Point Apocalypse

by Alex Bobl

  "Go up to the top floor. Ask-" she shook her head and glanced in the window. "No. I'll take you there."

  She took the key and rose from the desk. I stepped aside letting her pass. Once she turned her back to me, I said,

  "Rita."

  "Yes?" she turned cocking a brow.

  "Let's go, then," I stepped aside and opened the door for her.

  She paused, then walked out into the hallway. She glanced at the Chinese bristling with guns, acknowledged Wladas' tired smile with a nod and walked upstairs.

  On the top floor, a narrow hallway led to both sides from the stairs. The weak odor of beeswax and herbs hung in the air. Some sort of fluffy mat covered the floor dampening our footsteps. The woman turned right and walked past the row of doors to a dimly-lit counter at the back.

  "Claudie," she called out as she walked. "You can't be sleeping, surely? How many times do I need to tell you..."

  A cute sleepy face showed from behind the counter. A girl jumped up, her expression clouding with fear, and started mumbling apologies.

  "How on earth can you sleep with all that racket downstairs?"

  I could see the owner wasn't angry, just keeping up appearances in front of a client. The anthem-bawling voices ceased. I could catch a few words.

  "We've got new guests. Is the water tank full in room three?"

  "Yes, Madame," Claudie tucked in a few loose hairs away from her face, rearranged her homespun frock and looked up at the owner. "Uncle Vanya filled it today as soon as the room was vacated. It's cleaned and the sheets have been changed," the girl said in her melodious high-pitched voice it as she glanced at us with a smile.

  "Oh well," the owner turned and handed me the key. "Make yourself at home."

  Her hand on the key lingered. "Get them their dinner now."

  "Yes, Madame," the girl jumped up and hurried to the stairs.

  Rita gave us another studious look and walked away without saying a word. I waited for her steps to die away, then unlocked the door.

  The room had three beds lined up against one wall, each with a bedside cabinet. Above one of the beds, the filmy pane of a tiny window let in the weak glow of a streetlight. To the right of the door, one corner was partitioned off with a plastic curtain. I pulled it aside: it was a shower, or rather a rusty water tank under the ceiling, with a bent shower head and a faucet. Plus a few slivers of soap on a shelf, three white towels on a rack and a drainage grate on the floor.

  "And what do they do when they need to take a-" Wladas started and stopped when I turned round. "No more questions," he waved me off. "Outdoor plumbing, I suppose. I'll hold it."

  "You sure you can?"

  He shrugged and mumbled it could wait till morning, then stretched out on the bed under the window.

  Wong pulled off his shotgun and sat on the bed to the left of the door. He inspected the bedside cabinet, took off what looked suspiciously like an old-fashioned oil lamp and started studying it. I had a look around. The walls were lined with laminate panels. The same kind of fluffy matting covered the floor. You could barely hear what was going on downstairs.

  Someone knocked. The Chinese placed the lamp back and took up his gun. Wladas sat up. I lay one hand on the gun under my belt and opened the door.

  "Dinner," the voice chanted on the doorstep. The drunken patrons downstairs started a new song.

  The girl walked in holding a tray with two pitchers, three mugs and three platefuls of food.

  "Why are you sitting here in the dark?" she looked around.

  "Actually..." Wladas rose. Claudie shoved the tray at him and crouched by Wong's bed with her back to me. The Chinese watched as she fiddled with the lamp on the cabinet. In a second, something clinked. The room filled with a soft white glow.

  Wong passed me a meaningful look and gave the girl a wink.

  "Thanks a lot, Claudie," I nodded at the door. "I hope for some peace and quiet till morning."

  "Depend upon it," the girl left the room. In the hallway, she turned around and added, "If you need anything, I'll be at my desk."

  "And if you're not?"

  "Ask Uncle Vanya."

  "Which is who?"

  "He's got a beard like this big. He fills in for me."

  "Will do," I locked the door and walked to the last vacant bed. Wladas kept standing, tray in hand, staring at the lamp.

  "What're you standing here for?" I leaned the shotgun against the backrest, shoved the pistol under the pillow and started unlacing my boots. "Time for some grub, a shower and some shut-eye."

  "Time to be making some plans," Wladas placed the tray onto his bedside table and brought two of the plates to Wong and me. "We need to decide what to do next. Don't you think?"

  "Let's eat first," I reached to my plate for a greenish fruit that looked a lot like an unripe plum. "That's not too bad," I mumbled munching it whole. "Tastes nice."

  Wong nodded, smiling, and attacked his dinner.

  I placed the plate on top of the cabinet, kicked my boots off, peeled off the tank top and my pants, threw the belt and the holster onto the bed and headed for the shower. I needed to have a think. Lots of things to discuss, many of which my new friends had no business knowing.

  The warm shower left a metallic taste in my mouth. I lifted my face to the weak jet thinking of everything that had happened at the jump base, of the Information in my head, of the silent Chinese and my strange urge to head for the Sea Pearl.

  Now why would I come here? Why the hurry? I shook my head, ran a hand against my outgrown crew cut, picked up a sliver of soap and started to rub my neck, chest and stomach washing off all the sweat and brine.

  Rita's stare, her hesitation... she seemed to question my actions.

  I rinsed off the soap and closed the tap. Wiped my face with one of the towels on the hooks. I lingered staring at the shower curtain before me. Wladas was a chartered neurotech. He had to understand military mnemotechnics as well as I did guns. He had to know all about the latest research developments. About brain-installed wetware. Wouldn't be a bad thing asking him. But how would I begin?

  I wrapped the towel around my hips and headed back to my bed.

  "Is it edible?"

  Wladas took a large swig from the pitcher,

  "You could say that! Consider yourself lucky we didn't demolish your plate."

  The Chinese removed his clothes and walked into the shower.

  "Here," Wladas went on, "try their fruit juice. Or energy drink, whatever." He filled a mug and reached it out to me without getting up, "Have a taste. It's a bit tart but really clears one's head. Great stuff."

  I lifted the mug catching a whiff of oranges and took a large swig. I concentrated. My belly lurched and started rumbling, and that was that.

  "So," Wladas nodded at the mug, "how does it feel?"

  I took another swig, returned the mug to the cabinet and shrugged.

  "Good enough." With that, I attacked my plate.

  The shower curtain rustled and the water started gurgling. Wong whistled a cheerful quiet tune. If I needed to speak to Wladas, I had to do it now while the Chinese couldn't hear.

  "Feeling better?" I asked him munching on a handful of bilberry-type fruit.

  "Actually..." the neurotech paused, "no, I'm all right."

  He turned to the window, then sat up. "No. I'm not all right. I mean, I don't know what to think. Too many things have happened." Wladas groped the air in front of him. "My head is a mess. But overall, I'm fine. I really am."

  I lifted my face and shoveled the remaining berries into my mouth. "I need to ask you a few questions," I said with a full mouth and washed the food down with my drink. "You might find them a bit out of the ordinary."

  "In our situation, any question would sound out of the ordinary. We're-"

  I raised my hand forcing him to stop. "Wait till I ask."

  The Chinese stopped whistling and said something quick. Then he started up the tune again.

  Wladas and I looked at his wet
brown feet beneath the shower curtain.

  "He's weird," the neurotech said.

  "It's not about him I want to ask you," I turned to Wladas. "What do you know about memory implants? And downloadable wetware? Only the latest research, please. Come on, I'm listening."

  Wladas placed his elbows onto his knees and locked his fingers.

  "Go ahead, spill. What's the purpose of such implants and the possible size of downloadable files? Can you give me the figures?"

  His complexion darkened, eyes glistened with agitation. He didn't look at ease with my questions. "Why would you need them?"

  I raised my hand again. "Just answer my question, okay? I mean the Feds' research where they decided to use chemicals instead of memory chips."

  "Urban legends," Wladas unlocked his fingers and shook his head. "To download a file into a brain, you need a memory chip. You know that as well as I do."

  I nodded. "I do. But imagine an information file installed into one's brain via a memory chip. Then they remove the chip. Is it possible?"

  "Well, theoretically..." Wladas looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "Everything's possible. But," he shook his head again, "but that's theory. The Feds haven't made much headway on the army in this respect. I do know they experimented with chemicals. But experimentation is one thing, and getting results is something totally-"

  "Who did you work for? The Feds or the army? What did you do back on Earth? Tell me."

  Wladas sighed and stared at the floor. I looked at the shower curtain. Soapy water ran down Wong's legs. He'd nearly finished washing while I hadn't gotten anywhere with my questions.

  "I used to be deputy head of one of the General Staff's laboratories," Wladas spoke in a hollow voice, staring blankly. Blood had left his face. "I served in Sector B."

  He looked up at me. I raised my eyebrows.

  "You should know it controls the ground forces," Wladas looked down again.

  Holy shit. I was talking to a man privy to the country's top classified crap. People like him were the backbone of our defense. What idiot was responsible for sending him down here? Sector B, for chrissakes... I had another look at the neurotech. He was still staring into the distance, his sallow face frozen. Not good. Our conversation had taken a bad turn.

  The faucet screeched. The shower curtain rustled. Wong walked back to his bed, lay the shotgun across his lap and began to dismantle it.

  "So you were responsible for the top brass' brains," I ventured. "Why are you here, then?"

  Wladas took a deep breath, rubbed his face and let the air out. "I..." he scratched his hollow cheek with a thumb, "I was found guilty of grave negligence. The investigation confirmed multimillion ruble losses that had undermined our defense..."

  "Which is what?" I interrupted him. "Can you tell me in two words?"

  "Just a bad supplier I signed up. Should have read the fine print. So - here I am."

  I was itching to ask him about the size of his cut. I was more than sure that the said supplier had then paid a nice amount into some shady overseas bank account - either Wladas', or his chief's. But I refrained from commenting. We all had our skeletons in the closet, otherwise we wouldn't have ended up here in the first place. But now we had to decide what to do next.

  "I digress," I yawned and rubbed my eyes. I felt as if I hadn't slept for three nights at least. "How would you introduce information into one's memory so that the file unpacks at a particular moment?"

  Wladas lifted a glazed stare. He wasn't good at switching subjects.

  "Well, provided you have a memory chip installed..." he frowned and moved his lips. "What am I talking about? Once the chip's introduced into the brain, you set the timer. The file unpacks at the set time."

  "And without a chip? Can you think of anything?"

  Wong clicked the firing pin, looked into the barrel, blew into it and looked again against the lamp light.

  "Well," Wladas cocked his head rubbing his chin, "there's this memory layering technique. Simply put, they program the information carrier through the chip, then introduce the trigger code. Later, when the carrier perceives the trigger code, the file unpacks in his brain."

  I felt lightning-struck. But of course. I remembered the jumpgate corridor on the Base when I'd very nearly picked a fight with the now-drowned miner. I'd looked at the ceiling, and...

  "Does the code have a particular shape? How is it introduced?"

  "Through visual perception, or alternatively, certain memory areas can be activated by a vocal command. That's when the carrier reacts to a particular trigger word or phrase. Visually, it can be any kind of image, like a snapshot or an object of some sort."

  Oh well. I closed my eyes trying to tie everything together. First, my brain had reacted to the Fort's colors on the jumpgate ceiling. That's when the Information had first come on. Then it had to be the biocyne facts - yes, that's right, it had happened when Grunt had spoken about carula, and I had reacted by remembering the trigger word, biocyne. What else? Yes, the map of the Continent, it showed up twice. Most likely, similar objects or their recognizable characteristics triggered the installed images. First it had happened when I'd seen the ocean and the Pangean coastline. The second time the map had been conjured up by Georgie's sketching the Continent's outline in the sand.

  Okay, that much I now understood. Images and words activated certain memories installed in my brain. And still I must have overlooked something. There was more to it, but what?

  A cartridge popped down the barrel. I instinctively forced my eyes open. Wong put aside his shotgun and reached for the other indifferently. Wladas, pitcher in hand, gave me an expectant look. I yawned and rubbed my temples. My head felt heavy. I couldn't keep my eyes open.

  "And what if-" I paused, trying to locate a fleeting thought. A very important one which stayed restless at the fringes of my mind exhausted by today's events and the data overload. "What if..."

  Wait. My mind scan. Had the mind scan operator detected the slightest deviation in my identity from the one in their database, they would have detained me on the spot. Most likely, they'd have sent me back to Earth for further investigation. True, the mind scan had glitched. They'd had to do it twice. But at the end of the day, it had worked.

  "Wladas? And what if, say, the carrier is subjected to such identity-altering memory layering against his will? Say, if they could put him to sleep or something? Can the mind scan show he's been tampered with?"

  The neurotech's grin had just a touch of condescension.

  "Mind scans detect any deviation from the existing pattern. You can't fool a machine. That's why the Feds have dropped biometrics. They have no need for them anymore," Wladas grabbed the pitcher and finished the fruit drink. "Actually... Your questions are a bit off, don't you think? We wanted to discuss what to do next. And you-"

  "Wait," I raised a warning finger. "And what if somebody tampers with mind scan settings..."

  "Impossible," he shook his head. "You might just as well suggest paying off the entire mind scan staff. You just can't. The equipment is too complex. Every module has its own operator, plus three more doing the scan and the duty shift supervising their work."

  "I see," I let the air out of my lungs. The tiredness was getting the best of me. I lay down and closed my eyes.

  "Mind telling me why you need to know all this? All these mnemotech inquiries. What're you up to? Mark?"

  Valdas' voice grew far and low. I wanted to look at him but couldn't open my eyelids. I couldn't even move my hand.

  "It's n-nothing," I managed. "To- morrow... we'll see... where to go... Wong-"

  I heard a rustle. I sensed the Chinese coming near me.

  "Try to get... some rest. Tonight we're safe..."

  Hundreds of bright dots appeared before my shut eyes. My mind collapsed into a void and rushed toward a brilliant kaleidoscope of shapes and stripes. The last thing I saw was the hotel sign. The glowing lettering loomed close and took over my brain. The light grew unbearably bright b
efore it went out.

  I had no idea what was going on but suddenly I knew that from that moment on, everything was different. A strange voice boomed in my head, painfully familiar. Its sound calmed me down drowning me in a vortex of memories. I gave in to the flow and sank in, willingly and yieldingly.

  Chapter Six

  New Identity

  "Mark?" came from afar. "Mark..."

  I forced my eyes open. A haze filled my vision.

  "Mark!" a voice spoke clear next to me. "D'you hear me? Wake up!" Wladas' anxious voice cut through the mental fog.

  Only then did I realize he was shaking me awake.

  "Get up, Private! Now! Come on..."

  I sat up and shook my head, trying to rid of the haze. For a moment I squeezed my eyes shut. When I reopened them, the blurred outlines around me started to take both shape and color. Wladas stood by the bed looking into my face. Behind his back, Wong's silhouette loomed by the half-open door. He was fully dressed, shotgun at the ready.

  A strange disturbing sound came either through the door or through the window. I couldn't work out what was going on and what time it was.

  I turned my head. Sunlight poured through the window. I'd slept all night. The sound came from the street. Now I knew it: someone was banging at the hotel door with a gun butt yelling to be let in.

  "What..." I licked my dry lips. My throat felt like a blocked drain as if the night before I'd made my way through a bottle of vodka. The downstairs banging echoed in my head. "What's going on?"

  "Mark, it's those people in the street," Wladas stepped over to his bed and took a peek out of the window. "I think they're looking for us."

  Wong stood by the door, cool as a rail. One shotgun was slung behind his back. The other aimed at the floor, his finger on the trigger, the lower part of the butt touching his shoulder: a practiced stance that betrayed a professional. This wasn't his first mission.

  A mission! My mission... The Chinese was my partner and my cover man. I was Mark Posner, an FSA major, sent to Pangea on a confidential mission. I had to locate the researcher, Boris Neumann, and bring him back to Earth with me. I took my orders from the Federal Agency director alone. Seeing as Wong and I were now in the hotel, our penetration of the Base must have gone like clockwork: the visual triggers must have unpacked in the right progression and now the night's sleep had undone the temporary modifications done to my identity.