Beyond Asimios: Book One

by Martin Fossum

  —All right, Carerra said. Keep me posted. I’m going to go smooth over some rough edges before we reconvene. I think Stanhope’s going to need a little petting.

  —She’s fuming.

  —They all are. I was hoping for a more cooperative mood. I’m beginning to wonder if that was optimistic.

  Halpern nodded and turned to monitor his VI. He ran through his messages for anything new and then he tried to connect with Larkin once more, without success. He looked out the window, to the East and over the towering buildings that made Seattle the most impressive skyline in the world. In the distance, somewhere beyond Mount Rainier, a crew of engineers was hard at work trying to prevent a disaster of incalculable scale.

  Ernesto Lopez-Larkin, a gin and tonic in one hand, and Keiko’s deliciously thin ankle in the other, brushed away the alert icon that pestered him at the edge of his VI and, with increasing rhythm, moved in and out of woman beneath him. Halpern could wait.

  Ernesto tipped his glass back and emptied it. He’d been at the Halpern’s beck and call ever since the security chief’s arrival. He’d earned a little peace and quite. He increased the rhythm of his thrusts. He’d spent some good money on this hotel, too, and he wasn’t about to waste it. So as Keiko writhed and wriggled, Ernesto looped her high-pitched moaning over his internal audio. Just for fun, he dropped a couple hundred credits on a pair of Nexus body dancers to enhance his visual stimulation. From their virtual world, the AIs taunted him, beckoning him to come touch and taste, their glistening, erotic bodies moist and open until Lopez-Larkin neared that religious moment that he’d proudly and painfully resisted.

  And, why shouldn’t he hire a pair of Nexus strippers! What Keiko didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. And besides, she had probably dropped her own credits on some wagging hunk that was sweet-talking her right now. And that was none of his business, either!

  —Keiko, Lopez-Larkin groaned as he stopped his thrusting and pulled himself out. I need another drink.

  Short of breath, with her hair in disarray, Keiko raised herself on her elbows to look at her naked lover as he stood at the bar and poured himself a drink. She brushed the hair from her eyes and sighed.

  —Is it time, Mr. President? she said.

  Ernesto squeezed in the juice from a cut lime, licked the bitter green pulp, and then looked back at Keiko.

  —It is time, he said.

  —Want me at the window, Mr. President.

  He nodded.

  —Right away, Mr. President. Anything you want, Mr. President…

  As the delegates returned to the hall, Halpern stayed out of their way. He’d let them get settled before going in himself. In the meantime he’d look out the window and scan his VI for updates. The water on the bay was choppy—a strong wind blowing down from American Columbia—and the orcas were nowhere to be seen. Low-level clouds flitted south over a pair of prop-driven boats that were ferrying tourists from one end of the bay to the other.

  We are vessels tossed upon a dark sea, Halpern mused. We attempt, with all power and ploy, to reach safe harbor, but fate has her own design on us. It’s a cruel certainty that one day this story will end, along with those willing to hear it. And yet we persevere…on and on we play the game, hungry for transient pleasure and achievement, calling convicts and rogues our friends while we revel in the cold reward of dominion.

  You should write this stuff down, Austin!

  But that dark poetry is the poor product of coldsleep, isn’t it? The mind requires dreams, and under coldsleep there are none.

  Halpern scanned his VI again while the last of the delegates were reentering the hall. Across from the doors, the musicians continued to play, and Halpern listened to their soothing notes.

  What a mess. Halpern reflected on the previous scene in the assembly hall. Rather than demonstrating command, he’d become the target of hostilities. Was this Carerra’s way—to let Halpern succumb to the lions? But this was the game he’d agreed to play. This was how it works: you play your hand, and if you’re off, you lose the game. But for now, there’s still room to maneuver.

  If the parties can set aside their misgivings, there’s still hope.

  Halpern followed the passage of the ferries. Then Wei-wai came up on the link.

  —Yes, captain? Any progress?

  —Well, sir, I’ve got good news and bad news.

  —Yes?

  —The bad: Kennewick stays the same shit-hole Kennewick always was.

  —And the good?

  —The good is that the AI team just reported from inside the dome. The device is cold.

  —What do you mean?

  —There’s no quantum core, and therefore no boom-boom. For some reason this thing put out a signature wave, but it ain’t got no guts. I’ll be going home to eat dinner with my wife tonight after all.

  —Wonderful news, captain. Thank you. My only concern right now is who did this. And why would someone stick a cold transmitter like that in a train car?

  —Well, that’s for the eggheads like you to figure out, sir. In the meantime, we’ll clean up here, and I’ll debrief tomorrow morning, if that’s okay?

  —That’s fine. Thank you, captain.

  As the image of Captain Wei-wai dissolved, Halpern turned to join his ESCOM delegates in the hall when an icy sensation, not unlike a cold steel pick, struck deep inside his chest. He fumbled with his cane, which fell to his feet.

  —It’s a decoy, he thought in panic. The transmitter was a decoy!

  He trembled as he tried to bring up a link with Carerra, but he found himself in too much pain and too confused to navigate his VI. Finally, he was able to hail the president.

  —What is it, Austin? Everyone’s ready. We’re waiting for you.

  —It’s a decoy, sir. Put HQ on Code One and raise all HQ defenses. Do this now.

  —Austin? Are you okay? Austin?

  But all Austin could do was drop to his knee and grip at his chest. His heart was racing. Arrhythmic.

  Coldsleep, he hissed to himself.

  A face hovered above him. It was an older man—one of the musicians—who leaned down to inspect the security chief where he knelt on the floor. He prodded Halpern with his violin bow.

  —Is something wrong, dear fellow? I believe you’re in need of medical attention.

  From sixty-seven floors above Seattle, Ernesto was blown away by the view, not only of the impressive city and bay that spread out beneath them, but also at the two glorious and glittering female spheres before him. He stood naked except for a backwards Seattle Orcas baseball cap and a black tie knotted loosely around his neck (the president’s uniform). Keiko’s legs were spread just wide enough, and her hands planted just firmly enough against the window, so that when the two of them commenced with their furtive thumping, the vertiginous sensation of being suspended a half-mile above the city, combined with the delight of this primal human act, transported Lopez-Larkin far out over the bay and to Olympic Mountains where he joined the steel gray peaks as they scraped against the ceiling of heaven.

  —Is that good, Mr. President? Oooh!

  —Don’t interrupt the president! He has very important things to do. If you interrupt him, you may be jeopardizing global security. Do you understand?

  —Yes, Mr. President.

  —I’ve told you before, that if you behave, I have a job for you.

  —Yes Mr. President?

  —It’s top secret, and you can’t mention this to anyone.

  Oooh, oooh…

  —You can trust me, Mr. President.

  —You may have to go undercover for this mission. Very undercover.

  —Oooh, yes, Mr. President. I like undercover missions!

  —And right now I’m testing you to see if you’re a fit.

  —Yes, Mr. President. And what do you think?

  Lopez-Larkin looked over Keiko’s sleek back and head, and he watched her breasts in the reflection of the window as they swung pendulously out over the landscape. He didn’
t need the Nexus strippers right now. Everything was perfect. He increased the pressure of his thrusts so that Keiko started to mush up slightly against the glass. (If you had a telescope and knew exactly where to look, you might behold quite a sight!)

  —Right now, it seems like you might be a good candidate. But I’ll have to do more testing.

  —Yes, Mr. President. Do more testing, if you must!

  Oooh, oooh!!!

  Ernesto Lopez-Larkin was nearing that special moment of collapse, when the universe, for a few special seconds, folds in on itself, and the body and mind are inundated with the richest, most divine confluence of perceptions. But the horizon began to shift…

  A wall rose above the bay. A void, you might say, or an absence of that which we know. It stretched for miles skyward and took with it all frequencies of light, until a collision and swirling of color tore through the firmament, like a curtain ripped top to bottom. Though it rode chaos and torment and death. And Ernesto Lopez-Larkin gazed upon his end with wonder, for he knew that this very moment, one of the most enjoyable in memory, would never be surpassed.

  Just as Keiko screamed and Ernesto gurgled, they left us as we would all hope to go (and ultimately do), in the middle of that innate process of existing.

  Upon the order given to raise the shields around ESCOM HQ, the sonorous rise and fall of the alarm sirens punctuated the feminine voice instructing people to seek safety. Delegates pushed their way through the assembly hall doors. Carerra, Isabelle, and Whitney found Halpern seated on one of the musician’s chairs where the security chief calmly sipped at a glass of water.

  —Austin. I hope your instincts on this are solid, Carerra said. This is unprecedented. We’ve terrified our guests.

  Halpern smiled and shook his head.

  —If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong, he said. But don’t think…

  At that moment a thunderous clap shook the building, as if the entire edifice had been lifted into the air and then dropped. Fissures formed in the walls. Window panels fell and shattered. The concrete beneath them heaved up, canted, and cracked in many places. People were thrown to the floor like dolls.

  Slowly, voices began to call out through the dust and smoke, voices unnatural in register, conveying fear and pain. Carerra, Isabelle, and Whitney had toppled to the floor during the explosion, dragging Halpern with them. They helped each other up, and then tried to offer a hand to those around them.

  The lights had dimmed and sirens began to howl. Black smoke ran in rivulets along the ceiling. The pungent smell of electrical burning filled the air. Many were hurt. Those who suffered the worst were tended to first. Halpern learned that medics were on their way and his intelligence office linked up a visual of what had gone on outside: Seattle had been demolished. Her grand buildings and famous landmarks had been destroyed. Through the landscape of devastation moved a dark cataract, a wicked conveyor of metal and wood and death, that ran with briny sheen back into the roiling bay from which it came. Countless lives had been lost. A great city lay in ruin.

  —Is this an alien attack? Stanhope asked as she stumbled up to Carerra. Her golden jacket was torn and her hair tossed and disheveled. Her face was smeared with make-up, blood and dirt, and she seemed on the verge of either panic or tears or both.

  —I don’t suppose these are the aliens you’ve been referring to all afternoon? she said.

  Carerra looked over at Halpern, but Halpern merely shrugged, stuck and feeling as if he were in a dream or the mere spectator of a strange movie.

  —I don’t know, Carerra said back to Stanhope. We’ll have to see.

  A beacon came across everyone’s VI, announcing skimmer evacuations and ordering all delegates to rendezvous at the skimmer platforms. Wiping her nose with her sleeve, Stanhope dropped to her knees, and she remained there until Carerra draped her in a blanket. Soon, a pair of ExCap handlers came and escorted her to the ExCap skimmer.

  A loud scream echoed through the hall.

  A crowd huddled around someone who had collapsed. Halpern stood and pushed his way through to find the body of Chairman Khan. In the middle of her dark hood and raven hair, the Khan’s face was gripped with a deathly rictus. Her hands, curled at her breast, were contorted like claws. Halpern drew his fingers across her pale cheek.

  —She’s dead, Halpern said. She’s gone.

  One of the Khan’s handlers pushed his way inside the ring of spectators, the same man who spoke earlier that day.

  —That is not true, the man said as he laughed. The Khan can never die!

  A number of stone-faced Axiom Lotus security personnel reached down and lifted the rigid body into the air. Salazar appeared, his hand on Halpern’s shoulder.

  —Leave them be, Salazar said as they watched the body as it was carried down the hall. There’s something fiendish about them.

  By now a few of the musicians had dusted themselves off. They had found their instruments and had tuned them and together they managed a little bit of Bach in the midst of the disorder. It was strangely calming.

  Salazar had a gash on his leg and a few cuts showing through his sleeves. Halpern offered to help, but the Transglobal president demurred.

  —I’m sorry the conference had to end this way, my friend, he said. Until later, I bid you farewell.

  Salazar turned and saluted Carerra, and then limped off to join his delegates as they hurried to make for the skimmer bay.

  Halpern had called his own skimmer so he could survey the damage to the city. Securing what remained was his priority. He’d ordered low-level signature sweeps of every waterway in the area, and the entire country had been put on Code One alert. Excelsior Capital had already imposed a European martial law. A wave of apprehension would spread throughout the world, and the real fear of another disruptor detonation.

  This was no alien attack, Halpern knew. Someone on Earth had organized this.

  As Halpern waited for a helo-pod to taxi him to his skimmer, someone hailed him over his VI.

  —You were impressive today, Security Chief Halpern, a male voice said.

  —Who is this, Halpern said. Carerra?

  —You were rational. You were able to focus and stay in control, and you saved many lives. You show signs of great leadership. ESCOM is fortunate to have you.

  —Identify yourself, Halpern said. This is a high-security link. Why don’t you have any identifier?

  —I want to assure you that you have my support, and that you should feel free to contact me at your convenience. I think our partnership, in this case, would be mutually beneficial.

  —Who is this?

  —It is I, Chairman Khan. But I will not take no more of your time. Your skills are needed. My sincerest gratitude, Mr. Halpern.

  —Chairman Khan!

  The link was dead.

  Halpern stared up at the giant piece of fractured glass that once looked out over the bay, but now provided only a bleak inside view of a reptilian plasteel panel defense wall. He notified his office of the security breach and ordered an investigation. Then he went back to repeating what he’d been doing over the last half hour: trying to get a hold of Lopez-Larkin. With each unsuccessful attempt, his hopes diminished.

  Halpern began to fear the worst.

  10

  As Nava stood before the door leading to the basement of the Lyceum, she was unsure of what lay ahead. She was exhausted from their journey through Berlin, and she waited impatiently as two large guards plied her and her companions, Michael and Tomas, with security questions. When they were finally satisfied, the guards opened the door and motioned them through.

  Once inside, they were immersed in darkness. The basement air was damp and reeked of stone and mortar. They shuffled over dirt and broken concrete. There was an echo of footsteps. The beam from a glowlight swept over their faces.

  —Willkommen auf dem Lyceum, chimed a voice. Kom, bitte. It’s this way. You’ll find everyone up ahead.

  They followed the glowlight like train cars winding behi
nd a distant locomotive. Past a stone pillar, they turned and pushed open a door to a bright room filled with people. Wooden rafters hung low on the ceiling, and the walls thick with layers of paint and plaster. Beer and water bottles sat on folding chairs and overturned crates, and on the near wall were two posters: one was a picture of Clive Werg, his eyes carved out, and horns and a mustache markered onto his head and face; the other was a “no surveillance” icon—a security camera with a red circle and line through it.

  A man rose from a couch. He approached Nava and stood before her.

  —Dear, girl, he said. Is it really you? I can’t believe it.

  —My word. Elvin? Elvin Goodluck? Oh, how wonderful.

  Awkwardly, they embraced. He buried his chin in her shoulder and Nava wrapped him tightly in her arms. She knew him well. When he had been a leader of a student organization in Paris, Nava and Michael had come down from London to help him grow his chapter. They had been through a lot together. Their band of protesters had been baptized under the brutality of French authorities: they had been chased down, stun-gunned, beaten, handcuffed, interrogated, and held in isolation. But they had persevered. Paris had been their proving ground. It wasn’t long before they drew thousands to march with them against the transnational regime.

  Nava stood back and examined her old friend. She saw that the fire that had once been in his eyes was now gone. His dreadlocks had been cut, and there were traces of gray at his temples. He was thinner than he used to be, his skin looser on his face, and the lines on his forehead were deeper and darker.

  —Every time I see an old friend, Evin said, I wonder if it’s for the last time. Our meeting is fated.

  —So much has happened in five years, Nava said.

  —I was in Israel, Elvin said. We formed an activist cell and our network was expanding. But we were compromised. Infiltrated. A double agent…or maybe two or three. The police raided our group and arrested nearly everyone. I escaped through the underground, through Turkey and New Istanbul. I left Jerusalem eight months ago, and I don’t think I’ve slept since. Elise Berg, Salim Alizzi, and Moses Keno were taken. I don’t know what happened to them.