From the Shadows: The Complete Series

by KB Shaw

  As the man stepped into the circular hall, a sudden movement to one side startled him. Something had retreated into the shadows. He quickly secured the secret door.

  “Hei?” He scanned the edges of the hall. “Noen der?”

  He took a couple tentative steps forward, stopped, then scanned the room once more. He was about to continue when there was a flash of motion to his left. He swung about, poised to face his assailant – feet set apart at shoulder width, knees slightly bent, shoulders square over his hips, elbows close to his body, hands ready to strike or defend.

  There was no assault.

  The movement was now at the center of the hall.

  The man spun around.

  Nothing.

  “Noen der?”

  No response.

  Then he noticed it. A small shadow on the floor shifted position, sprouted wings, and came rushing at him. The shadow veered off and circled the room.

  The man looked up. A large hawk or falcon of some sort soared above the glass dome. The man relaxed his stance and smiled. He left the hall confidant that his remarkable room was still a secret.

  • • •

  THE BIRD perched atop the peak of the dome where it watched the man as he left the hall. It cocked its head and sat for some time as if lost in some deep thought. Then it stretched its wings, let out a shriek, and launched itself from its perch. It circled the dome one last time, before flying off into the darkness like a wraith in the night.

  Part Two:

  Convergence

  “Is the convergence of certain people, under particular circumstances, at a specific moment in time, an ordered destiny or a chaotic serendipity?”

  — SJ

  Chapter 24:

  Socrates Jones

  CAMERON’S IHT Academy class was scheduled to be the last two periods of the school day. However, high school classes wouldn’t start for another week, so he would attend his first five IHT classes from his bedroom. The problem was football practice: the team had already begun twice-a-day drills—one in the morning and one in the afternoon. The schedule would be fine once he began attending class at the high school, but until then he had to rush off to practice the second the IHT class ended.

  Cameron opened the IDO box, removed his IHT, and placed it in his pocket. He then sat down at his desk and studied the instruction sheet he had printed out. “Power,” he said, his attention shifting from the instructions to the list of his Academy classmates. It consisted of eight students. He, Rosa, and Becky were the Americans in the group. (Malik lived in the Eastern time zone, so he was assigned to another homeroom.) Two of the four Canadian students, Andrew Martin and Ian McKierny, were on the list, as were both Mexican students, Consuela Martinez and Raúl Garza. Eduardo Castaneda, from Costa Rica, rounded out the class.

  “It is almost time, Cameron,” said Sam. “I am looking forward to the class.”

  Cameron was only half listening to Sam because he was checking the time on his pocket-watch IHT. “Thank you, Sam,” he said before he grasped the meaning of Sam’s words. “Wait a minute! What do you mean, you’re looking forward to the class?”

  “Cameron, didn’t you read the entire syllabus? All student AIs are to attend the first day of class.”

  “I wonder why…”

  “No need to waste time on conjecture, Cameron. We shall find out in a few minutes.”

  Cameron’s impatience got the best of him. He held the face of the pocket watch up to the screen for Sam to see. “Do you think it’s too early to go?”

  “Someone has to be first,” said Sam.

  “Okay, Sam, please initiate log-in RUSH-678-WEST.”

  “Voice authorization verified. Command code accepted.”

  Cameron’s room faded away. When the Academy classroom took shape, Cameron was very disappointed. He was sitting at an ordinary school desk in a normal-looking classroom. He saw a row of windows to his left, and the classroom door was located toward the front of the room, in the wall to his right. Chalkboards covered the front wall behind the teacher’s desk, which was near the windows. A small lectern stood a few feet to the right of the desk.

  “Not what I expected,” someone said from behind. There was something familiar about the voice. Cameron turned to see a kindly, older man seated in the desk directly behind him. He was just a tad overweight and balding. The man was dressed very prim and proper in a suit with a vest, and looked like a butler or servant of some sort. Cameron squinted, trying to place the face.

  The man raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the surroundings. “I was expecting something more modern—something eye-catching. Weren’t you?”

  “Sam?” Cameron was bemused by his AI’s physical appearance.

  The man turned to Cameron and regarded him with kind eyes. “Yes, Cameron?”

  “Is that really you?”

  “Why, of course.” Sam’s voice was a much more human version of his real-world voice. “Is something the matter?”

  Just then, two new people faded in, then two more. Giggles from the back of the room announced Becky’s arrival. The others followed her quickly.

  Rosa was sitting in the front row, next to the windows. She craned her neck, taking in the entire room. She smiled when her eyes met Cameron’s. She continued glancing around the room until she came to the blond girl seated directly behind her. The girl looked like she had stepped out of a movie from the 1950s. She was wearing a fuzzy white sweater and a pink skirt, had a ribbon in her hair, and was chewing anxiously on a wad of gum. Rosa’s hand rose to her mouth, covering a laugh. “Vee!”

  Cameron took his turn examining the room, paying particular attention to the seats that were apparently assigned to the multiCom AIs. He noticed that Becky’s AI could have been a twin sister. While the AIs ranged in appearance from paternal to sibling to perhaps “best friend,” Sam was quite unique. He looked like an English manservant. Weird, thought Cameron.

  A bell rang and a thin, wiry man with longish, graying hair entered through the door. Wire-rimmed, half-moon shaped glasses were perched low on his slender, pointy nose. He set some notes on the podium, turned, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote on the board in big letters:

  Socrates Jones

  “I am your homeroom teacher, Mr. Socrates Jones,” said the man. He was dressed in well-worn brown slacks with a tweed jacket pulled over a turtleneck sweater. “Welcome to the IHT Academy. Your homeroom number is 678-West.” Mr. Jones scrawled the number on the board and then clasped his hands behind his back and proceeded to walk among the students’ desks. He came to a stop next to Cameron. “Mr. Rush, do you have any idea as to the significance of your homeroom number?”

  Cameron froze. “Uh?”

  “Incorrect, Mr. Rush!” The teacher moved on to another desk. “Miss Weingold?” Young Becky could only answer with nervous giggles. “How about you, Mr. Castaneda? What is the significance of your homeroom number?” The boy from Costa Rica fared no better than Cameron. “Well, this is a rather slow start, isn’t it?” asked Socrates Jones. “And you, Miss Martinez?”

  “Could the ‘West’ refer to the Western Hemisphere?” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

  “Very good, Miss Martinez,” said Mr. Jones. “Very good, but incorrect. Mr. McKierny, why was Miss Martinez’s answer good while being incorrect?”

  “Well, because… I mean…”

  Socrates Jones put his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “You mean because she set out a rational supposition based on the facts she had. Don’t you, Mr. McKierny?”

  “Uh, sure… I guess.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Mr. Jones patted the boy’s shoulder as he spoke, then he returned to Consuela Martinez. “Why did you think ‘west’ referred to the Western Hemisphere, Miss Martinez?”

  “Well… Um… This is an international academy, isn’t it?”

  “Go on,” said Socrates.

  “There are students from many time zones around the world…” Consuela’s eyes grew large with realiza
tion. “That’s the key, isn’t it?”

  Socrates Jones smiled at the girl and held out a finger, motioning her to be quiet. “Mr. Martin, what is the key that Consuela has discovered?”

  “She realized that west isn’t a geographical description,” said Andrew, “at least not in the sense of a world hemisphere.”

  “Mr. Garza,” the teacher was walking to the podium at the front of the room, “continue the thought, please.”

  “Then it has to do with the time zones?” asked the student from Mexico, his voice rising in pitch at the end of his sentence.

  “Is that a question or a statement, Mr. Garza?” Mr. Jones peered over his glasses at the boy who sat directly in front of the lectern.

  “It has to do with the time zones, sir,” said Raúl as confidently as he could.

  “And how can the word ‘west’ describe a time zone, Miss Costas?”

  “The international date line?” Rosa was filled with anxiety. “I mean, the international date line!” She could feel the sweat bead up on her brow.

  “Mr. Castaneda…” Socrates Jones started to move on.

  “No, not the international dateline.” Rosa was desperate not to lose her opportunity. “That doesn’t fit. We’re located east of the dateline. It refers to Greenwich Mean Time!”

  “Okay, Mr. Castaneda, now, if Miss Costas is finished, it is your turn again. What is Greenwich Mean Time?”

  “It has to do with latitude… er… longitude… I… uh… I don’t remember…” Eduardo fell silent and looked down at his hands clasped on his desk in front of him. “If I had my multiCom…” he muttered under his breath.

  “I am right here, behind you, Eduardo,” said the boy’s multiCom AI. Eduardo’s AI looked and acted like an older brother.

  “Manuel,” said Eduardo, twisting in his seat, “I forgot you were you.”

  “Exactly!” said Socrates Jones. The teacher lifted something from the lectern. It was a small, handheld device of some sort. He tapped it with a finger and the room morphed into a vast meadow. The students sat next to their personal AIs on wooden benches arranged in a close circle. Socrates Jones stood in the center of the circle, now attired in jeans and a sweatshirt with the words JUST ASK emblazoned on the front.

  Socrates slid the device into his pants pocket and took a deep breath of fresh air scented with wildflowers. “This is more like it! Now, where were we? Ah, yes! If only you had your multiCom, Mr. Castaneda. Anyone have a theory as to why Mr. Castaneda made that comment, even though his multiCom AI was sitting right behind him?”

  The students looked at each other, hoping someone else had the answer. Becky Weingold’s AI timidly raised her hand. “Is it okay for us to speak?”

  “Whenever you are a member of this class, you are welcome to participate.”

  “Could it be…” She looked to Socrates for direction, “Can I ask questions, or do I have to make statements?”

  Socrates pointed to the words on his shirt.

  “Could it be,” Becky’s AI proposed, “because our users don’t see us for who we are? Could it be because they see us simply as tools?

  Chapter 25:

  Oslo

  MEAGAN FLETCHER recorded her story on the spectacular introduction of IHT v1.0 late Saturday morning, as soon as the Academy orientation-turned-masked-ball had ended. The five reporters who were invited to represent the world press at the event were supplied with an animated 3D rendering of the ballroom, which they could use in their stories.

  After the report was recorded, Meagan asked her producer if they could talk privately. The two women retreated to the producer’s office, where Meagan broke the news that she had to go away and would return in a few days with the scoop of the century. She said nothing more. She didn’t say what the scoop would be, where she was going, or exactly how long she would be gone.

  “That’s all you can tell me?” asked the producer, giving Meagan a skeptical look. When Meagan remained silent, the producer prodded, “It has to do with GundTech, doesn’t it? You found out something at the orientation session, didn’t you?”

  Meagan simply turned on her heel and left. “I’ll see ya when I see ya,” she said over her shoulder as she walked out of the room.

  As Meagan entered her office, Jason greeted her with the news that X-Boy had sent a travel schedule to the reporter’s Pvt03 channel.

  “Print it, please, Jason.” Meagan retrieved the paper from the printScan as soon as it appeared and examined it. It told her that a GundTech employee would pick her up early Sunday morning to take her to the airport. She would then board a GundTech jet and be flown to Oslo, where she would stay at the Grand Hotel for the duration of her visit—all expenses paid, of course. On Monday morning, Oslo time, she would be taken to GundTech headquarters for her meeting.

  “I am worried about you, Meagan,” said Jason. “I wish I could be there with you.”

  Meagan was genuinely touched. “I wish you could come too, Jason, I really do. I’d love to have your input.” Meagan double-checked her briefcase. Yes, she had packed everything she needed. “Would you like the curtains open or closed?”

  “Closed, please,” said Jason somberly.

  Meagan touched the display in her desktop, and the curtains glided shut. “Good-bye, Jason. See you in a few days.”

  Jason’s analysis of Meagan’s voice indicated she was quite happy and at ease. “Good-bye, Meagan.” His partner left the room, shutting the office door behind her. Then, very softly, he said to the empty room, “I’ll miss you.”

  • • •

  MEAGAN LAY in her bed and stared at the ceiling of her hotel room. It was Monday morning. A soft sunlight streamed through the tall windows of her room. She could only think of one word to describe her trip so far: luxurious! She rolled on her side so she could see the face of the clock that sat on the stand beside the bed. When her eyes focused on the clock’s display, she sat bolt upright. I’m going to be late! She swung her feet over the edge of the bed.

  A frantic half-hour later, she was showered and dressed in her charcoal gray suit. At times like this, she was happy her hair was cut in an easy-to-maintain style. A few minutes with a brush and a blow dryer, and she’d be ready to go. As it turned out, it was a few minutes she didn’t have, for there was a loud knock at the door.

  Meagan cracked the door open without removing the chain lock and peeked through the opening. Gwen Johanssen stood in the hall. “Oh! Hello,” said Meagan in surprise. “Pardon me. Just a second, please.” She closed the door, removed the chain, then opened it wide. The reporter ran a hand through her damp, limp hair and beckoned the GundTech executive into her room.

  “I’m sorry,” said Gwen coolly. “Am I early?”

  Meagan closed the door and followed Ms. Johanssen into the hotel suite’s sitting room. “No, quite the opposite. I’m running late.” The two women exchanged small talk as Meagan Fletcher finished drying her hair and applied the little makeup she normally wore.

  When Meagan had finished, Gwen escorted her to a small, private dining room in the hotel. A single table, set for three, stood in the middle of the room. It was laid out with fresh fruit, pastries, and three crystal pitchers of different juices. In the corner of the room a chef waited, ready to cook eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, or crepes to order. Sitting at the far side of the table, with the window to his back, was the boy wonder… X-Boy… Gus.

  “Good morning,” he said as he rose from his chair. “Let me properly introduce myself. I’m Gus Villfarelse, President of GundTech.”

  Meagan extended her hand, which he took in his. She didn’t have to mention she knew it wasn’t his real name.

  Gus gestured toward Gwen. “You know Gwen from our press conferences.” Meagan nodded politely. “Good! Please, have a seat.” Gus pulled a chair out for his guest. When she was seated, he did the same for Gwen. “And how was your trip?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  They chatted casually as they enjoyed their breakfast.
Maybe it was just Meagan’s overactive reporter’s imagination, but she had the feeling Gwen Johanssen was not at ease. Was she just uncomfortable with strangers? Was she uncomfortable with the knowledge that a member of the press had identified her boss? Or was she uncomfortable seeing the boy wonder with another woman?

  The reporter decided to test the waters. “How long have you been with GundTech, Gwen?” She observed the quick glance in Gus’s direction before Gwen answered.

  “Since the beginning.” Her reply was short and curt.

  “And what brought you to the company?”

  Another reflexive eye movement toward Gus. “I’ve known Gus for a long time.”

  “A long time?”

  “Since we were children,” said Gus. He looked at his watch and then motioned for the chef to retire from the room. “Now, down to business, Meagan. Let me lay this on you all at once. We’ll worry about the details later. As I’ve told you, I need you for one single reason.”

  Meagan found this statement somewhat peculiar. Why did he use the redundant phrase “for one single reason?”

  “And that reason is this. The concepts that lie beneath the IHT technology are so basic and so revolutionary that they will change the world—scientifically, economically, and socially. If this knowledge is managed poorly, chaos could ensue and the financial systems of many smaller countries could collapse. I want you to help us figure out how to manage this information—how to distribute it. With your connections to all the major technology companies around the world…”

  “Wait a minute,” Meagan held up a hand. “Slow down. Isn’t how you sell the information to other companies a marketing question? Isn’t that part of what you do, Gwen?” Maybe that’s it, Meagan thought, I’ve been brought in to replace Gwen. That’s why she’s uncomfortable. “I’m not a marketing person.”