"A former President of the United States, with his own pseudo-administration," Lila answers.
"Mr. Builder of the Three Towers himself."
"Is this really worth the risk?" the other Goth asks. "Tell this Pagan where she is and let him go on his own."
"No, he'd probably be disappeared along the way. This actually could be even better for us. Did you get the full report from Goli?"
"Yes." The Goth hesitates. "His father was killed by something exploding from his stomach. What does that mean?"
"It means the contractor hired uses a very unique way to eliminate people."
"You know who it is?"
"No. What did they say?"
"Straight from the African Collective, the contractor is called 'The Man Made Out of String,' but we don't know anything more. We don't even know if he's still active or even alive."
"Man Made Out of String. Let's just call him String-Man," Lila says.
"Why would this be on the African Collective's radar?" one of the Goths asks.
"Because it's on the Magi's radar," the other Goth answers.
"So Mr. Sprocket doesn't even know what he's about to get himself into," Lila says.
"Do we?"
Chapter Four: Bunny
New Harlem, New York
9:00 a.m., 3 February 2093
It is one of the high upscale parts of New York. A few presidents, over the decades, have had their offices here. Former President Kree Kanien was driven from office in 2072—twenty-one years ago. But the reason for his impeachment made him the most influential individual in NYC—the construction of the Three Towers.
To this day, he claims to be a staunch atheist, but he is the man, who as President, directed federal troops to seize the site of One World Trade Center and its surrounding areas, and by executive order commissioned its total demolishment and the subsequent construction of the new one hundred and seventy-one story Three Towers. Not two towers, but three wider and taller towers—all because he heard "God." He said that days before, he heard a voice that told him to "build it so they will come and your army can destroy them."
Kanien claimed to be a descendant of a 9/11 victim, but no one in the media or government has ever been able to corroborate it. At the opening ceremony for the building, back in 2072, he invited and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow "Children of the Three Towers"—every direct descendent of every victim, thirty-thousand people present from America and nearly sixty other countries from around the world. Besides America; Old Britain, the Dominican Republic, and Japan had the next-highest losses in human lives. This was Kanien's "army," and even back then he had said he had a million members. Today his organization, or cult, has tens of millions—a cult in wait for the end of the world. An End triggered by an attack on the Three Towers.
It is for that that reason he has been formally designated by Homeland as a terrorist. Not for current or past activities or plots, but for future ones. They are afraid of what he freely admits he will do if the Towers are ever attacked—seize control of New York, appoint himself as its sole Emperor, and destroy the attackers. But he's an ex-President, with a current government security detail at taxpayers' expense. The joke is that at least half of the New York police department is associate members of his Children of the Three Towers. President T. Wilson is the President of the United States, but not in New York.
Kanien is an old man, but half of all Americans will live past a hundred. He moves around via his hover-wheelchair; he can walk, but his legs are weak and he doesn't want cybernetic ones or new organic ones grown in a body-farm. Despite his physical frailties, he has a magnetic personality and still has a booming voice.
His Harlem offices take up the entire penthouse floor of the three-story building. The second floor is the secure offices of his Secret Service detail, and the bottom floor houses his Presidential Library. Every employee of his cult organization wears the symbol "III" on their person. The ones in business dress wear it on necklaces or rings, the casual dressed ones wear T-shirts with the symbol.
The elevator opens on the main penthouse offices and the six-foot tall Bunny with her six-inch heels walks out. Today, she's dressed in blue with her coat draped over one arm and her dark glasses in her left hand. She waves hello as she passes the receptionist station manned by two female receptionists and one male security agent to the side. The biometric sensor opens the main entrance door automatically for her.
As she walks to her office, she sees that Kanien is in a meeting with several people in office-suits. Kanien spends most of his days in meetings; he's the consummate planner, organizer and fundraiser. All the offices have glass walls, and she can see who's in and what everyone is doing at a glance.
She used to be a very chatty person in life, but here it's all work. Kanien hires based on looks, but you keep your job based on work. She's the only senior executive "non-Child" of the Three Towers organization. Three hours, in and she's answered most of the high-level messages to President Kanien and flagged and sent an important few to his personal to-do file for him to personally respond to—people Kanien will be able to work his "magic" on for larger donations.
"Ms. Bunny." She turns to see one of the Secret Service agents at her door.
"Yes."
"A word."
She puts her desk computer on "nap" as he enters and closes the glass door. He sits down. None of Kanien's detail smiles and not one of them has ever made a pass at her, which has always made her wonder about their sexuality—or maybe if they are androids, but she appreciates their unflappable professionalism. Kanien has the best of the best working for him.
"What is it, agent?"
The man unfolds his collapsible palm tablet. "An individual by the name of...Sprocket has set up an appointment with you through the front desk, even though we told him that there was no such person working here. He knows that you do and will be here this afternoon."
"I don't know anyone by that name."
"Ms. Bunny, we know you are very diligent in keeping your personal life away from work. We have never had even one incident from you in the years you've been with the President."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. This Sprocket said that you would take the meeting once I told you who he was."
"I doubt that."
"He says he's Logan's son."
Bunny freezes in place. She looks away at first, and then has to catch herself from starting to cry.
"I take it that you will be having the meeting," the agent says.
Bunny closes her eyes for a moment and clears her throat. "Yes...but...well I don't have to tell you how to do your job. You know it better than me."
"He'll be searched and scanned thoroughly."
Bunny makes eye contact again. "Did you already look him up in the registry?"
The registry was the national identity file for every citizen and resident in America, alive or dead, including every data point—financial history, medical history, criminal history, etc.
"We did." Bunny doesn't have to ask the next question. "He has the same designation as his biological parent who is deceased—domestic terrorist." The agent smiles. "Half the people in this building, including President Kanien, have that same designation. Such labels don't carry much weight with us until we do our own independent investigation and assessment. We'll keep it all confidential."
"Thank you, agent."
Albert Einstein Center, Virginia
11:00 a.m., 3 February 2093
All along the office wall are various models of humanoid robots. A picture of an android Albert Einstein hangs on the adjacent wall. The office's owner doesn't even look like a scientist, wearing a T-shirt and skin jeans, his long graying black hair rests past his shoulders. He looks at the two men in black office-suits through clear glasses.
"What number am I?" asks the scientist.
"Excuse me?" the agent asks.
"You all have your own in-house scientists, so I'm obviously not the f
irst scientist you've met with."
"We've talked to a lot, sir."
"Then why do you think I will say anything different from them?"
"We want to be thorough."
"I looked at the file you sent and I don't know what you think it proves. Where do you government types come up with such conspiratorial plots? You really think someone is building some space death weapon that can destroy the moon?"
"Or maybe just a major tek-city."
"Did it ever occur to you that these anarchists, terrorists, or whatever, are taking you along for a ride?"
"Yes, we have, but we have many facts that when all taken together leads us to believe that there is something here."
"I don't know what to tell you. My review is no different than your in-house people. I believe it's all impossible to create, and my personally opinion is that it's all a hoax."
"You seem very emphatic about it, sir. This is a national security issue—"
The scientist laughs. "Do you think if I thought someone, anyone, could build some wormhole, space death-ray, laser-beam, planet-killer weapon that I wouldn't say so? The planet dies and I do too, if that happens. It's not real. None of it is. Someone is intentionally leading you on a goose chase, or they're crazy, or maybe you stole someone's movie script."
One agent laughs. "We can assure you it's not the latter."
"If you say so. Well tell the President for me, he has nothing to worry about."
New Harlem Offices of President Kanien
2:00 p.m., 3 February 2093
"Please leave my goggles on," Sprocket says. "They're not death rays."
One agent finishes physically patting down his body while another finishes scanning him with a hand-scanner device. A third agent watches him.
"Please sir, remove the goggles and hand them to us."
"Johnnie-o, you're really annoying me." Sprocket closes his eyes as he takes them off and hands it to one of the agents. The tint is very slight. The agents inspect and scan them before putting them back in his hand.
Sprocket snuggly secures them back over his eyes. "Anything else?"
The third agent says, "Sir, please accompany my agents to the latrine so we can do the full body cavity search."
Sprocket bursts out laughing. "No finger dancing with my privates, Johnnie-o! I don't need to meet with her that badly."
He gives him a robotic smile. "A little Secret Service humor," the third agent says without the slightest sign of emotion.
"You're good," Sprocket says. "With that kind of emotional control, you could make a lot of digi-cash on the comedy circuit. You had me ready to start a marathon-long foot chase away from you guys."
Sprocket is led into a small glass-walled conference room where Bunny is already seated and waiting.
"You're BB Bunny," Sprocket says.
Bunny laughs. "I haven't been called that in a long time."
"What does the BB stand for?"
"Bouncin' Bodacious."
"That's you all right." Sprocket takes a seat as the agents close the door and stand outside. "You're like eight feet tall."
"I have to say I don't see the resemblance."
"You mean me and my bio-dad?"
"I don't see it. And you don't seem too serious about the whole thing."
Sprocket's playful demeanor disappears. "What happened to him?"
"He got killed. What do you think?"
"By who?"
"What does it matter? You can't do anything about it."
"Tell me anyway."
"I think this meeting is over. I can't imagine Logan would have a son like you."
She's passed judgment on me in three seconds. "The only thing I need from you is Edison Blair's location."
"How do you know him?"
"I know my bio-dad worked for him and not you, the office help. He did tell me about Edison, you, and your headquarters in Arlington Virginia."
Bunny has to close her eyes as the emotions well up inside again.
"I'm sorry," Sprocket says. "I'm a playful guy, but you wanted me to be jerky. Just tell me how to contact Edison and I'm gone. You'll never see me again."
"It won't matter if you are able to find him, but I don't know where he is."
"I can't believe that you have no way to contact him."
"Well, I don't."
"Give me something. I'm not going to drop this. Let my bio-dad end his existence as just a name on the deceased persons' registry. That's not right. Get me to Edison and Edison and I will figure something out."
Bunny smiles. "You and Edison. We were more Logan's family than you."
"That's why I'm going to do something while you two hide like hairy Trog-land garbage rodents."
"Shut-up. The only thing that will happen to you is that you'll end up dead too."
"Good! I'll be in good company. My bio-dad and me. Not you two hairy Trog rodents."
"Shut up!"
"You shut up!"
The glass door opens and one of the agents peeks in. "Everything alright, Ms. Bunny?"
She takes her glare off Logan's son and looks up. "Everything is okay."
The agent pops back out.
"I'll give you what you want. So you'll get exactly what you want and deserve."
"Anything will help. The President killed my bio-dad, is that what you're suggesting by not telling me?"
"The current one, not my boss. You do have some brains. Maybe you did get some of Logan's genes. Hopefully not the wrong ones."
"Wrong ones?"
"The ones that tell you when to run and you don't do it."
"I don't have that problem. Where's Edison? Is he here in America or somewhere else?"
"He's in Caliphate territory."
"Muslims?! Why would he hide there? Isn't he Old British? They super-hate Muslims. Why couldn't he be in the Russian Bloc, CHINs, or Spanish Americas?"
"Are you afraid someone will make you one of their virgin brides?" Bunny laughs to herself.
"They make my neck itch. I am not happy now."
"Changed your mind?"
"No chance. I'm not stopping until I'm as close to Edison as I am to you."
"You have no chance of getting there. No chance."
"How did I find you? My friends are Jew-Christians and they will get me wherever I need to go."
"Jew-Christians? They were the ones who got him into Caliphate territory."
Sprocket is surprised. "Then they'll get me there too. What do I need to do? Edison and I have some revenge to plot together."
Kanien's Executive Office
6:22 p.m., 3 February 2093
The third agent stands in front of him. President Kanien sits in his hover-chair behind his huge desk.
"Is Ms. Bunny going to help him?"
"She is, sir. The man is the biological child of a man named Logan whom she worked with before for many years. Not sure if there was any sexual relationship, but definitely an emotional attachment. This Logan was on the administration termination list in '89."
Kanien is intrigued.
"The son is also on the terrorism watch list."
"As am I, and every other American the administration doesn't like," Kanien says.
"Yes, sir."
"Are there any current warrants on him now?"
"Currently, none. Looks like he's kept off the Grid for the last three years, but Grid surveillance will, of course, alert them that he's now or was in NYC."
"Do you think what he's doing could cause any 'discomfort' to our current President? He is so focused on this upcoming world superpower summit with the Russians."
"I think President T. Wilson would be very displeased with what he's planning."
"Then make sure all NYC vid-files are erased so that he was never here. We still control the feed here don't we?"
"Yes we do, sir."
"Good." Kanien smiles. "This young man can't be acting alone."
"We think he's being helped by Jew-Christians."
&nbs
p; "Ha!" Kanien almost stands up from his hover-chair. "I'm a terrorist. He's a terrorist. He's being helped by a terrorist people. This is all too good. Erase the vid-files and maybe plant some false trail somewhere else. What's the Vice President's state again?"
"California."
"Plant the trail there."
"Yes, sir."
"I so like being an agent of chaos to my former under-study Mr. Torrey Wilson. Soon they'll be calling me a Jew-Christian. Best we start building bridges to those people. When the world's end comes, the Children of the Three Towers will become the Army of the Three Towers, and we will need many allies to create the new world order."
Chapter Five: Haggard
Unknown Location, Mexico
8:22 p.m., 7 February 2093
Sprocket stands on the covered dock wearing a plastic bubble-jacket, a wool-knit cap, and rubber combat boots. He has "graduated" to new yellow tint for his goggles. He looks up. The entire dock is inside a mountain cave, the walls and ceiling are perfectly smooth. He wonders how long it took machines to carve out the massive man-made cave.
This dock has only one ship, no name is visible on its bluish outer hull. It is a large ship at three stories, not including the deck, with small port windows lining each level. People are everywhere: some directing cargo container bots into the open center hold of the ship, some armed and stationed to watch the perimeter, and others arriving in vehicles to join the crew.
There are a lot of cargo containers. He wonders what they could be, but he knows better than to ask. He looks up and stares at the ceiling. Something caught his eye. After a few moments, he can see its shape—the Jew-Christians have camouflaged drones. He wonders how many are hovering.
Goth Lila appears, walking out of the ship's center hold to him.
Sprocket has been standing by himself with his belongings for the trip—one big duffel bag and a smaller satchel. They confiscated all his tek devices.
She stops in front of him. "There is no shame in turning back to go home," she says.
He smiles and shakes his head. "Not a chance. Three years and I almost killed myself. I'm not stopping now."
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