical organs and hybrid life. Together we will live on for centuries in paradise.’”
Blake lowered the pamphlet. His eyes bored deeper into Mr. Marketing Guy’s soul. “This is a first draft, right? Tell me this is a first draft?”
“Um, actually, it’s the fourteenth. We tried to incorporate all your notes…”
“You didn’t even mention my impressive bot collection! You buried the lead!”
“I’m sorry, sir! We of course can do a fifteenth draft and really spice it up. you got it, an army of bots!”
“No, no, no. Don’t say army. I’m trying to defuse a situation, not incite a war!”
“I’m just not sure if this will get the Lowsmiths – it’s just, they don’t want to be hybrids.”
“That’s why we need to appeal to their intelligence,” Blake said. “They have a place here. We just need them to see it. They need to know a human did all this.” He gazed proudly out at the city. “If I can just get them on board, this whole rebel nonsense can stop.” The marketing kid looked at him blankly. “Never mind, you wouldn’t understand. Go on get out of here.”
The boy nodded and quickly scampered off, apparently happy to be out of the situation. Most of Blake’s conversation ended this way, a fleeing scamper and the thrill to be gone.
Warren Relic made his way to Blake, his crisp patent boots clipping out a rapid pace on the metal floor. His P.B., Genesis, a sign of wealth, power and status even beyond the types of shoes one wore, followed behind.
“Sir,” he addressed Blake. “We have a problem.”
Blake’s shoulders dropped. He had had it with problems. So many problems, lately. He was too rich to have so many problems.
A high-pitched scream echoed through the massive control room. One of Blake’s hybrid workers who had been studying the monitors that covered the southeast outer walls, fell forward, landing on his knees, his hands clutching his head. All the humans and hybrids stood stock still, watching. Only the bots carried on with their work, happy and oblivious. Blake eyes narrowed. He didn’t know the worker, but he knew the symptoms.
“Shit,” he muttered, seeing the hybrid’s eyes clearly, even at this reasonable distance. The symptom was there, staring back at him. The pupils and whites of the hybrid’s eyes were melted away and only flashes of electrical current remained.
The hybrid suddenly lurched to his feet, twisting manically around before his gaze zeroed in on Blake. Blake didn’t flinch. He knew exactly what was going to happen next. The screaming hybrid charged at breakneck speed towards Blake, but Blake planted his feet in the ground. He wasn’t going to move. He didn’t have to.
A flash of light filled the control room and he went motionless. The hybrid worker fell to the floor with a thud. Within moments two MediBots were there to cart the hybrid onto a steel table and take him away for urgent care and maintenance.
Blake turned to Warren. “My office, now,” Blake clipped the words out.
Blake’s office was elaborately decorated in a vintage 21st century style. It was the century of rapid technological growth that had created the foundation of his business, so he always had held a strong affinity towards it. A retro personal computer sat underneath his desk. On a cabinet near the wall what was known as an iPad played the melodic guitar riffs of a band named Muse. Blake went behind his desk and turned to Warren.
“The third time,” Blake’s voice was low, which was more dangerous than when he was yelling. Warren wasn’t a naturally nervous man, but this tone always put him on edge. He folded his arms across his chest, gripping his biceps, making sure he remembered how strong he was. “The third time this week, Warren.”
“We are working on it, sir.”
Blake pointed to a monitor that was showing feeds from around the city. “And what is with all the trash again, Warren? I thought we solved this?” At first glance, the city of Crowley looked pristine, but the truth was in the smaller side streets, where random bits of metals and papers and waste was beginning to pile.
“The SBs are on the fritz again.”
Blake let out an exasperated sight. The SB Warren was referring to the SaniBots, one of four classifications of bots legally allowed in Crowley. “I thought we had a backup plan for this. You had me buy all those 23rd century garbage trucks for a reason.”
“Yes, but finding humans to run them has not been easy.”
Blake eyed Warren. He knew what he was referring to. The Lowsmiths were turning more and more humans against his people. What mess. The problem is, Blake knew what Warren wanted to do about that. “We are not to that point, yet.”
Warren stepped forward. “Any human that is currently inside our city could be saved. We wouldn’t be wiping them out.”
Blake shook his head.
Warren stepped back. “Okay, I could just have Deltas do it.”
Blake shook his head even harder. “Don’t be ridiculous. We won’t stoop that low.” The Deltas may be the working class of hybrid’s, but they were still hybrids. He wouldn’t see his beloved race start picking up trash. “Just get the SBs fixed.”
Before Warren could answer, a hologram of a conservatively dressed male assistant appeared in the corner of the room. The entire group turned to look at it, but he addressed only Blake. “Sir. Message.” The hologram quickly disappeared.
“Not now,” Blake protested. He held a finger to his temple and the message appeared in front of Blake. As he read, he eyes went dark and dangerous. The message was not good news.
Blake turned back to Warren. “But back to the most pressing matter at hand. This plague infecting the Deltas. Hybrid technology is the centerpiece of this empire. They make up sixty-five percent of our population.” Blake motioned at the opalum bots standing guard, both his and Warren’s. “What do you think pays for your big-ticket bot standing outside this door?”.
“I know the business we are in.” Warren remained void of emotion, more robotic than a bot.
“What happens if Jade doesn’t return with Charlie?”
“We will have a solution.” Warren’s voice was even and cold.
Blake ran his fingers through his hair. Becoming a hybrid was how the wealthy lived on for hundreds of years. It was the most profitable business in the known universe, and Blake controlled it.
“You better,” Blake said. “We’ve managed to keep reports of this virus to the ‘this really isn’t that big of a deal’ level. But if what just happened in that control room starts happening on a bigger scale, it will destroy everything I’ve built.”
We, thought Warren bitterly. We built. No one ever gave credit to the man behind the scenes, the one who kept the whole thing going even before they knew exactly what the whole thing was. It was Warren who should be running things. “Of course, sir.” Warren gave a slight nod and headed for the door. “Your bidding will be done.”
Blake’s residence was on the one-hundred-eighty-first floor of the Crowley Tower, catching the dying rays of the sun daily as they faded behind Apex Hill. The red mountains were cast in a deeper shade of scarlet as light faded from the utopian walled city. Lights of the drone PBs hovered above the city walls, working to protect the perimeter. With the Lowsmiths being so bothersome lately, Blake had ordered an increase in secu
rity.
Blake’s penthouse was white on white on white, with sharp white lights making the massive open space feel like a blank canvas. It helped Blake think. He stood in the quiet kitchen pouring himself a white wine. He used to hate the stuff, but Robin loved it and now, well, now he found himself having a few glasses every night. It was quiet. He had hoped it wouldn’t have been so. He had hoped he would have been greeted with a human hello. He had hoped. A tall skinny ServBot on treadmill wheels swept into the open kitchen and took Blake’s coat and shoes. It scooted away with nary a peep. As Blake approached the living room, a hologram of a pretty young lady popped up.
“Hello, Mr. Crowley. What would you like to do this evening? May I suggest some entertainment and dining for you and the missus?”
“Go away, Mira” Blake said bluntly.
“Certainly, sir.” The hologram disappeared promptly.
“Actually, I’ll take another glass of the Corsica wine,” he said.
“Certainly, sir.” Mira reappeared and signaled to the ServBot who quickly went to a cabinet and poured the drink. One small ice cube, as was his custom.
“And, Mira,” Blake called. “Play some classical alt-rock.”
“My pleasure!”
Music filled the room. It was a song from the late 20th century, called Ordinary World. That was a rather boring thought. An ordinary world? What would the point be? He still couldn’t believe they had tried to send Jade back into the past. It’s a shame it appeared to have failed. He liked Jade, but more importantly he could have made so much more money had it worked.
Blake collapsed into his Telfair couch as the ServBot brought him his wine. Blake held a finger to his temple and the wall in front of him transformed. On it now was another room, all in white. An old analogue clock was all that hung on the wall; an antique she cherished. White nursing MediBots sped around ushering medical supplies. Lying on the bed in the middle of the room was Robin.
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