by Shawn Davis
“What do you know, Campion? You’re just a trouble-maker trying to buck the system,” Rayne replied. “My life is beginning to mean something to me again. I’m not a grunt anymore. I’m an Exec. When is everyone going to realize that fact?”
A dark shadow seemed to pass over Campion’s chiseled feminine features as she gritted her teeth and moved within inches of Peter’s face.
“Rayne, you’re nothing but a grunt in a double-breasted suit. It’s all part of the assignment. You’ve taken your position too far, too soon!”
“Go to hell, Campion!” Rayne shouted, backing away.
Campion continued to stalk forward, pacing Rayne as he moved backwards. Her gray eyes gleamed as she grabbed hold of his shirt collar and pinned him to the wall. Her mouth contorted into a snarl as she growled at him through gritted teeth.
“Then what about Ryder? Remember him? Your old friend, Billy Ryder? You just issued him three DP’s and allowed him to be burnt to a crisp at the whim of some masked robot. Two weeks ago you would have defended him with your life. Now you just abandon him like he was trash.”
A subtle change passed over Rayne’s face as he stared into Campion’s eyes, letting the words sink in. In moments, his angry expression was wiped away and replaced with horror.
“Is Ryder all right?” he asked.
“Just barely,” the commander replied, letting him go and backing away.
Peter leaned against the wall for support as he felt the room spinning around him. The combination of adrenaline and the horrifying thought of what he had done to his old friend made him lose all sense of equilibrium. He began to hyperventilate, gasping for air as he sank slowly down the wall to the floor. He sat down and stared, dejectedly, at Campion with a new realization in his eyes. He was losing touch with everything. He was out of control.
“Rayne, this can happen to anyone. Someone who is at the lowest, most subservient tier of society suddenly has seemingly limitless power and wealth,” Campion explained as if she had seen this behavior many times before. “Then, that someone has the power to do anything he or she pleases. If someone gets you angry, you kill ‘em. If someone begs for mercy, you laugh in their face. It’s very difficult to handle power, Rayne. That is why we have sociologists, economists, historians, psychologists, and other experts working in our organization. We don’t want to form a government, which will only end up like our present system. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
Campion paused dramatically and then continued in a lower tone, “Now I’m going to give you a computer micro-disc. I want you to take it home, study it, and then destroy it. You are going to gain legitimate access to New Washington on May 6, 2058; the day after you arrive on the Virtual-world section of the island. The reasons are all stated on that disc.” Campion ended her speech as if the school bell had just rung.
Returning to Broderick’s desk, she sat down in the high-backed office chair and waited for Rayne to recover his wits, assuming that was possible after the roller coaster trip his mind had taken.
Rayne stood and paced the floor. His mind flashed back to feelings and images from the past, which he thought he could put to rest now that he had been made an Executive. He saw the image of Martin Prince’s march in Inner City. He winced as he remembered Prince being gunned down in the street. He shuddered when he recalled his friend, Henry, being dragged toward the electric chair. Since becoming an Executive, he had completely suppressed these painful memories as if they had happened to someone else.
Now, he had an anti-grav vehicle, a corporate apartment, and money for the taking. It was all thanks to the current administration. It was easy not to care about the welfare of those in the lowest levels of society. As long as he had what he needed, why should he care about them? He recognized his flawed logic. That was not the way he was brought up.
Now that his mind began to settle back down to earth, he couldn’t believe he was the one who did those things to his friends in the warehouse. He couldn’t believe the attitude he displayed earlier was actually his.
“Rayne, are you going to be all right?” a compassionate female voice emanated from the dark silhouette seated behind Broderick’s desk.
“Sure, I just can’t believe everything that has happened to me. I can’t believe what I did.”
“As I explained before, Rayne, the human mind can sometimes be a frail thing,” Campion continued in her pedantic tone as she toyed with Broderick’s gold pipe. “People can lose all sense of equilibrium when they undergo an abrupt change from poverty and helplessness to absolute wealth and power. The bottom line is, can you see what happened to you? Are you going to let it happen to you again? Because if you do, you’re no good to us.”
Rayne stopped pacing and approached the desk.
“I don’t know how I could have lost all sense of perspective like that.”
“It happens, Rayne. I’ve seen it before,” Campion said as she leaned forward across the desk. Peter saw her eyes flashing in the dim light of the desk lamp. “The bottom line is can you get beyond it? Can you pull yourself together to help us? Are you going to allow Martin Prince and Henry Johnson to go un-avenged?”
Peter didn’t hesitate as he replied, “No, I will not.”
“That’s all I needed to know,” Campion said, standing from the high-backed chair. “Now, go home, Rayne. Your new apartment should be ready. Go back there and relax. Stay out of trouble. We’ll be in touch.”
“I just have one more question before I go, Campion,” Rayne said.
“Spit it out.”
“How did you get rid of Broderick?”
“Rayne, you should know by now how far-reaching our rebel arm is. Mr. Leland sent for Broderick. They are in a meeting right now and I’ll bet Mr. Leland is enjoying busting his balls. He’s probably giving him a hard time about the way he treated you yesterday; remember, you’re Mr. Leland’s very good friend from the past. When the meeting is done, Broderick will need years of therapy to recover.”
“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” Rayne said, grinning.
“You said it.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Campion,” Peter said.
“Sure, take it easy,” she replied, rolling her eyes.
Rayne turned and left the office.
For the next two months, Campion kept in contact with him. He received a phone call nearly every day at his new apartment after returning home from work. Usually, not much was said. Sometimes short sentences such as “Keep on track. You don’t want to become like them,” were said and then he got a dial tone. Sometimes he heard Campion give brief lectures, such as “Do not forget the real reason you are an Executive. Vengeance is the reason. Vengeance for your friend, Henry Johnson. We’re counting on you. We know you can do it. Stay calm and focused. More detailed instructions will follow in several days. Goodbye, Mr. Rayne.”
It wasn’t much, but those short messages helped him keep his composure during his two months as an Executive. He no longer ventured into the warehouse.
Sometimes, Rayne walked along the transparent wall of the Executive corridor across from the warehouse’s sixth level carrying his clipboard. He watched with sympathy as the warehouse employees struggled to make the day’s quotas. He also worked for several hours a day at the computer terminal in his modest fourth floor office, calculating input-output ratios in order to discover inefficiencies within the company. E-mailing his findings to Leland, he received several confirmation receipts. He also sent his findings to Broderick’s office, but he hadn’t seen or heard from him since his second day on the job as an Executive.
Rayne was relieved to see that Billy Ryder remained at work after his harsh punishment. Both of his arms were bound in white gauze bandages, but he was still able to pull the levers on his favorite forklift, Porky. Strangely, he never saw Sinbad’s massive form striding around section 1, level 6, of the warehouse. It was as if he had disappeared completely. Peter guessed they must have transferred
him to another section after they had issued him the DPs.
On April 15th, Rayne received a call from Campion instructing him to visit the Hovercrafts International warehouse building. He visited the front sales floor like any other Executive shopping for a new air-car.
They brought him down to the basement and gave him more training. Campion was still amazed at how well he could shoot. Like he told her before, it was because of video games. He played a lot of first-person shooters as a kid. He also received more hand-to-hand combat training. This was tougher than the shooting, but he still made it through all right. His boxing experience in college didn’t hurt, but the rebels taught him a few new moves that might help him out of some tight spots in the future.
Rayne visited the Hovercrafts International warehouse twice that week. On his second visit, he bought a new air-car; a gorgeous sports model with better speed and handling than his company air-car. Campion told him any more visits would look suspicious, so that was the extent of his training.
Rayne studied the computer disc carefully and destroyed it when he had memorized most of the relevant details. His photographic memory was helpful in this situation, as it had been when he was in college.
Oddly, there was very little intelligence on the disc concerning the maze-like maintenance tunnels running under Virtual-world. The only thing Campion’s spies knew was that high level computer technicians were allowed access to them. They also knew the tunnels led underground from the theme park to the nuclear reactor and eventually connected with the command bunker beneath the city.
According to the computer disc, Rayne was going to pose as a computer expert sent from the mainland to troubleshoot problems with Virtual-world’s new Artificial Intelligence programs. The blueprints to the tunnels must have been a closely guarded secret because Campion’s spies had been able to obtain little or no information about them. He was going to have to figure it out as he went along. Rayne hoped he could find more information about the tunnels when he gained legitimate access to the Virtual-world computer system on May 6th, 2058.
Campion told him the security officers guarding Virtual-world did a full internal and external body scan of everyone who came into the park to search for suspicious terror-related items. That meant spies couldn’t bring any cheat sheets or crib notes, least of all any forms of weaponry.
You could only bring in what was in your head. Once again, his photographic memory was a bonus. Finally, after two months of anxious waiting, Rayne received the go-ahead call from Campion, giving him detailed instructions describing the mission. He prepared for his trip to Virtual-world on May 5th, 2058.
Chapter 16
The Mission
Rayne watched the foamy, white-capped waves roll towards the old concrete pier, where he stood holding a can of warm soda. He felt for the leather wallet placed in the inner pocket of his black suit jacket. Taking it out, he stared at the small green pass that would allow him access to a place many people would never see in their lifetimes: Virtual-world, the technological wonder of the western world.
It was quite warm for early May. The soothing ocean breeze caressed his hair like a gentle lover. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. The taste and smell of the salt-water air was invigorating.
The Atlantic was as beautiful as ever, or more specifically Long Island Sound. Over the years, he had learned to ignore travesties such as wastewater and deceased sea life riding atop the waves only to settle on the fresh white sand of nearby beaches. Despite the clutter, he appreciated the natural beauty of the vast sea before him. The incandescent afternoon sun glistened on the water like a path of millions of reflective glass fragments.
Rayne’s eyes squinted from the ocean glare as he attempted to observe the progress of the incoming boat. He made a sun-visor with his right hand and saw the ferry moving along at a tremendous speed. Each time he gazed out to sea, an incoming object grew in size. The bow of the approaching boat sliced effortlessly through the water.
Rayne was not alone in his trek toward the alleged paradise, Virtual-world. The dock was cluttered with the families of many Execs. He saw at least fifty other men, most of them ten years his junior, standing on the pier with him. There were twice as many women and children. Many of them were wearing red, white, and blue t-shirts emblazoned with the prosperity symbol. They had purchased the shirts at a little stand at the end of the pier where an old vendor was capitalizing on their patriotism.
Peter’s stomach suddenly felt queasy at the sight of hundreds of blue helium balloons floating above the heads of young children scurrying about the dock. He stared, hypnotized, at the prosperity symbol on one of the balloons as it blew erratically in the bright afternoon air. After what he had seen over the past few months, he didn’t know what to make of the famous symbol: the gleaming gold dollar sign embedded into the starry portion of the former American flag.
Anti-gravitational shuttle buses raced overhead as the ferry drew closer to the docking area. Since the invention of the hovercraft, he supposed that ferry rides were a rather nostalgic way to travel. But he preferred the smell of fresh salt air to the cramped, stagnant quarters of the government shuttle buses. The sea breeze felt rejuvenating after spending many long months in the interior of the city. He loosened his tie and gazed up at the bright blue sky with its beautiful spattering of puffy, white, fair-weather cumulous clouds.
“You’re dead, grunt-scum!”
Rayne’s tranquility was shattered as he heard a screeching, high-pitched voice shout from his left. He shifted his gaze to what appeared to be a miniature Shock Trooper. The blue-armored figure stood no taller than four feet. He noticed the uniform appeared complete; from the dark blue glossed helmet, to the deep black shade of the reflective faceplate, to the lustrous blue body armor. With clenched fists, the little soldier beat roughly on his chest plate like a circus gorilla while he pointed what looked to be an automatic weapon directly at Peter’s heart.
“You’re a dead grunt,” the high-pitched voice of the mini-soldier screeched while proceeding to jam the barrel of a small rifle into Peter’s abdomen.
“Hey, wait a second, soldier!” Rayne said, trying to make his voice sound relaxed and good-natured as he swatted the rifle barrel aside. “I didn’t know they hired midgets for security on this trip!”
The small figure flipped up the faceplate of his gleaming blue helmet, revealing the freckled, pug-nosed face of a little boy no more than eight years old. The boy’s eyes squinted into the sun as he gazed up at Peter. The eight-year old then turned the gun around and tried to drive the butt-end into Peter’s gut. This time, Peter felt compelled to seize the weapon from the child’s hands.
“Why’d you do that for, yeh asshole?” the child yelled, slamming his mask back into place.
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, boy,” Rayne said. “That’s a pretty neat get-up you’re wearing. Why don’t you go find your parents or something? The ferry is about to dock.”
The crowd began to board as Rayne took the hand of the small boy and led him in the direction where he hoped to find his legal guardians.
“So what’s you’re Daddy’s name, kid?” he asked the boy.
“My old man’s name is Baxter. Ken Baxter. And he’ll kick your ass for taking my gun. So you best kiss your ass goodbye right now, yeh grunt.”
Rayne rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Where’d you get that mouth, boy?”
“Certainly not from me,” a man exclaimed from the ramp of the shuttle boat.
“Hello, sir, I’m Baxter, Kenneth Baxter. But you can call me Ken,” a tall, suited, blonde-haired man in his early thirties spoke enthusiastically as he stepped toward Peter with an outstretched hand.
Rayne led the boy onto the boarding ramp and faced the man’s radiant smile. He couldn’t help but notice the man’s rigid-looking, straight, blonde hair, which was fastidiously parted to the side and pasted down with enough gel to make an oil slick. Rayne grinned when
he realized the steady ocean breeze was incapable of blowing a single strand of the man’s neatly combed hair out of place. Rayne also noticed the man’s teeth were exceptionally white as if he had gargled with laundry bleach. The man appeared nonplussed by Rayne’s amused reaction, thinking it sincere.
“Nice to meet ya, Ken. I’m Peter Rayne. Your kid must have wandered off,” Peter said, flashing Ken a chagrined smile as he led the little trooper across the ramp to his father. They shook hands.
“We bought little Jimmy’s shock uniform for his birthday last year. I’m sorry about his actions. He’s got quite the mouth on him. I think he gets it from television,” Ken explained with a concerned expression on his unnaturally tanned face.
Rayne climbed aboard the ferry with his newfound acquaintances and looked around. The ferry had the appearance of an oversized speedboat. Peter estimated it was about three hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. It appeared similar to a yacht, but looked faster and sleeker. The boat rode low in the water, which cut wind resistance to a minimum. Rayne thought the bow could cut through any storm that nature unleashed in its path. He leaned on the railing and gazed at the wide blue ocean. The afternoon sun glistened on the waves like a magical pathway to paradise.
When all the passengers were aboard, the gangplank receded into the side of the boat. The high-tech ferry sped off swiftly and without warning. Rayne stumbled and grabbed onto the railing to regain his balance. Most of the other passengers had already prepared for the quick acceleration by seizing the railing or any other fixed object in the vicinity. Apparently, most of them had done this before. He imagined he was one of the few first-timers on board. Peter made his way toward the bow, gliding carefully around the other members of his tour group as he went.