by Nash, Lisa
The Decommission Agent
by
Lisa & Daniel Nash
Copyright © 2013 Lisa and Daniel Nash
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
-1-
Thomas Miller was muddled. His memory, his life, his vision, it was all muddled. Mixed up beyond repair.
This is what he knew. He knew he loved her. He had only known her for three days, but every minute of those days was spent falling madly in love with her. The second he saw her he knew without knowing that every rotation of his world spun for her. The air that circulated in and out of his lungs, the blood that pumped through his veins, the little sparks of electricity that pushed thoughts around his brain , they were all for her.
He would be dead soon, but he didn’t care because she was safe. She would see tomorrow and the next day and the next. Years would pass and she would smile back at a friendly greeting from a neighbor, or at a child needing to be comforted, maybe it would even be her child. Whatever the reason, whoever the recipient, the smile would belong to him. Even if decades passed, that smile and every smile, as well as every roar of laughter, and yes, the sadness and fear too, they owed their existence to Thomas Miller.
He heard the decommission agents coming closer. They were talking about a game, some sort of sport. This was their job. It was no more taxing than taking out the trash.
Thomas couldn’t move, so he couldn’t see what they were doing, but the smell of blood was in the air, and he could feel the heat from the furnace at the end of the room. The fear he had managed to escape was now creeping up on him. It climbed up on his naked body and brought with it an unnatural chill. It did this, fear, it took advantage of the signs of doom, the smells, the sounds, the feel, and it sank its claws into you and pulled you into the hollow darkness where it lived, torturing you without mercy.
He closed his eyes and thought of her. Fear could not find him if he was with her, even if it was just in his muddled mind.
-2-
Sex.
It was his first thought.
He was not fully awake, but he was fully aroused. He wasn’t sure why. He didn’t care why.
Time passed. He didn’t know how much. People, strangers, approached and talked in muffled voices.
“A dream,” was the only word that was spoken clearly.
More time passed, before the need to sleep slipped away. He opened his eyes and stared at a tile ceiling trying to connect the dots of his life.
A buzzing noise shifted his attention to his right, and he watched as a small acrylic smart phone vibrated across the flat surface of his night stand. A soft female voice came out of the phone’s tiny speaker, “Good morning, Thomas Miller. You have a job interview with Grant Bio-Synthetic Industries today. Shall I start the shower?”
Thomas rubbed his face and yawned. Sitting up he moaned, “Give me a minute.” He recalled the muffled voices he had heard earlier and realized he had indeed been dreaming.
His phone beeped. “Fifty seconds remaining, Thomas Miller.”
“Remaining? What are you talking about?”
“There are now approximately 46 seconds remaining until I start the shower.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “I didn’t literally mean a minute. It’s a figure of speech.”
There was a brief moment of silence before the voice on the phone said, “Recalculating based on figurative interpretation of your request.”
Thomas stood. “There’s really no need…”
“Time until shower is started cannot be calculated based on a figure of speech. Would you like to give me a more literal directive?”
Slipping his feet into a pair of flip flops, Thomas groaned and said, “Yes. I would like you to literally start the coffee.”
“Coffee brewing now.”
Thomas walked to the bathroom and took a leak. “Remind me what this job interview’s for?”
“This morning’s scheduled job interview is for a decommission agent position with Grant Bio-Synthetic Industries.”
He furrowed his brow and shrugged. “Why am I drawing a blank?”
There was a pause. “I cannot address your question as I do not know how to draw a blank…”
He shook his head. “Never mind, it’s another figure of speech. Tell me about Grant Bio-Synchronistic.”
Another pause. “I believe you mean Grant Bio-Synthetic Industries.”
“Yeah, that’s it. What do they do?”
“They manufacture and supply therapeutic bio-synthetic humanoids for the mental health industry.”
“Bio-synthetic humanoids? Like clones?”
“Your coffee is ready, Thomas Miller.”
Thomas exited the bathroom and made his way through the micro-apartment to the kitchen. He lifted a metal door on the wall near the sink and retrieved a piping hot cup of coffee from a warm shelf.
The soft female voice of the phone continued. “A review of Grant Bio-Synthetic Industries’ 22,000 patents on their manufacturing process makes no reference to cloning. Bio-synthetic humanoids contain no natural biological material, so it is my determination that bio-synthetic humanoids and clones are not alike.”
“So, we’re talking robots?”
“We are not,” the phone answered. “Bio-synthetic humanoids are 100% biological.”
Thomas sipped on his coffee. “I don’t understand. Synthetic means fake, right?”
“That could be one interpretation of the word synthetic, Thomas Miller, but in this case it refers to a chemical process that simulates natural biological material.”
Confused Thomas said, “What?”
There was a pause. “Are you having trouble hearing me or do you still not understand?”
Thomas swallowed a big gulp of coffee. “I’m having trouble caring this early in the morning.” He walked to the refrigerator and looked inside. “You said therapeutic. What does that mean? How can a bio-synthetic humanoid be therapeutic?”
“They stimulate hormonal balance in clients to alleviate stress and, in the process, they effectively reverse the physical and psychological toll stress tends to have on the human body.”
Thomas located a half-eaten piece of cake in the back of the refrigerator. “How exactly do they do that? Are they massage therapists or something?”
“Negative.” There was a pause as the smart phone’s computerized valet accessed the public records. “This therapy involves intense sexual contact coupled with euphoric emotional bonds and other external stimuli that safely elevate the body’s vital faculties.”
Thomas stopped stuffing cake into his mouth. “Intense sexual contact? You’re shitting me?”
“I am not equipped for such a function.”
He swallowed the cake. “They sell sex?”
“No. They supply therapeutic bio-synthetic humanoids to the mental health industry…”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Thomas said. “They’re a fucking whorehouse. How in the hell did I get a job interview with them?”
“You completed an online qualifying exam 56 days, 15 hours, and 13 minutes ago. An employee of Grant Bio-Synthetic Industries, a Melissa Pope, sent you a text message congratulating you on your outstanding score 18 days, 21 hours, and 6 minutes ago, at which time she also sent you a meeting request for today’
s interview. Per your instructions, I confirmed the meeting and responded with a message expressing your appreciation for the opportunity. She in turn requested that you not divulge to anyone the nature of your meeting.”
Thomas chuckled. “I must have been hung over or drunk.” He shoved more cake into his mouth. “Looks like I’m going to be a pimp.”
“Correction. The position you are interviewing for is decommission agent…”
“Whatever that is.”
A long pause. “There is no job description available for the position.”
“I gave you a job description,” Thomas said with a mouthful of cake. “It’s a mother-fuckin’ pimp!”
“I can send a query to their database for more details if you wish?
“Nah,” Thomas said washing down the cake with some coffee. “Start the hot water. This pimp needs to get clean and get his money.”
-3-
A chubby bespectacled woman sat next to Thomas on the air shuttle and smiled politely. He smiled back and fiddled with his tie. The shuttle floated above the city skyline while personalized hyper-directional ads played from speakers in the back of each seat. Thomas was in the middle of listening to a commercial for a breakthrough drug that eliminates flatulence when the woman spoke to him.
“We’re watching you, Mr. Miller.”
Thomas turned to her not sure if he had actually heard her correctly. “I’m sorry?”
“We know about your interview.”
Thomas looked at her closely and then searched the shuttle for this ‘we’ she spoke of.
“Do you know what Grant Bio-Synthetics does?”
He hesitated. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
Ignoring his question she said, “They exploit human beings, enslave them, rape them, use them for depraved and perverted purposes, and then they discard them like most people discard disposable razors.”
Thomas looked around for another seat.
“But that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of their insidiousness.”
“Listen, I’m just going in for a job interview…”
“Yes, as I told you, we know.”
“Who’s this ‘we’?”
“Not important. What you need to know is that your life is about to change, drastically. Whether it changes for the good of many or the good of one is up to you.”
“Lady,” Thomas said, “it’s just a fucking job interview. It’s my tenth in the last two weeks. Nothing has panned out, and I don’t expect this one to be any different.”
She flashed her polite smile again. “I’ve seen your score from the qualifying exam, Mr. Miller. I’ve never seen anyone score higher. You’re the best candidate they’ve had in the history of the company. If you don’t get the job, I’d be surprised.”
Despite the fact that the woman was clearly out her mind, her confidence in his chances at getting the job made him feel better.
The shuttle pilot announced that Thomas’ stop was next.
The chubby woman leaned in and whispered, “There is a resistance, Mr. Miller.”
“Resistance?”
“To Grant Bio-Syn’s corrupt and pervasive stranglehold over this country’s government.”
Thomas fought not to roll his eyes. “You certainly are throwing a lot at me this morning…”
“Because your test scores tell me one thing, Mr. Miller. You are the resistance’s greatest hope to bring Grant Bio-Syn down. We need you. Millions of bio-synthetic humans need you.”
The shuttle came to a stop at a hydraulic platform and Thomas quickly stood up.
The woman grabbed his hand. “For the good of many or for the good of one?”
Before Thomas could move to the aisle, two heavily armed guards dressed in black combat fatigues entered the shuttle with weapons drawn.
The tallest of the two spoke. “Marion Frye, please step forward.”
The chubby woman stood and turned to Thomas, “Do it for the good of the many, Mr. Miller.” She quickly moved to the rear of the shuttle, opened the emergency exit, sounding an alarm in the process and jumped out of the shuttle. She landed on an unsuspecting pedestrian 15 seconds later, killing them both instantly.
-4-
Thomas followed the man who introduced himself as Williams through the winding hallway. Thomas examined the visitor’s pass around his neck and unsuccessfully tried to wipe a smudge clear of its laminate surface. He was still a bit frazzled by the woman from the shuttle. She was obviously nuts. No sane person leaps to their death from a shuttle 2000 feet in the air, but she was a nut who knew who Thomas was and that he was headed for a job interview. That sort of thing makes a person wonder.
Williams, a short, thin, balding man, engaged Thomas in small talk as they walked. “You from the city?”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “You?” He asked the question even though he didn’t care at all. His mind was still trying to apply logic to the events on the shuttle.
“Yep. Uptown? Downtown?”
Thomas snickered. “Shit town.”
Williams smirked. “Me, too.”
They turned a corner.
“Doesn’t make sense though,” Williams said.
“What doesn’t make sense?”
“I figured you for uptown. The way Ms. Pope has been secretive about you and all. I just thought you were some high roller.”
“Secretive?”
“Yep.” They stopped at a door marked Orientation Auditorium. “She said to give you the red carpet tour until she was ready for you.”
“Me?”
Williams nodded. “You ever had the occasion to use our product?”
Thomas shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
Williams grabbed the badge hanging around his neck. “You’re in luck. We have a new client orientation going on right now. We’ll go into a sound proof observation room and watch. The guy giving the orientation is a total douche bag, Getman’s his name, but don’t let that color your opinion about what we do.” He passed his badge over a card reader and they entered the back of the stadium-style auditorium. Thomas was somewhat shocked to see a few of hundred people packed into cushioned seats. Their attention was directed to a casually dressed older gentleman on a small stage. Williams quietly guided Thomas into the sound proof room and turned on the speakers.
“I have a surprise for you, ladies and gentleman,” Getman said in a squeaky, high-pitched tone. “You have encountered bio-synthetic humanoids on a number of occasions today.”
A collective awe came from the group.
“From the moment you signed in, our bio-syns have been all around you. In fact, there are even some attending this orientation.”
Nervous chuckles and gasps infected the group.
“Here is the rub. They don’t know it. Or, should I say, you don’t know it?”
Now a hush came over the room.
He held up a small rectangular device in his hand. “This is a bio-syn controller. We call it the clicker. Normally, it is programmed for specific individuals, but for demonstration purposes, we’ve given it a universal signal. When I click this device, every bio-syn in this room will cease to function. They won’t move. They will become catatonic…”
The speakers in the observation room filled with static.
“Crap,” Williams said standing. “This is the best part of the orientation.
The static cleared and Thomas heard someone shout, “Over here! This woman isn’t moving.”
Someone else shouted. “Neither is this guy!”
Getman held up his hand to quiet the crowd. “Those who are now motionless are our bio-synthetic humanoids, ladies and gentleman. Either that or they are really bored with my presentation.”
The crowd laughed apprehensively.
“Two clicks and they will be back with us. They will have no memory of blacking out. They will not know they’ve missed any time at all. In fact, they will be sure that a number of you actually succumbed to the clicker.”
The speakers went out again.
“Crap!” Williams shouted.
The static cleared and Thomas heard the crowd clapping.
“You are all here today because you are part of a group package. It’s a rare treat for us here at Grant Bio-Syn. We normally assist with one-on-one matches, which have their value, don’t get me wrong. But I believe these group sessions are far more fun and in a lot of ways much more stimulating. It’s sex and intrigue and mystery – Damn, it’s just a balls-out good time.
“You all received individualized packets some weeks ago describing your assignment for this weekend. I trust that you’ve studied the material and watched the simulations we provided. In addition, it’s imperative that you consumed the prepackaged meals we delivered to you. I know you’ve all signed affidavits to that effect, but frankly that is just a measure to protect the company not you. The meals are an important part of the equation in this therapy. They’ve been designed to reduce the inhibitors in your personality that may prevent you from wholeheartedly participating in this weekend’s events. You will be engaging in behavior that is outside of your norm.
“But then again, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To make a change in your life? To give you a more tolerable view of your day to day existence…”
“Whoop!” Williams lifted his watch and looked at the digital display. Unbeknownst to Thomas it had vibrated, alerting Wilson to an incoming text. “Looks like the iron lady is ready for you. Come on, I’ll take you to the conference room.”
“Iron lady?”
Williams grimaced. “I can’t believe I said that out loud. Sorry, it’s just a habit. Iron lady is what we call Ms. Pope. Let’s just say she’s serious about her job.”
-5-
“We don’t sell sex, Mr. Miller.” This was Ms. Pope’s standard disclaimer when interviewing an applicant. She would bait the poor jobless fool into either stating outright or hinting at the popular misconception that Grant Bio-Syn Industries was nothing more than legalized prostitution. It was her “gotcha” moment, a way to make the job-seeker sweat. She delivered the line the same way every time with a furrowed brow, downturned mouth, flared nostrils, and emphasis on the word ‘don’t.’