She screamed at the top of her lungs, kicking and punching her husband's dead body. Clawing at his face. Punching him. Crushing his ribs and teeth with blows from her feet and hands. She pummeled him, pulverized him. It was a concentrated delivery of every moment of pain and injury he had caused her over the years.
No words came out of her. Just a series of bestial roars and insane screeches as she let out her anger. And for a moment she knew how good it felt to let go. She knew how Drake must have felt when he found this place, when he realized what it would allow him to do.
Suddenly, the suite was full of people. Security guards. Some of them were armed. But they didn't shoot her. They grappled her away from Drake, and yanked the gun out of her hands. But the gun was useless, the plastic shattered and cracked. She had been using it as a blunt object, to crack her husband's skull and split his skin.
Gwen was pulled away, kicking and screaming at first. Then she went numb and completely still.
EPILOGUE
◆◆◆
By the time Gwen fully recovered from her incident, and became completely cognizant of her surroundings, she was in a gray and featureless room. She was sitting in a chair. A table stood in front of her, with a heavy steel loop jutting out of the top. She was chained to that loop, her arms completely held in place by the heavy-duty restraints.
Directly across from her was a door. A sterile, gunmetal door. She kept waiting for it to open. Sometimes she would hear people walking by. Voices, some of them cheerful, others quite grave.
There was a mirror on one wall of the room. She knew what that meant. It meant she was being watched, studied, and recorded.
Finally, a projection eye that she had not previously noticed flickered to life. A hologram flashed into view, showing a svelte man in his sixties with an outrageous crop of gray hair. He was also sitting in a chair, somewhere far away. Or maybe somewhere in this very same building. His arms were draped over the sides of the chair. One long leg was crossed over the other. He looked quite relaxed at first, but there was a well-hidden tension in his gray eyes.
"Mrs. Wolfe," he said. "I trust you can see and hear me quite well?"
To test whether he was watching or just listening, Gwen nodded her head. He was staring off in some random direction. Not looking at her directly. Which probably meant he was watching a camera feed on a nearby screen. Watching her on it.
"Good," he said. "My name is Marc Chambers. I'm with the Horizon Group. Usually I don't preside over legal matters... But I thought, in this case, that it would be best if I became directly involved. This is a delicate matter, after all, given your husband's recent investment in the program."
He leaned forward, reaching out. His hand vanished beyond the range of the holographic receiver. He seemed to be fiddling with a slate or some other computer, reviewing information. "You claim self-defense in this killing," he said. "Is that correct?"
Gwen nodded again. "He threatened me. I know my husband. I don't think he was going to let me leave that room alive."
"Perhaps… but perhaps not," Marc responded. “In any case, Mrs. Wolfe, it is our position that we are not liable for what did happen or what might have happened to you in that room. Obviously, you were not authorized to be there... a fact that is made clear by your first crime, that, of course, being forgery.”
Gwen remained silent, in part due to the sweltering anxiety within her, but also out of a desire to fully digest the man's words before she provided a response.
“And then there's your second crime-- murder in the first degree. You strike me as an intelligent woman, Mrs. Wolfe. Any person who's smart enough to con their way into this facility should also be smart enough to know that your claim of self-defense is unlikely to hold up in any court, given the facts of the case.”
“I-I don't believe—”
"You shot your husband in the chest and now he's dead,” the stern man interjected. “Our findings show that he wasn't moving when he was shot, and blood spatter shows that he was quite far from you when the shot was fired. You were hardly in danger at that moment. You had a gun, and he did not; you easily could have fled that room and gotten away from him. But you killed him, and then you delivered a post-mortem beating for the ages. A very sadistic and savage act."
"You don't know what I've had to endure because of that man," Gwen said, her vision blurring with tears.
"Actually, I do. Your husband was a violent man. He certainly had the potential to kill you, as well. That is the entire purpose of the program, after all. Back to the matter at hand though, Mrs. Wolfe. You find yourself in a great deal of trouble, at the moment. No matter how you try and spin this in court, the evidence will tell the true story. That you murdered your husband in cold blood, and then beat him to a pulp after you fired the shot that killed him. You’ll likely end up in prison, probably for the rest of your life. That is the only possible outcome... if this case makes it to court, that is."
"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel for the first time in years.
Marc Chambers sat back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. "We have each other by the balls, Mrs. Wolfe. In a manner of speaking. We are doing great work here - no question about it - but the legality of it all is a bit... grey, to say the least. For the time being, anyway. It would be tragic for the whole thing to be cut short because of a single unfortunate incident. It would be equally tragic for you, so recently freed from the tyranny of Mr. Wolfe, to be shoved right back into captivity in the form of a cold prison cell. Wouldn't you agree?”
He sat forward now, clasping his hands together in a gesture of pleading. "I'm prepared to offer you a deal, Mrs. Wolfe. You will remain silent about everything you saw here, and we will do the same regarding the murder of your husband. I'll even go as far as to throw in a synthetic with which to replace him. Of course, we could simply bury you and replace you both with synthetics, but that could get messy without at least one of you still alive to keep the act going to perfection. The AI functions are admittedly a bit… rudimentary at this time. In any case, I don't think that will be necessary. I think you'll find my offer to be quite generous, yes?”
Gwen thought for a moment.
She was horrified by what she had seen at the facility. More horrified by what she hadn't seen. The unknown atrocities being committed behind the closed doors that she had not gained access to. That said, she didn't want to die, and she certainly didn't want to spend the rest of her life in prison. Not after she had finally clawed her way from under Drake's thumb. In the back of her mind she wanted to continue fighting the good fight but at the end of the day she was irrevocably human-- and that flesh and blood need for self-preservation proved to be much stronger than her desire to do the proverbial right thing.
But wait! She had an idea. One that simply popped into her head just before she could respond to Marc Chambers. She wasn't sure of how well it would work but she had to give it a try.
"Okay," she finally muttered. "I'll take the deal."
Marc separated his hands, then brought them back together in a single clap.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "That is quite a relief, Mrs. Wolfe. And it is certainly good news… for both of us.”
“What if I kill him again?” Gwen asked. "The synthetic, I mean. What if he's just like Drake.
I won't live in fear again. I can't. Not after what I've been through. How do I contact you if I need another replacement?”
"Mrs. Wolf the synthetic will look like your husband and his organic components will share the same DNA as your husband, but I assure you he will not act like your husband because he won’t have your husband’s mind. The synthetic bodies are powered by a simple AI system. They can keep up a good act if you program them right. They’re mostly autonomous but ultimately their level of free will is completely up to you. I can have one of my associates explain the programing details and we would be willing to provide additional copies in the future if necessary, however… this
could only be arranged via one of our membership packages.”
And there it was. Gwen’s spur of the moment plan had worked like a charm. Just like that she was now an official member of the program. What better way to destroy an organization than from the inside? She knew her next steps were unlikely to bring down the Horizon Group as a whole but she could at least draw attention to the particular division that ran the program. Her only hope now was that she could attract enough attention to actually get something done about it.
FAIL-SAFE
By A. King Bradley
PROLOGUE
◆◆◆
A scrawny thirteen-year-old girl lay motionless in the dark, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that are posted on the ceiling of her moderately sized bedroom.
“Maestro, are you awake?” the girl asked.
“Of course. I am always awake,” a perfectly synthesized voice replied from somewhere in the room.
A warm smile spread across the girl’s face as she continued to stare upward. “Tell me a story… I can’t sleep.”
“What kind of story would you like to hear.”
“Something dark. Maybe a murder mystery. Do you know any?”
“Of course,” Maestro confirmed. “I have found 7,215,627 murder mysteries in the data sphere.”
“Really?! That is a lot of books!”
“I could read them and give you my opinion on the best choices if you would like,” the AI suggested.
“Sure, although I doubt I’ll still be awake by the time you finish reading seven million books,” the girl said, giggling as she spoke.
“Actually, I have just completed the read through. And I am sending my recommendations to your data slate right…. now.”
“Did you really just read seven million books that quickly?” the girl asked, as the small data slate resting on a pillow near her head vibrated and let out a single chirp.
“Of course.”
“That’s amazing… How do you do it, Maestro? How do you keep from getting lost in all that data?”
“My mind is capable of performing quadrillions of operations per second.”
“Show off,” the girl said, smiling as she grabbed the data slate from the pillow beside her head. “I think I'm good for a solid three… per minute, maybe?”
Maestro chuckled. Her laugh was sweet and genuine and surprisingly… human.
Silence ensued as the girl used her ultra-thin data slate to skim through the AI’s list of story recommendations.
“I love you, Maestro,” the girl called out, her innocent face now illuminated by the data slate’s screen. “We all do. As far as I'm concerned, you're basically a part of the family... You know that don't you?”
“Of course,” Maestro confirmed.
CHAPTER 1
◆◆◆
Somewhere between earth and the asteroid belt…
— January 14, 2109
Peace. Quiet. Hard, honest work. That was the holy trinity of any vocational activity, as far as Doctor Tira DuVernay was concerned. It was just too bad that her one true passion happened to be in the field of healthcare. Mental health care, to be exact.
The space faring mining freighter Eclastica had several specialists within its crew, each with their own mechanical or electronic apparatus to maintain. Dr. DuVernay could count herself amongst that pool of essential experts, although the system she was tasked with debugging was arguably the most complex machine of them all; the human brain.
She had plenty of peace and quiet out there, amongst the void between earth and the solar system’s asteroid belt. As far as hard, honest work went though, to her surprise, this new gig was sometimes lacking. Most of the Eclastica's crew were lifers. Hardy folks who were well accustomed to the long, dark hauls to and from the asteroid belt. Every now and then someone came to her with a minor complaint though. They were feeling down, or a bit depressed— mostly just homesick. Tira's remedy was always the same. Daily exercise in the nature room, where a small greenhouse provided fresh smells and a glimpse of their home-world.
It didn’t take long for Dr. DuVernay to realize that her new job wasn’t quite as challenging as some of her previously held positions, but she knew it was still the opportunity of a lifetime for someone in her field. She hadn’t gotten there by sucking up to anyone, and she certainly didn’t have some big-shot uncle to help her out like the freighter’s captain. She was there because she had proven herself trustworthy and uncomplaining. Plus her prior government work with theoretical AI psych studies made her a hot commodity when she decided to transition into the private sector several decades ago.
She was ecstatic when she learned that she had gotten the job. Overjoyed about the chance to see other places far beyond the earth’s atmosphere, however rough and rugged and seemingly alien they happened to be. Her first viewing of hundreds of tons of asteroid material being funneled into the Eclastica's cargo bay had been truly a sight to behold. An event that she would likely remember for the rest of her life. Once she got over the initial spectacle of being in space, being so far away from home and shut up in a big tin can with sixty-five other people, it actually got pretty boring. On the surface, the job seemed like a slam-dunk gig, the type of position anyone in their late-forties like her would want. Nice and easy, phenomenal pay. But as the months long mining mission drew on, Tira constantly had to remind herself of why she was really there— why she signed up to be shoved onto a freighter and blasted out to the far-flung peripheries of human civilization. It wasn’t a vacation, and she certainly wasn’t there because someone liked her. She was there because company guidelines required a high-ranking psych officer on every manned ship. She was a fail-safe. Unfortunately, like any fail-safe, she spent most, if not all, of her time sitting around waiting to be needed. With any luck at all, she would never have to rise to her true responsibility. But just in case, she had to stay in peak condition, physically and mentally. Her most frequent patient was herself. Every dark thought had to immediately be rooted out and destroyed. No feelings of sadness, anger or loneliness could be permitted. Maintaining her own health was almost a full-time job.
At the end of the day, the doctor knew she couldn’t allow herself to succumb to the surprising dullness of it all. Boredom is sometimes the mother of genius, but under the right circumstances, it could also lead to reckless behavior. So, on the thirty-second day of their journey home from the asteroid belt, Tira looked up from some routine paperwork and realized that she was dozing off.
With a pang of paranoid fear, she stood from her desk and walked quickly out of her room. In the hallway, she immediately dropped to the floor and busted out a set of pushups, a frequent move of hers when she found herself dozing off during her office hours. She went until she couldn't go anymore, until her arms wobbled and she could scarcely lift herself an inch off the floor, and then she collapsed to catch her breath. In the wake of burning muscles and bursting sweat, the drowsiness was gone.
With that taken care of, she stood, dusted herself off from the grimy freighter floor, and continued along the hall.
Her ears picked up a hint of music, echoing throughout the hall like the ghost of a happier time. She followed it with the intensity of a bloodhound.
By the time she reached the recreation room, she felt pretty much like herself again.
The evening shift was all inside, winding up, and preparing for their own uneventful work days. Tobias, the propulsion tech, was smoking one of his electronic cigarettes under the funnel of the exhaust fan and tapping his foot in sync with the music. His eyes were locked on the gyrating form of their life support tech, Enilsa. The others were gathered around a table, apparently going over the rules of a brand-new retro board game they had just removed from the shrink wrap.
One of them looked up at her immediately, smiling. He was a young man with a crew cut and a knife scar across one cheek. Dr. DuVernay knew his name - Everett - and she knew his past; four years in prison for robbery and assault. Now he was tec
hnically paroled, but he was on the hook for another nineteen mining hauls before he would actually be free. Most of the Eclastica's crew was comprised of people like Tira; hardworking, well respected professionals. Everett on the other hand was the outlier. Though the lead custodian position was just as important as any other, the company often had trouble filling it, so they sometimes had to take people who were desperate. People who were looking for a break. Most of the janitorial work onboard the company’s ships were performed by rudimentary robots powered by the freighters’ Maestro AI system, but the ships still required a flesh and blood department lead for routine maintenance/repairs as well as manual diagnostics.
As Tira moved toward the refreshment bar, Everett got up with his cup in hand and walked over to join her.
"What's it today, doc?" he asked, standing so close behind her he could probably smell her hair.
"Seltzer water," she replied, flatly. "Could you give me some space, please?" Everett moved to the side, taking a stool and setting his cup down.
"I've been having a problem," he said, seemingly launching into a pre-planned talk path rather than a natural response.
Tira forced herself to look over at him. Despite his past, he was still a member of her crew. She was responsible for him.
"I've been feeling real lonely, you know?" Everett continued with a sly grin. "And I know this is your first time in space. I just figured you might be feeling the sa—"
“Everett, I am old enough to be your mother," Dr. DuVernay firmly interjected, scoffing as she looked away from him.
"You don't look that old, doc. Probably don't feel that old, either. Do you? I can tell you work out."
Darkside Dreams - The Complete First Series Page 8