System Seven

by Parks, Michael

  Meng shook his head. “Don’t know the details, but I can tell you this: if you want to succeed, you need to form an island in your mind and call it home. If you don’t, you risk drowning in the pain of loss and of memory.”

  He sat at the table. “That’s pretty specific advice. What do you know, Meng?”

  “Nothing. That is why I say form an island and call it home. If you cannot hold yourself up at the lowest times, you become worthless to anyone, including yourself. True strength lies in thinking clearly in adversity, not in collapsing in emotion, straining against wild thoughts, or faltering in doubt. So define your island. Make it your own. Defend it. Only from there will you become a power in this world.”

  He processed Meng’s words in the swelling silence. No matter how beloved the people in his life were, to make the most of the situation would require steeling against all tragedy, all loss.

  Easier said than done.

  He thought about Marcel’s introduction to meta. “So what’s up with Scientology? Don’t they teach the same sort of thing?”

  Meng shook his head. “Don’t let Marcel hear you say that. Scientology is the monetization of concepts that resemble the truths.”

  “The Comannda run it?”

  “They insure its operation. It is an organization that controls and misleads. It is culturally controversial, making even considering the concepts socially taboo. That serves the Comannda agenda. It is their red herring.”

  “So it’s giving people fake concepts about meta.”

  “Yes. It is the science of the mind effort. Much like religion, its end goal is to magnetize, polarize, and monetize. To divide and control.”

  Nora the housekeeper waved a dish towel at the window, a signal their meal was ready.

  “Well shit, no wonder he doesn’t like it.”

  Over a steak and salad dinner, Marcel dropped a bomb.

  “You’re to travel. Your energies here have accumulated so it is time to move. Until you are sufficiently adept at the meta arts, this will continue to be the case. Your training starts at the next location.”

  Austin stopped mid-bite. “Okay. When is this?”

  “You leave after nightfall.”

  “And Kaiya? When do we meet up?”

  The Frenchman finished a mouthful before replying. “Kaiya and Mac will be introduced to the Family. That process will take time, as will your training. No need to worry about either of them. Focus on yourself. Your training can go well, with effort, or not so well, if you allow distractions to interfere.”

  “That won’t do. I want to see her.” There could be no missing his intention.

  “Of course you do. Tonight, you will.”

  • • •

  The mist haloed around gas lamps, the London fog thick as night itself. Old Broad Street lay vacant save for a pair stumbling along the cobblestones, silly from a late night tavern visit. Tucked up in a deep entryway, Austin pulled his frock coat over his neck as he kept watch.

  If all went well, he’d spend the night with the woman he loved. If not... hell, he refused to imagine it wouldn’t.

  A distant whistle pierced the darkness to the left. Again it sounded.

  He slipped quietly into the street. Seeing no company, he moved more swiftly, ignoring the clack of his shoes against stone. The whistle repeated, closer. Above a tanner’s shop a lone candle burned in a window. A visible balding head testified to the work being done. He crossed closer to the boardwalk to avoid being seen.

  Reaching Throgmorton Street, he veered onto it and saw what he’d hoped for in the dark patch of road: a waiting hansom cab. He came along it and peered inside.

  Kaiya stared at a candle held in her hands. She wore a high-necked dress adorned with lace and a cape jacket pulled close against the cold mist. She looked up and smiled, melting the cold shackles binding his heart. Without a word he climbed in next to her and took her hands in his. The driver, sitting high and behind the cab, cued the horse forward.

  They traveled over bumpy streets, past dark squares and St. Paul’s cathedral, eventually arriving in front of a stately residence lit with gas lights. He stepped out first and scanned the empty street. Satisfied, he paid the driver and helped Kaiya from the hansom.

  She watched the horse and driver recede into the heavy fog and faced him.

  “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

  “We are.”

  “I’m scared, Austin. How is this happening? What is it all about?”

  “Relax, babe. We’ll be okay. You’ll see. We have tonight and that’s all that matters for now. Trust me, please.”

  The scene dissolved into a bedroom from the period. A tall canopy stood over the bed, surrounded by fabric for privacy. A fire in the hearth warmed the room and offered sensuous contrast to the cold outside. They embraced, absorbing every sensation in a world rich with feeling.

  “I love you, Kaiya.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I love you, too, babe. Endlessly.”

  • • •

  Marcel opened his eyes. Concern draped across his face. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

  Meng sat on a chair in the corner of the bedroom. “What’s not right?”

  “Too easy. He didn’t press at all. All passenger, not a nudge towards control. Same as before.”

  “Absence or ignorance?”

  “That’s the problem. I’m not sure.” He stood. “I’d hoped for a better showing.”

  Chapter 10

  The question of whether computers can think is just like the question

  of whether submarines can swim.

  - Edsger W. Dijkstra

  “This one. Oscar tagged it.”

  Director Tomov called up the results.

  Max Dosch. Shallow profile. Two tickets to Brazil, round trip, reserved this morning. The flight departed after our target dropped off the radar. Traveling partner, Andrie Van Gelder, no profile at all.

  “That’s him. Flag the flight and raise Brazil control. I want them alive.”

  “Queued for Sao Paulo – instructions sent. Confirmation... received. Sir, there is no photo for Andrie Van Gelder but Max Dosch is there on pad five.”

  An unremarkable face stared from the screen. Whoever Max Dosch really was, he had experience in eluding.

  “We’re on the right path. I’m stepping out for review. Sandy?”

  His AI replied, “Confirmed. director off floor.”

  Tomov went to his office and retrieved the bottle in his desk drawer. Tailor-made for his chemistry, the little blue pills would sharpen things up and relieve tension. He accessed the incident file and brought up A1’s and A2’s profiles.

  Crosstalk and SlotZero. Overseer’s link tangibility report suggested they were covertly tied via an unknown hacking organization. Austin had just one tangible, the hack or apparent hack of his network by SlotZero. Anki, a fringe contact within the organization, linked only to SlotZero.

  He shook his head. It appeared they were one degree off from wide-scale release.

  The comm beeped. “Sir, update on 901. Their flight landed at Charles de Gaulle for emergency maintenance. New plane, one hour to departure. Arrival in Sao Paulo is scheduled for 0340 hours tomorrow.”

  Less than an hour left. They’d done it before.

  “Contact Paris.”

  • • •

  The priority dispatch arrived in the offices of DECAP headquarters in downtown Sao Paulo. The Judicial Capital Police Department immediately alerted the GOE for an intercept operation at the airport the following morning. The Group de Operacoes Especiais, equivalent to an American SWAT team, was known for brutality in its operations when necessary.

  The GOE watch commander received the alert and began calling in his best men. A serial killer out of Europe was thinking of hiding out in Brazil – their favorite kind of intercept.

  The computer that received the initial dispatch also covertly provided a mirror dispatch to a GOE computer in the reception lobby which in turn
passed it to a web server belonging to the local electric company. Three handoffs later it arrived in a queue on one of the only systems still accepting input to the Underground’s messaging system.

  • • •

  “That’s almost beautiful.”

  The expansive latticework of the terminal dwarfed travelers and glowed luminous in the rays of the setting sun. Johan and Anki strolled arm in arm and admired the warmth.

  “Yes, quite beautiful. What time is it?”

  Anki squeezed his arm. “About five minutes since you asked me last. There, near the corner.” An empty internet kiosk beckoned.

  “Okay. We’ll see if Soldado received my message. Then we’ll arrange for word to reach your friend Sophia.”

  He purchased fifteen minutes using a chumped card. His zmail account had two messages in it, both from Soldado. The first one’s subject caught his attention.

  **abort-read this 1st **

  He scanned it, then closed the session and stood up.

  “Let’s head out.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Relax with me.” He smiled and led her forward. “It appears we’ve been made. They’re waiting in Sao Paulo.”

  Every face, near and far, tracked their every step, his every thought. A camera there and another over there, swiveling – but away, not at them. Automatic doors slid open as they approached an exit. Traffic noise greeted them.

  “They must know we’re laid over.”

  “They do. Soldado’s made an out for us. Look for a driver, a black man with a blue beret.”

  They found him standing next to a sedan with the door open. They hurried over and climbed in. Pulling away from the curb, the driver spoke around a thick French accent. “You’ll change cars and be cleaned up for another try. It’s a bit of a drive, so relax, be comfortable.”

  “Got a piece?”

  The driver looked in the rearview mirror. “Sure.” He reached under the seat and offered a semi-auto Walther.

  Johan took the pistol and checked its action. “Who is your control?”

  “E9. On orders from S-Man himself.”

  “What’s your status?”

  “Leveled up from contract late last year. Hoping to go full-time as soon as I organize my layer one stuff. I have my sponsors, I just need time and the right target.”

  “Consider startups. Often sloppy with security initially. American biotech or military research companies in South Africa. You’ll get highly competitive shit, good for resell or recovery. Join the gig big, that’s my advice.”

  “ ‘Join the gig big’. I like it. Thanks man, I’ll do that.”

  “So what do you know?”

  “All of Europe wants your ass in a basket. Never seen the media play up a murder so much.” He glanced in the rear view mirror again. “You’ll need a new face, that one will be on the telly soon. Um, hello. Look here.”

  Off to the left, police sped towards the airport. Every few seconds more appeared. To the right, a vehicle drove up the off-ramp with lights and sirens on, prepared to block traffic. The driver shook his head. “We’ll use the streets.”

  The next exit was clear so he took it. Within minutes they were off the freeway and well into the avenues.

  The driver watched his mirrors. “Too close. I hope P and O don’t get caught up in any of that. Petra and Osiris. They came to look for you in case you didn’t check your mail.”

  Johan hoped, too. “I’m grateful for the help.”

  Dusk had fallen to darkness by the time they arrived on a residential street. The driver killed his lights and pulled up a short distance from a blue van. Anki and Johan emerged into the summer evening and walked towards the van, hand in hand. For a vivid moment they were just residents from the neighborhood, enjoying a walk. He tensed when the side door slid open. A man stepped out, illuminated by the van’s dome lamp.

  “Greetings. I’m Oliver, your best friend for the next little while. Friends call me O.T. Let’s say we get you two outta danger?” He gestured. “C’mon, don’t be shy, plenty of room.” Another man occupied a rear bench seat. “Don’t mind Corky. Just a regular hack. Our brute.”

  He helped Anki in and took a seat beside her. “Thank you. Close call, that.”

  Oliver pulled the door shut and took the passenger’s seat as the van set out. “Closer than you think. Your photo made the news. They closed the airport, halted outbound flights, and set up blocks at the roads. All to catch the Butcher of Rotterdam.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “You should be. Only striking workers and crumbling terminals ever shut de Gaulle down. The media hounds are lappin’ it up. Guess the way they chopped her up makes for headlines.”

  He gave Oliver a hard look.

  “Now mate, sorry for that. Didn’t think you were familiar. Listen, I’ve got status for you. You’ll want this stuff.”

  Soldado had suspended most major subsystems, interrupting operations throughout the Underground. Members were extremely pissed off for having been left in precarious situations.

  “We’ve got to operate in a vacuum with you. We’re on to the towpath house to see what Annie can do for your makeup. We’ll use zmail to get updates from S-man. They’re retooling Magistrate to resume comms but that’ll take a day at least. Hopefully we get you on your way within twenty-four hours. Weren’t too much in a hurry, I hope.”

  He shook his head. A river passed below. The lights of Paris danced in its waters. The van came off the highway into an older residential district. Still no sense of the hunters’ pressure.

  “Ya know we’re dying to know who ‘them’ is. The murder rap, the neighbor, it don’t add up. Care to throw a dog a bone? What’s really going on?”

  He liked Oliver less and less. A mercenary type, he likely moved in more than one circle and could easily be a loose mouth.

  “No bones. Sorry.” The circle stayed tight.

  Oliver shrugged. “Ah, it’s alright. I shouldn’t of asked. We’ll be home in a minute and get you freshed up.”

  The towpath house was just that – a house on an old river road once used by horses or oxen to tow barges upriver. Tucked back in a thick copse of trees, the two-story house was a modest affair, not well kept. A lamp revealed weeds in the front yard, a derelict rowboat in the unfenced side yard, sagging gutters, and shabby mismatched curtains in the windows. Its greatest assets had to be the view of the river and its seclusion, while its greatest fault was surely the proximity to the rails, some fifty meters beyond. A passing train shook the ground.

  Anki hugged him tightly, a sudden and needful embrace.

  He stroked her hair. “Are you alright?”

  She nodded but obviously wasn’t. He silently promised to work to calm her fears so she could sleep. They followed the men to a side door. Inside, a bare ceiling bulb lit a pale yellow kitchen.

  Oliver called out. “Annie! They’re here! Annie! For the love of... woman? You in the loo? Gah, the girl’s always pissing.”

  Days’ worth of dishes covered the kitchen sink and counter. Trash spilled out of the can. Boxes lined the adjacent dining room walls, labeled and left from the last move.

  He led Anki into a living room with more clutter and still-packed boxes. Corky opened the fridge to retrieve a beer while the driver disappeared down a hallway.

  Oliver grew angry climbing the stairs. “Annie! They’re here! Get your bloody ass outta bed!”

  Anki asked, “You wouldn’t talk to me that way, would you?”

  Still scanning, he replied absently, “I couldn’t possibly.” The front door’s frame was splintered, the deadbolt still deployed. Checking the knob, it too, was locked. Fibers of wood and paint chips lay on the floor, undisturbed where they’d fallen. Fresh violence emanated from the wood.

  “Let’s head outside. I think I left my phone in the van.”

  A solid thump shook the ceiling. He grabbed Anki’s arm and reached for the Walther. The door opened to reveal a silenced pistol held by
a dark-clothed man. “Gelieve niet weerstaan, herr Dosch. Hand away from the weapon. Ga terug.”

  Three armed men swept into the kitchen, subdued Corky, and went down the hall to secure the driver. Johan was relieved of the Walther.

  Two more men descended from upstairs. One, a curly haired Frenchman, approached Johan. He examined his face and poked the chin pad.

  “Not a bad job. Alright, nothing stupid tonight. It’s in both your interests to come along quietly. You seem intelligent so that should be enough said. Do yourselves the favor and prove me right.”

  Capture felt nothing like he’d imagined it might.

  Instead of defiance, cunning, and confidence, he felt like a mouse pinned by a rail spike, hemorrhaging and helpless. Patted down thoroughly, pockets emptied, and their shoes removed, they were herded outside and loaded into a van lined with padded benches. The sound of Oliver’s van’s tires being punctured accentuated the tense silence.

  He held Anki’s hand while trying to get a read on the men sitting opposite them. Hard, serious professionals, doing a job.

  We’re a job.

  The curly haired leader climbed in and they departed. That they hadn’t shot him on sight was both encouraging and terrifying. The thought of torture was intolerable and gave rise to panic. If they hurt Anki in front of him...

  Panic and adrenaline surged. Faintly, he recognized the pressure; the hunters were back, pinging him. At the thought, the curly Frenchman nearly jumped from the passenger’s seat to squat in front of him.

  “You need to calm down, Mr. Dosch. And you know what I mean.”

  “The fuck I do.”

  As if on cue, the pressure surged. He invited it, met its frequency, let it bounce his psyche like a rough massage. He tried following it, to examine the approaching minds to find a way to get to them. It was the only hope at offense.

  The curly haired leader nodded to the guards. They slammed him face down and yanked his arms behind. Anki lunged to stop them but received a vicious kick. A syringe went into his spine, eliciting a blood curdling scream.

  “WHAT THE FUCK!” he shouted. A darkness grew peripherally, threatening to take him. He fought to see Anki one last time.