Millennium Zero G

by Jack Vantage

  “Why can’t we just follow him and take it from him now?” Timmy asked.

  “The Authoritarians will be here any minute. I suggest we leave before they arrive. We pick up the case as soon as I’ve got the match on mister thief here,” Nexus said confidently.

  “I can see them coming. Please tell me you’ve got a hard fix on the target,” Regan said.

  “Boss, he won’t be doing anything with that tonight. The little fucker will probably have a heart attack if he gets it open,” Nexus said.

  “Good work,” Timmy said. “Sorry about the punch.”

  Regan said, “I’m the only one who does the forgiving around here. I’m Mr magnanimous. The both of you have fucked up. You let me down on something as simple as that, you fucking retards. I want it in my hands. Until then, there’s no sleeping. You catch my drift?”

  “Yes boss, we got it,” Timmy said.

  Regan flicked a switch, and a screen played the image of the young man and briefcase upon his dash. He stared at the screen where the young boy was frozen still, his age no older than nineteen. He gazed at their next hit and smiled.

  Regan pulled the vehicle high and away, out of sight.

  Chapter 13

  What to Do?

  Dylan stared at the briefcase, which rested on his living quarter’s low coffee table. He sat on his L-shaped cream sofa, with both elbows digging into his knees as the tips of his fingers nervously skimmed his mouth. He had never stolen anything in his life. He had always told the truth and had always obeyed the law.

  The object was not his. It belonged to someone else, someone who had died in front of his eyes, someone who wouldn’t come looking. There was nothing to worry about. He would not be indictable. It was now his.

  Yes, he thought. Nobody saw me take the case, so why am I worried?

  Whatever the contents, they belonged to him now, not to the unfortunate soul who lost it. But his integrity had been breached, his honesty stained.

  The smooth gold case sat gleaming on the table with its locks facing him. Dylan hadn’t had the courage all night to open it. He just sat staring at it. Then he’d walk around only to return and stare at it again.

  Occasionally, he’d check in on Lecodia who slept soundly in his bed. Her beautiful face lay on his pillow. She didn’t know about the discovery. She had passed out from exhaustion after leaving the club. Dylan carried her to bed and tucked her in. He kept his promise. He dreaded to think what she’d say when she woke up.

  Dawn approached, and the sun’s light began to brighten his apartment in strips through the silver vertical blinds, which opened and closed with dusk and dawn.

  He stared at the case again. He wanted to open it. He wanted to see what was inside. He had guessed for hours on the internal contents, and his imagination had run riot. What if there was a top-secret government document on some murder, or prisoner, or credit number in there? What if it was damaging information on a political figure, or some covert scandal that needed to be destroyed? What if someone would try to kill him to get it back?

  Each time a crazy possibility entered his mind, he dismissed it. It was probably somebody’s work notes, a communicator, or clothes. Anything but something bad. That’s what Dylan kept telling himself.

  Why he picked it up still concerned him. This was the first mistake he had made for as long as he could remember. He would destroy whatever was inside, he decided. He didn’t want his hands on it anymore. It dirtied them.

  Dylan stood and made his way to the open kitchen area. He opened one of his small glossy red food compartments. Inside he plucked out a small transparent box, which held a collection of tools. He rummaged through them, and picked out a silver tube, then placed the box back into the compartment. He moved back to the sofa, sat, and ran his hands over the case. Truth or dare time.

  He angled the case to face him and aimed the silver tube at one of the buckles that sealed its secret. “Okay, here I go.”

  He pressed a button on the side of the tube and it emitted a tiny laser. He used the tube to cut food, open things, and many other simple tasks. It began working on the case. A faint trickle of smoke wafted the air as the first buckle snapped with a click.

  Dylan repositioned the case and began working on the second. It also snapped after the laser worked its magic.

  Revelation time, he thought.

  He placed the laser tube in his pocket, then straightened the case in front of him. It looked at him like he was a stranger, an intruder.

  He stared back, and his mischief played with him. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the awareness of a wrong doing, the guilt of taking something that wasn’t his, the intense excitement of stealing something. Was he becoming a criminal, overstepping the line that the law placed in society?

  With both hands on each corner of the case he lifted it open. “Oh boy,” he said, both stunned and horrified.

  He felt his eyes widen with shock. Terror, panic, and horror swept through his body. He pushed back into the sofa as if scrambling away from the case.

  Inside it was poison, copious amounts of poison, and a life sentence in a Quazar penitentiary. Thousands of small pouches displayed their black contents. Dylan knew what they were, although his mind refused to accept what his eyes were telling him. Mentha hits—at least a million credits worth of the most infectious narcotic on the planet.

  He placed one hand on his forehead. He had to think. He was looking at the end of his life. An unforgivable mistake, a stupid decision, and a criminal act. This was too much to take. The sickly contents began making him nauseous. Every time he looked at the drugs the deeper it sank in. The realisation hurt like a burn, and the possible outcome haunted him with the spectre of incarceration. He stood and paced, deep in thought. Trepidation had overrun his senses.

  I must hand this over to the Authoritarians, he thought. What will they say because I picked up the case? I walked away with the contents. They will point the finger straight at me, call me a liar, and call me a narcotics dealer, a Mentha dealer. They will place me in a cell, shred my life to bits, and destroy everyone I love. Because that’s what they do to people who really do this. I will be forced to stay in a room no bigger than a bed for the rest of my life, forced to eat meals when they say, do what they say, live with the scum of Quazar, mingle with people who would kill me if I looked at them the wrong way. I want this nightmare to stop. Please stop!

  But it wouldn’t. This was real, it was happening. He had made a bad decision, taken a wrong turn down the highway of life. A turn that could destroy everything, a turn that led to an approaching cliff and the brakes were not working. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to run, but like a hostage he was tied to the spot, stuck with a case that was everything bad, everything wrong, and everything he ever feared.

  He was now a criminal. He had crossed the line of the law and entered the realm where everything became paranoid, and everything inverted. Over the line of the law awaited the realm that balanced your life towards its end and tilted it in the direction of insanity. He glanced back and forth from the case as he paced praying it would disappear.

  His parents would kill him. Their punishment would be greater than that of the Authoritarians. He’d let them down, broken their hearts, and betrayed their trust. He knew his father would grab him like a man and fly into the biggest rage he’d ever seen. A rage directed at him.

  He stopped and faced the case from behind the sofa. Each death-filled pouch eyed back like an attacking swarm of killer insects. The Authoritarians—he had to tell the Authoritarians and explain why he took the case. Tell them that his motives were honest and that he intended to hand the case back to them. He needed to tell them the truth, but not the whole truth. His story needed to be bent slightly, a minor alteration he knew would stick. It wasn’t like he would conjure a morass of lies.

  He had to explain that the case was laying on the floor when he left Zero G, and he picked it up with intent of handing it back to them. No need to tell the
m about his teenage slip, his little devious reason for picking it up. No need to tell them he would have kept the contents had they been a little easier to cover and handle.

  The contents went beyond his crime, went beyond reason. He had to hand it over to the right people. People who knew how deal with it.

  Dylan never saw it coming.

  Lecodia slapped him. “That was for last night,” Lecodia shouted, irate.

  The stinging started instantly across his right cheek.

  She slapped him again. This time the left cheek stung. “And that’s for the shit on the table. What the hell have you got me into? Who are you?”

  “Wait. Wait. This is not how it looks,” he replied, with hands raised in defence.

  “Not what it looks like? Are you having a laugh? That stuff on the table is Mentha. I’d say it looks pretty bad, Dylan. Is that even your real name?”

  “Now look, if this was mine don’t you think you would have been dead already?”

  Reproachfully, she replied, “What did you just say?”

  “Look, last night you fell asleep, I found this case and brought it back with me. I’m going straight to the Authoritarians with it. I’m in shock, like you.”

  Lecodia looked at the case with repugnance then back at Dylan. “You get that stuff away from me. This has nothing to do with me. You are going to contact the Authoritarians and tell them about this, and I am leaving. You do not mention me, got it?” There was betrayal in her eyes as she pointed at the case. “Not only did you take advantage of me last night, but you have got me tangled up in this.”

  “Wow, wow.” Dylan defended.

  He knew this was irrefutable, there was no denying it. This was his bag, his problem, but she could stand as a witness for him. It would give his explanation plausibility, give him a chance. At least he’d have some kind of alibi.

  “Lecodia, I know this has nothing to do with you, but please help me do this. All you have to say is that you were with me last night and stayed here. There’s nothing wrong. You’ll have no blame. It’s all me, I promise, all me. If you are not with me it will look like we’re up to something, because someone could have seen you coming into the building with me, or they could read the chip locator on the door. The best thing to do is come clean and face this. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Dylan spoke as quietly as possible. One wrong tone of voice and he knew Lecodia would leave in a storm, and the mess would begin mounting on him.

  She balled her fists. “I hate you! I hate you! Why are you doing this to me?”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault. I found this.” He looked at the case. “I am going to give it to the authorities. They’ll thank us, call us heroes. I hate narcotics. They make me sick. I don’t want this anymore than you. Please help, Lecodia. Please.”

  This was unforgivable, irreversible, and inconceivable. His chances with Lecodia were all but over. In a blink of an eye his life had been destroyed. The consequences echoed in his mind as Lecodia began calming. She swallowed her rage and realised what she was tangled in, while still dazed from the high of the drug.

  Finally, she said, “I am going to sit here. You are going to contact the Authoritarians and tell them every little detail about last night. How I was asleep when you took this case, and you brought me and it back here. Just tell the truth and I’m sure everything will be okay. Don’t mention why I was asleep.”

  “I will,” he replied. “I can’t believe you took what you took last night. Oh, and I didn’t take advantage of you, by the way. It was all you.”

  She looked at him. There was regret in there somewhere, way behind the anger. She said, “Last night was the first and last time I will ever do that. I’m sorry about the kissing, I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t me. It was, you know, it.”

  “It was good if that makes you feel any better.”

  “It wasn’t me, Dylan. I would rather kiss a leper. I would never have done it. I’m sorry. Just contact the Authoritarians.” She shifted on the sofa. “This stuff is making me itch. Please Dylan before my parents start wondering where I am, because I will never see the light of day if they find out what you have done to me.”

  “I’m contacting them. Just wait.”

  Dylan moved to his home communicator beside the front entrance. He swallowed hard and began typing the Authoritarian number into the small touch screen dial.

  The screen flickered and displayed a head shot image of a male Authoritarian. The officer’s black hair dangled in a centre parting, greasy and messy. He looked tired. His nose was pointy and long, not the kind of clean-cut face associated with the Authoritarians.

  “Hello, Precinct 38112. What is your emergency?” the Authoritarian asked with trained skill.

  Dylan needed to palliate the situation, speak with innocence. “Hello, my name is Dylan Ajax. I have something you might be interested in.” He paused. “Last night I found a case and brought it home with me. I opened it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, but I needed to see what was inside. I have found narcotics, a lot of narcotics. I’m really scared and want you guys to help.”

  “Dylan, you have done the right thing. We are the people who can help. There are just a few things I need you to explain. Did anyone see you when you took the case?”

  “No, I don’t think so, nobody.”

  “Does anyone else know about it?”

  “No, no one. I’ve only had it in my possession for a matter of hours. What should I do?”

  “Just wait there. A unit will be sent to you immediately. Are you sure no one else knows about the case?”

  “Just a friend who’s here with me. Listen she didn’t know about it, she woke up this morning and I told her. But it has nothing to do with her.”

  “Just sit tight, Dylan. We’re on our way. And don’t leave your apartment. Just to clarify that our communication device is in perfect working order, you reside in the Lofty Height building, apartment 1538. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, officer, that’s correct. Please hurry. I want this resolved.”

  “Dylan, stay brave. You have done nothing wrong. You have in fact discovered a tremendous amount of Mentha and everything is going to be fine,” the Authoritarian reassured.

  He said Mentha, I never mentioned the exact contents of the case, Dylan thought. How on Earth did he know?

  Before he could respond the communication ended. He stood pickled, then turned to Lecodia who faced from the sofa awaiting an answer.

  “Well,” Lecodia said. “I heard most of it. What did they say?”

  “That they’re on their way and that I have no blame. I have done the right thing.”

  “I was drunk is what you are going to say. We were celebrating the millennium, you understand. You helped me by taking care of me, and when I woke up it turned out you found a case full of illegal substances. It’s that simple. We have to get our story right, you get me?”

  “I will, that is the truth, more or less.”

  “No, no,” she emphasised. “Let me get this straight. That IS the truth. That IS what happened!” she snapped.

  “I know, look I screwed up, this not something that happens every day. I’m scared of what will happen to me. I mean, what will they say if they even think it is actually mine?”

  “That’s not my problem Dylan, you’re the one who opened the case.”

  Dylan eyed Pandora's box. The evil that lay within held him, suffocated him, and ruled him. He wished he could set the clocks back a night, relive the millennium and avoid the collision that had happened in his life. It was a collision of circumstances, circumstances that needed to be concluded.

  “It’s probably only me, but the Authoritarian didn’t seem genuine. He knew we had Mentha, but I didn’t say we had Mentha.”

  “That’s paranoia fucking with you,” she replied, uninterested.

  Chapter 14

  I Found Him.

  Regan watched Nexus from his left side. He detested how Nexus’s nose arched downw
ard with a slight crook, and how his upper lip was raised like he was an aroused animal. Regan could see him stewing over the teen that had stolen the briefcase as he sat at his workstation, in front of his computer screen, typing as fast as his fingers allowed him. The computer was a portable slim device, which consisted of a detachable glass screen pane and wafer-thin keyboard.

  Regan could just make out what the insane pervert was muttering under his breath. “I’m going to find you, you little shit. Find you and make you pay for stealing what belongs to us.”

  Regan questioned Nexus’s feasibility on a day to day basis. The slime ball was a liability whose private life was a festering pile of depravity. But his skill and knowledge of specific technical necessities were indispensable.

  Nexus had been working steadily since leaving the air space of Zero G, looking for the bastard who’d taken Regan’s precious possession. Nexus had tapped into the Zero G network and filtered all chip numbers that had exited the club around the time of the incident. He was close, Regan could feel it, who sat in his office beside Nexus’s.

  Their port of cybercrimes was built in an old disused office block, only accessible by an entrance through an unused back alley. It was large, empty, and worn by demolition, with rusty chrome panels boarding the windows of the long second floor where they sat.

  Regan had bought it, for small amount of credit, five years ago under a false identity. It was a piece of rubbish that was an easy buy. Makeshift mesh fencing created each of their working offices. They could still talk to each other as they worked. Wires and stacked consoles ran freely along the floor. They were designed to be dismantled in a hurry if someone found their operations. It was a lair of technological crudeness that sat in a pool of overhead halogen light. The rest of the unused dusty floor shaded away into darkness.

  Timmy had gone to find food and drink for the long night ahead. It bothered Regan that Timmy hadn’t been more careful at the exchange. He hated slip-ups, and this was a royal one. The silly brute fuck had no subtlety, no power of persuasion, and no intellect. All he had was a barbaric mentality that Regan could use when he needed to get a job done.