Mindguard

by Andrei Cherascu

  First Maclaine Ross, the Head of Operations. Giant, muscular, menacing. His mysterious eyes hid a terrible secret: he was a criminal. She walked next to the hologram of Isabel Mensah. A tall, attractive woman in an impressive, colorful garb. Her sunset-colored clothes and headscarf enhanced the beauty of her dark skin, giving her a vibrant, spectacular appearance. She seemed to be much older than the others, though she was still very attractive and in excellent physical form. She had an air of wisdom and dignity that made Tamisa think of Commander Anderson. She scolded herself for that. Again, she was drawing parallels between her friends and her enemies. That could be dangerous.

  She moved to Luther Brinks, the oldest of the bodyguards. He was almost as large as Maclaine Ross though not nearly as tall. He had a crew cut and the battered face of an aging prizefighter. His eyes were barely visible in the shadow of his massive forehead.

  Jason Elden was the youngest of the group, only in his early twenties. Blond hair, light blue eyes and an expressionless face which gave him a ghostly appearance. Tamisa remembered reading in his profile that Ross had personally taken this young man under his wing. He was training and mentoring him with more dedication than any other bodyguard before him. The nature of their very close relationship remained unexplained. Tamisa wished she had more information on this mysterious young man, but Timekeeper Kernis had been unable to discover much about him.

  Simon Bayles was tall and slender, with a bald head and bulging eyes. Before joining Ayers-Ross, he worked as a fighter pilot on Terra Nova. He was the only member of the team with a military background and he had been with the agency for a long time. Ray Manner had the sort of physique that one usually cultivated in prison. He was very muscular and his skin was covered in cryptic tattoos. His face was hidden behind a bushy black beard.

  Then there was Francois Gaultier. Tall, rather slim, with a face that sported a mischievous smile and the look of a predator. Tamisa had been informed that this veteran bodyguard, a long time associate of Ayers-Ross, had the reputation of an aggressive womanizer. This made her instantly dislike him. The look in his eyes made her sick to her stomach. This would be the man she would most enjoy bringing down.

  She tried to analyze all of them with the same level of concentration, but she always found her attention returning to Sheldon Ayers. Somehow, though he looked the least threatening, she perceived him as the most dangerous of them all. He was her real enemy. Not Ross, not Mensah or the other five bodyguards. Tamisa couldn’t explain it but she had the feeling that there was some sort of connection between herself and Sheldon Ayers. For some reason, she felt that the entire mission came down to the conflict between the two of them. They were the central pieces in this chess game. The rest were just pawns.

  “It will be you and me Sheldon Ayers,” she said out loud, as though the holographic image could understand her. “It will all come down to you and me. Only one of us can be victorious. The other one has to lose.”

  She could hear her voice echo in the room.

  “One of us has to lose,” she repeated, and even though she knew it was her own voice, for a fraction of a second, it seemed to be coming from Sheldon Ayers. Not from his mouth, but from somewhere inside his mind. It almost sounded like Sheldon was repeating what she had said, throwing out a challenge at her.

  “One of us has to lose!”

  PART 2: THE SOUL

  Chapter 13

  - It is time to move the relationship to the next level.

  - She is in a very vulnerable state, Commander, more than we anticipated. I’m not sure we can direct her emotions according to our original expectations.

  - I appreciate your concern, Mr. Kantil, but she is still well within parameters. We have no choice but to go forward any way, you know that and you know what is at stake. Any added risk will only increase the reward. She is capable of this, more than capable, but the timing has to be perfect. We cannot move a second too early and, most importantly, not a second too late.

  -Yes, sir. My concern is only for the trajectory. Her movements, her reactions, have to be within the exact path. Deviations in any direction could endanger the whole mission.

  - Villo, you are my most prized officer and, next to my brother, you are my closest advisor. Your dedication to our duty and your faith in our judgment is unparalleled. I ask you to have faith once more. It is more important now than it ever has been. You have always trusted my decisions. I ask you to do that one last time.

  - Yes, sir!

  Horatio Miller was lying in bed, taking a few more minutes to relax before being forced back into the hustle and bustle of a new day. From his bed, the large windows offered a stunning view of his private vineyard. The first pinkish rays of the rising sun were waking the world from its late autumn slumber. Emilia, his secretary, was in the adjoining kitchen making him coffee. He could smell the wonderful aroma of his favorite brand, imported from a planet called Terra Brazil. Horatio felt that unbridled happiness that marked the early hours of the morning, when a new day lay before and the possibilities seemed endless. He felt very relaxed and in a good mood, but he tried not to let it show. He was, after all, still grieving.

  When Marcus Miller stepped through the gateway on Horatio’s estate, it was the last time anyone would ever see him. Horatio had made sure of that. Apparently, the device suffered a tragic malfunction. It failed to properly connect with the receptor on the other end. Thus, Marcus Miller, only particles at the time of his travel, was never rematerialized. It had been a tragic accident, a one-in-a-trillion occurrence and a sign that, no matter how powerful and successful, how beloved by those around him, one was always bound by his destiny.

  Horatio had spoken those exact words, teary-eyed, at the eulogy held for his dear brother at the Miller estate, with the press broadcasting every second of it.

  “This tragic accident, no matter how incredibly unlikely, serves to remind us that nothing is perfect. Everything in the world can be improved. That is why, in memory of my brother, Mylonas Industries will always keep striving, not only to innovate, but also to improve itself and the world around it. I love you Marc, and I will always remember you, big brother. Excuse me!”

  With those words, he left the podium and retreated to his private quarters, to be alone, leaving everyone else to continue the wake. Once he got to his room, he sealed off all access, went to his generous bar and picked up a bottle of single malt. It was an import from Old Earth and it had been his brother’s favorite. Horatio himself didn’t much care for whisky. He was drinking it more out of spite, to mock the memory of his brother. He lifted the glass in a theatrical toast and said ‘Cheerio’, imitating Marcus.

  Horatio had never really liked his older brother. He always thought of him as a nuisance. His physical appearance - short, overweight, with his eyelids always half closed, as if he had just woken up from his afternoon nap - created the impression that he wasn’t too bright. In reality, Marcus was rather intelligent in his own right, though he could never match Horatio’s accomplishments. That is not to say he ever even tried. Instead, he chose to just rest comfortably in his younger brother’s shadow, something Horatio had always considered pathetic. He was very needy and easy to intimidate, scared of making his own decisions, relying on Horatio to tell him what to do. He was a difficult man who never managed to build a family, because he never found anyone capable of putting up with him for an extended period of time.

  Horatio himself was divorced. His first marriage had produced only a daughter. His wife, Simone, left him when she found out about his numerous affairs and about his two other daughters, whom he did not officially recognize but whose mothers were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. In the end, Simone had also chosen to be smart, so they parted amicably when Horatio made sure that she, as well as their daughter, Sophie, would never want for anything financially.

  He had every intention of one day producing a son and proper heir, but at the moment he was otherwise engaged. In any case, his extensive geriatri
c treatments would keep him young and in good shape for centuries to come. He could put off having more children for a longer time without worrying about any biological limitations. Of course, he had other things to worry about instead, like avoiding future accidents such as that which had tragically cut short the life of his brother.

  Marcus never had the opportunity to pass on his questionable genes, so he would now effectively be erased from history, with a footnote in the Miller family tree serving as the only reminder that this man had once burdened the universe with his existence. Horatio was not worried about the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death. There was nothing to indicate foul play. Nobody knew of his brother’s treachery, so there was no reason to suspect Horatio and there were few people in the world with the technical understanding of the workings of a Muench-Henriksen gateway.

  The enforcers would no doubt put two and two together, but Horatio knew that going public with the information was not an option for them. The simple truth was that his own popularity within the IFCO was growing, while that of the enforcers was slowly, but steadily, declining. Thomas Anderson himself had less support than ever. Powerful as they were, they could not go to war with the entire world.

  In public opinion, Horatio was a grieving brother. If Anderson were to openly accuse him of murder, Horatio would claim slander and the population would quickly turn against the enforcers, severely hastening their drop in popularity. He knew that Anderson could not take the risk. Public opinion was the one force in the world that could cost him his position as leader of the Enforcement Unit.

  He thought of Sophie. At that moment, while he was lying comfortably in his king-size bed, his daughter was no doubt near the border of the Djago Desert, protected by Maclaine Ross and the legendary Sheldon Ayers. She was so close to fulfilling the mission. From the comfort of his sheets he stared at the sky. Somewhere beyond that layer of ozone, nitrous and oxygen lay a vast man-inhabited universe, administered by the IFCO, the most capable and far-reaching government humanity has ever known. Still, somewhere beyond the edges of this universe lay another: one uncivilized by man, a universe of danger and anarchy. It was there that Sophie was heading, towards the most important discovery in the history of civilization, heading there in order to destroy it.

  “Coffee, Educator Miller?”

  Emilia’s voice startled him. He quickly wiped the satisfied smile off his face. His expression grew somber, befitting a grieving brother. He was glad that she was behind him and couldn’t see the transformation.

  “Thank you, dear,” he said, taking the steaming cup.

  The coffee was delicious. Emilia always made wonderful coffee, even at the office, but the one she made in the mornings after they had sex tasted decidedly better. That was the main reason Horatio still kept her around and took the time to satisfy her once in a while. She was a decent secretary but she was incredible in bed. She also possessed two more qualities that Horatio found very endearing.

  The first one was that she always called him Educator Miller, not only at the office or in public and not only in bed as some sort of dirty talk, but all the time. They had now been intimate for a year and a half and every morning it was ‘Would you like a cup of coffee, Educator Miller?’, ‘Did you sleep well, Educator Miller?’ or ‘You were incredible, Educator’. Horatio found this very amusing and it made him feel great.

  Her second quality was that she did not care that he was sleeping with other women. If he could make time for her, that was fine, but if not, she just patiently waited for her turn. Of course, the situation was not mutual. Horatio did not allow her to sleep with other men. It wasn’t for reasons of jealousy or love, but rather because of hygiene and safety. Very homophobic by nature, Horatio found it disgusting to sleep with a woman who was, at the same time, allowing other men to enter her. He strictly forbade all of his lovers from sleeping around. Some of them did not accept his condition and Horatio had no problem letting them go.

  He never once tried to threaten or harass a woman into going to bed with him, a quality for which he commended himself. But most women decided that sleeping with him was well worth the sacrifice. Not only would he take care of them financially for the duration of their relationship, but he was also extremely capable at satisfying them. That was due to the enormous sums of money he constantly invested in physical enhancements. Those ensured that he was extremely well endowed and had nearly unlimited endurance, at least from his partner’s perspective. Once again, these were not easily accessible commodities. Very few people in the world could afford these enhancements and, of those few people, most were old and already married businessmen, who saw no reason in investing in the pleasure of their wives.

  The bottom line was that all of his girlfriends were very happy and thankful to be with him. However, none of them could hold a candle to Emilia, who was in complete awe of him, willing to do everything he asked of her for just a fleeting moment of his attention. At that moment, she was watching him drink his coffee, delighted that it pleased him. She looked at him with all the passion and love of a psychopath, of which Horatio had dated a few. Unlike a psychopath, she was never a nuisance and always made sure not to bother him with her presence when he didn’t want her close.

  “Do you like the coffee?” she asked. “I can pour you another cup.”

  Of course you can pour me another cup, thank you for pointing out the obvious, he thought but instead he said: “It’s absolutely delicious, Em. Thank you. You are a treasure.”

  Her face lit up with sheer joy. “You’ve been so great,” she said, “through all of this.”

  He put on a brave and sad smile and held back a chuckle seeing the expression on her face. “It is what it is, Em. Life has to move forward. It’s what he would have wanted.”

  With concealed amusement, he studied her emotional reaction to his tired platitude, as if it had been the wisest declaration ever uttered by a man.

  “Would you like… I don’t know… would you maybe like to go out with me today…on the lake …you know, maybe get your mind off things,” she timidly suggested.

  For convenience, Emilia lived in an apartment on the Miller grounds. Aside from the vineyards, the large estate contained a small forest, a large flower garden and a lake. Emilia enjoyed taking the boat out in the early hours of the morning and reading a good book in the solitude of nature. He had joined her a few times and, once, they had even made love in the boat, although it had been entirely uncomfortable and they almost toppled over. Still, she thought it was romantic and Horatio enjoyed doing little things like that to keep his girls happy.

  “It’s a busy day,” he said. Then, seeing the disappointment in her eyes, he added: “But, you know what, I could use a little breathing space. And your company is always so beneficial for me.” He smiled. “Why don’t you just give me half an hour to prepare and we can go have a picnic on the lake. Go ahead and make a nice basket for us, will you, dear?”

  Excited beyond reason, she hurried out of the room to prepare the snacks before he even had the chance to ask her to pour him another cup of coffee. Horatio sighed. He had lied; he wasn’t in the mood for company. Whenever he was in a good mood he always preferred being alone, but he didn’t want to risk disappointing Emilia, especially after the night they had just spent together. After their little picnic he had to find a way to be alone for a while and think. He had to properly plan out his next couple of days.

  He gave the vocal command and the wall with the bookshelf retracted to offer access to the hidden communication chamber. Horatio knew it was a tad dramatic, but he always got a kick out of it. The communication chamber contained nothing but a comfortable armchair and a small table for his glass of wine. It offered a high-end communication system based on hyperspace linking and shielded from surveillance technology with the most advanced encrypting software in the world. His men at Mylonas had designed it especially for him. He was well aware that there was probably no need for such means of protection; he was surel
y safe on his estate. But he was also of the belief that you could never be too safe, and he spared no expense for secrecy.

  He gave the authentication code. The holosense scanned his iris and speech patterns as well as his genetic markers. When it decided that it was indeed Horatio Miller, it placed the call through. The person on the other end took a long time to pick up. When he finally did, half of Horatio’s room turned into part of a coffee shop. At the table facing him stood a man drinking out of a small cup.

  As opposed to Horatio, this man did not seem to enjoy his drink at all. He looked bored and slightly irritated. He had dark hair and a dark beard that emphasized the viciousness in his eyes. Next to his coffee cup was the portable device he used to scramble the sound of his voice and make the conversation unintelligible to the other patrons. When he spoke, his raspy tone was a perfect fit for his rugged appearance.

  “I’ve found him, Mr. Miller.”

  “Hello, Louis,” Horatio replied.

  “But there’s a problem,” continued the man, paying no attention to Horatio’s sarcastic greeting. He was one of the very few men that addressed him as Mr. Miller instead of Educator Miller. Given the nature of their relationship, formalities would have been ridiculous.

  “I’m listening.”

  “You ever hear of Kalhydon?”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “He’s hiding under the name Brother Torje,” Louis said, with the faintest hint of a smile.

  “No, that’s impossible. I mean that literally. Kalhydon is one of the two islands where the IFCO quarantines people with Soixtet’s disease.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, Mr. Miller,” Louis said in a patronizing voice.