Prison of Souls (Science Fiction Thriller)

by Xander Gray

  My chest tightened, fighting for breath. I couldn’t maintain this charade during an interrogation. “The guy looking for me. Where did you say he was?”

  “Zacharai?” He pointed over my shoulder. “Down there by your office.”

  I followed him into the hallway and looked where he had pointed. “Thanks.”

  “This one’s all yours.” He hurried off down the hallway.

  A man in a cheap suit, presumably Zacharai, backed out of an office and locked the door. He was from Nexus—the company that had funded McSorley’s research. My fists clenched. “You’re looking for me?”

  “All damned day. Did you change your cell?” Zacharai put the office key in his shirt pocket and turned around.

  How old was this guy? He looked like he could be eighty. “Phone’s on the fritz.”

  “Tomorrow morning, I’m inventorying everything in McSorley’s office. Meet me there at noon. I’m driving you to Nexus. Attis wants to speak with you personally.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?” He put his hands on his hips. “You’d better have a good explanation or Attis is going to roast you.”

  I blinked at him, dumfounded.

  “Do not be late.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you’re late, I get in trouble. If I get in trouble, you get in trouble. Understand?”

  I nodded. I understood just fine.

  #

  “You can’t go.” Crystal sat at the desk back at the hotel, Pyxis’ file before her.

  This was not the reaction I had expected. “Too dangerous?”

  “Yes, for one.” She swiveled the chair in my direction, pushing the papers across the desk. “Christ, could you change back into yourself? I can’t look at you like that.”

  Right. I was wearing Navarez’s face. I concentrated and felt my face twist, my body contract. I checked my reflection. “Better?”

  “Much, but remind me to look in the opposite direction next time you do that.” She shivered. “We are trying to unearth our mole. I assume he works at the university. That’s where we should focus our investigation.”

  “I could pick up at the university when I get back.”

  “Unless you get busted. Have you thought about that?”

  I had. I didn’t care.

  Sometimes I felt strange pops in my neck or head and wondered if my brain would disincorporate on the wind. Even my body was not my own. I was sick of it. “Even if they catch me, why should I care?”

  “Because I care!” She stood and grabbed my shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

  “I can't go on like this.”

  “You will go on like this.”

  “I’m not killing myself.” I pulled her close. “But I have to do this.”

  Crystal pushed away and fell to pacing, shaking her head. “How do you know Navarez won’t talk to Zacharai before noon tomorrow?”

  “I don’t.”

  “That would blow your plan.”

  “It would.”

  She parted the curtains and looked toward the campus. The sun glowed red behind squat buildings. “I’ll shadow Navarez tomorrow morning.”

  “That will help.”

  “You know I can’t monitor his phone calls.”

  “I know.”

  She sighed and let the curtains drop. “This is a big risk.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I sat in the quad, wearing Navarez’s face beneath a ball cap and sunglasses. It was a clear, beautiful morning—filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation as students meandered between the pretzel cart and Redman Hall or sat hunched over textbooks at the outdoor tables. I had almost managed to lose myself in the stunning ordinariness of it all when I spotted Crystal striding between the tables.

  She slid next to me on the bench. “We’re being watched.”

  My gaze shifted from the tables to the academic halls, up along the second-story windows, but I saw nothing unusual. Crystal looked like she had been in a scuffle. There was mud on her shirt, grass on her knees.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Follow me.” She led me across the parking lot, to a secluded wooded slope. “Down there.”

  I grabbed a low hanging branch and leaned forward to peer into the trees. I tried to make out the bottom of the hill, but the woods were too thick. Running water babbled somewhere in the thicket.

  Then I felt her hand on my back, pushing me down the hill. I waved my arms to keep my balance, but lost my center of gravity. Awkwardly, I jumped from root to root down the hill, sliding but somehow maintaining my footing. When I reached the bottom, I glared back at her.

  Something wasn’t right. Pushing me wasn’t her style.

  She hopped down the hill to join me, expressionless. “We need to hide,” she whispered.

  “This isn’t secluded enough?”

  “A little farther.” She produced a familiar device the size of a cell phone and pressed it against my head. The device emitted a click, followed by three faint beeps. A strange pinprick of color flashed in her eyes.

  The hair on my neck stood. I backed away from her, crunching twigs.

  “You really thought you'd escaped?” she said. “You should know I can't let you go.”

  I darted toward the edge of the woods, but she grabbed my collar and hurled me down. My back hit the earth, expelling my breath.

  As she straddled my chest, the flesh of her face rippled. Her body stretched, audibly ripping her shirt and slacks. She had morphed into Slaven. “You’re working for the Ouroboros.”

  Where was my wife? What had Slaven done to her?

  “I need your gift!” The sheer volume of his voice frightened the cicadas, and the forest fell silent except for the rush of water.

  I had no idea what he wanted. “What have you done with my wife?”

  “We’ll talk at the prison.” He pulled a white orb, adorned with a transparent breathing mask, from his belt and forced it onto my face. It clamped over my mouth with a pop.

  I felt a spinning in my skull. Above me, the flickering leaves dimmed. In a final act of defiance, I swung my fist at the mask.

  It popped free of my mouth, a cue ball toppling end over end into the thicket. I rolled onto my belly, gasping for breath.

  I grabbed a fallen branch and stood. When Slaven emerged from the bushes with the white orb, I swung.

  The branch shattered on Slaven’s forehead, but he did not flinch. “Come back to the prison and I’ll tell you everything.”

  I backed into a shrub.

  He emitted a low, throaty chuckle. “Dear boy, I have your body. Do you have any idea what happens to a man who stays too long in a synthetic? You’ll end up like me. Reality will come and go. You will lose your humanity. Is that what you want?”

  I retreated deeper into the bush, branches scraping me like spider legs. Somewhere to my right, I glimpsed a clearing beyond the branches. “I’m not going to prison.”

  “I thought you might say that. That’s why I took out an insurance policy. Come with me, and I won’t cash it.”

  I assumed he meant Crystal, but if I surrendered, he would have us both. I spun toward the clearing and dropped to squirm under a sticker bush. A wide expanse of lawn lay ahead, sloping up toward a parking lot. If I could make it there, amongst cars and people, I might escape.

  I heard branches crackling behind me as Slaven gave chase.

  Thorns tore at my arms, mud sucked at my hands—then I was clear. I turned back and grabbed the biggest branch I could find. Slaven's head might have been invulnerable, but Gar had dropped him with one blow to the abdomen.

  When he burst out of the bushes, I swung.

  His mid section rippled and his eyes rolled back. He fell at the base of a tree, curled on his side, unmoving.

  My mind raced through the options: Should I beat Slaven repeatedly in the abdomen until he died? Would that even be possible? Should I wait until he awoke and interrogate him about Crystal? But if I did
that, wouldn’t I sacrifice my advantage? And would I believe anything he told me anyway?

  It was too much to think about. I turned and ran.

  I did not stop running until I reached the lobby of Redman Hall, the safety of the crowd and security cameras. Students sitting on benches inside the hall, waiting for classes to start, eyed me suspiciously.

  I ducked into the bathroom and approached the mirror. I was covered in mud and grass stains, but beneath the grime, my face still looked like Quentin Navarez. It was intact, without a scrape. These bodies did not bleed.

  I wetted some paper towels and wiped my face and shirt the best I could. Then I nodded at my reflection.

  I had to find Crystal.

  Leaving the bathroom, I saw a heavy brunette in a Walton Lions sweatshirt by the vending machines. “Excuse me, miss. Could I borrow your phone?”

  She handed it over. “I’m in your nanotech course. I sit in back.”

  I had almost forgotten the mask. “Of course.”

  “I’m easy to miss.”

  I smiled at her and dialed Crystal’s number. No answer. The young lady watched in anticipation, as if the call involved her. I handed the phone back and looked toward the exit.

  What had Slaven done with my wife? He might have tied her up somewhere, preparing to transfer her to the prison. Hell, maybe she had gotten away from him.

  I stepped into the courtyard and scanned the tables, then trotted down the stairs to the parking lot, just above the tree line where I had left Slaven. I scanned the sidewalk, the hillside, and the parking lot. Two oblivious men chatted by a red sports car, and cars milled through the lot, searching for spaces. There was no sign of her.

  Maybe she had gone back to the hotel room. I ran down the tree-filled slope toward Pine Bluff’s main drag. At the bottom of the hill stood the restaurant with red awnings, an impossible distance away. I willed myself to move faster, and my legs surprised me by obeying. I was running faster than I ever had in my life. I willed myself faster still, and suddenly I was running faster than any human had a right to. Amazing. I dodged a picnicking couple stretched out on a blanket, drawing their astounded stares. What if I crashed into someone at this speed? What if I hit a child? Patrons of the restaurant watched as I raced across the street and bounded onto the sidewalk, their expressions confirming how strange I looked, a portly teacher outpacing cars. My body was a piston, a machine of mobility, tearing through the crowd.

  I came to the side entrance of the hotel, a glass door beneath a fabric awning. I reached into my pocket. The key card wasn’t there. I must've left it inside. I felt a spike of panic and yanked the door handle, shattering the steel lock. Spring clips and lock plates clanged to the sidewalk.

  The crowd turned to look.

  I felt like a bull, a locomotive. Nothing could stop me. I bolted down the hallway, past yellow wallpaper and laundry machines. Finally I arrived at my room door. It was locked. Of course it was locked.

  Without thinking, I slammed my fists into the door; it exploded off its hinges and landed on the mini-fridge, gouging a hole in the wall with a puff of gypsum.

  If Crystal had been behind that door—

  But she wasn’t in the room, not in the bathroom or at the desk or under the bed.

  According to the digital alarm clock, I had ten minutes to meet Zacharai. I grabbed the metal box and jetted back to the parking lot, drawing stares from the clerks as I shot through the lobby.

  Crystal’s car was here. I thought about stowing the box in the trunk, but I had made a mess of the hotel, so it might not be the safest place to store important things. I jogged back to the campus, minding my speed to avoid attracting attention, but once I reached the section of slope I'd found on our first night here—the one that led up to the courtyard—I broke into a sprint.

  Wind whipped my hair. I felt alive, every atom buzzing.

  At the top of the hill, I stuffed the box into a thick rose bush. Hopefully no one would look there. I composed myself and strolled into Redman Hall.

  #

  I had less than five minutes to meet Zacharai. If I didn’t go now, I would lose what might be my only opportunity to meet the men responsible for architecting my fate.

  Crystal was more important.

  Tailing Navarez would have put her on a tour of three academic buildings, all bordering the courtyard. There were no hidden ravines or remote hideaways where she could be stashed. If she'd been jumped, she'd been taken. I had no way to find her, unless—

  Her cell phone. The police could track it.

  I spotted the girl in the Lions sweatshirt. She stood opposite the stairwell. “Excuse me miss. Sorry to bother you, but might I borrow your phone again?”

  “Sure, Mr. Navarez.” She smiled at me. “Everything alright?”

  How strange to be addressed by another’s name. “Yes. Well, no. I mean, I am worried about a friend.”

  She handed me her smartphone. “I have a class in five minutes, but you can keep it if you’re not finished. I know where your office is.”

  “Thank you.” I found Crystal’s office number on the Web and quickly dialed.

  A female voice came on the line. “Forester Law, how may I direct your call?”

  I tried to stay curt, but she launched into a tirade of questions when I asked if Crystal had called the firm within the last hour.

  “Listen.” I hardened my voice. “I can’t tell you who I am. Can’t give you details. I can only tell you I am a friend of Crystal’s, and she’s in trouble. Do you know Pine Bluff?”

  “Yes.” She sounded apprehensive.

  “She disappeared an hour ago on the campus of Walt U. I believe she was attacked and abducted. Call the police. They can track her phone. Find her.”

  I handed the phone back to the girl in the Lions shirt.

  “That sounds heavy, Mr. Navarez. I hope they find your friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  I crossed the lobby, into the stairwell. Zacharai stood at the top of the stairs, outside McSorley’s office. He scowled when he saw me. “You’re late.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-three

  Zacharai's enormous Lincoln floated onto the highway and gunned into the fast lane. The car was a magic carpet, but every time a tractor-trailer dropped past in the middle lane, I gripped the passenger door handle. With a hint of fear, I wondered if such an old man should be driving such a big car.

  Much to my delight, Zacharai turned out to be a talker. “We finished inventory today. The list of missing stuff is impressive. Fifteen quantum computers, two nano brain scanners, a stratification pod, a crate of brain stem nanites, a crate of forebrain nanites, a controller terminal, a Capgras, and a whole slew of network parts. I don’t suppose you know where any of this might have gone?”

  I remembered what the gentleman in the gray suit had said. “I’ve heard the same rumors you’ve heard about McSorley.”

  He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “That’s the most popular theory, and it’s probably true. We locked down his access two weeks ago, when he went AWOL, thinking he had been compromised but not dreaming he had turned on us. He still managed to infiltrate the building and make off with things, or so we suspect. There are some very basic security precautions we could have implemented years ago to prevent his return, but the idea that McSorley would betray us was unimaginable.”

  I nodded.

  “They just started outfitting the headquarters with new scanners to keep him from showing up there, but the work won’t be finished for another week.” He guided the car onto the I-70 exit, a huge elevated loop. “Anyway, if you know anything about the missing gear, your story had better be good or Attis will ruin you.”

  “Is that what this is about?” I hoped to tease the purpose of the meeting from him, so I could prepare myself mentally.

  “She might ask you about it, but no. That’s not why I’m driving you up here.”

  “Then why?”

  “Not in the car.” He
shook his head. “I need to look you in the eye when we talk about that.”

  I looked out the window, at the whipping line of pines. “What do you suppose McSorley is doing with all that gear?”

  It was an open question, but Zacharai took the bait. He accelerated around a pickup before settling back into the fast lane, cruising silently as a missile. “The mind upload technology may be the most important technology the world has ever known, and he built that with his own hands. You can’t imagine how proud he was.” He glanced at me. “Or maybe you can, you with your nanites. In any case, maybe he felt a sense of ownership. He had an argument with Attis about something.”

  “About what?”

  He exited toward a lonely stop sign, and turned left onto a feeder road. “All I know is McSorley wanted something Attis wouldn’t give him. Maybe McSorley got pissed and decided to stop sharing his brainchildren. I don’t really blame him. Attis is a bitch.”

  The car roared through the outskirts of Gasconade County, just a mile from the prison. It suddenly struck me that we might be headed there, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he turned right at Mills Road instead of left. I had no idea what trouble we were driving into, but it was hard to imagine anything worse than The Gas. I thought of my soulless body lying somewhere on the prison grounds and shivered.

  The car trundled over a wooden bridge and coasted next to a high security fence, sunlight flashing on the razor wire. Beyond it rose a five-story building with a pyramid-shaped roof and walls of opaque glass—smooth and featureless as black water. This compound felt like the edge of the world, surrounded on all sides by high pine trees.

  Two quad-copter drones perched unnervingly above the entry gate, the type rich guys used to spy on their neighbors via remote control. They idled silently, their blades motionless.

  The guard at the security booth scanned our badges and opened the gate. Then we rolled toward the building, its glass exterior reflecting the body of the Lincoln. I caught sight of my reflection—of course it wasn’t my face—and I wondered if here I would finally stop seeing darkly through the glass.