The Veritas Project

by C. F. E. Black

  Safe and easily manipulated. How quickly you forget! Angry at myself for this slip, I fix my mind on the fact that while in the Center, I was not an individual. I was one-sixteenth of a collective mind. One-sixteenth of the Director’s little playground. At least out here, for better or worse, I am just V.

  Finally, we stop moving up. Tommy shifts the car into reverse, backs out of the elevator, then continues in reverse down what looks like an unfinished or unoccupied floor. Concrete beams stretch out in three directions, dizzying in their conformity. Then, for some reason, Tommy stops, shuts off the engine. “We’re here.”

  I follow Tommy out of the car, stand awkwardly in the open, empty space, and wait. We can get Pru back, but not without M’s help. After that, I’m done trusting M.

  Tommy walks up to a concrete beam, places his hand on it, and a blue light pulses around his fingers. Suddenly, the air moves. From in between the two nearest concrete beams, a door begins to slide open, revealing the entryway to a vast apartment. This building may not be empty at all, but merely filled with screens to make it appear so.

  “Tommy? V?” M emerges out of thin air as the door opens, still wearing the same suit he had on earlier. “Welcome to Ty’s apartment.”

  At the confusion on my face, M laughs. “A gift I was planning to give him next week at his eighteenth birthday. It’s about time he got out of that dump he pays for.” He waves a hand. “Come in. You’ll want to see him, I imagine.”

  “He said you kicked him out at sixteen and told him to get a job, be a man.”

  M lifts his brows. “And he did. He did exactly what I asked of him. He’s a good son. He deserves to live in a better part of town.”

  Buying his son’s favor back is what M’s words sound like to me. A son who, from my observation, wants nothing more than to please his father.

  Julius waves at me from behind M. I avoid his gaze. We make our way past the vaulted living area, down a hall, and into a bedroom. The bed is plush, enormous, and the floor is covered in pillows that were raked off in a hurry.

  Ty lies in the bed, his face bandaged so much it’s hard to tell it is him. His chest rises and falls gently. Alive.

  In the window beyond the bed, our reflections pose above the lights of the city. Voices approach. Oscar and Tommy.

  “Sir, street fights are erupting all over the city. Should we do something?”

  Oscar jumps in. “Enough Blues die tonight and they’ll want Ty dead, too.” He rubs his hand down his face, his eyes flittering away from Ty’s still form. I’ve never seen Oscar not scowling, until tonight.

  M nods. “Let’s discuss this elsewhere.” He ushers us out into the wide living room.

  Head throbbing, heart racing, I glance around Ty’s living room. Windows stretch all the way up; a counter wraps around the back of a long, curved white couch. Lights in the stairs illuminate the lowered den. Water trickles constantly down one tiled wall and disappears beneath the floor. No dust here. A mental image of the homeless girl twirling in the grass at the park protests against everything in here. M has so much when others have so little.

  M moves to the floor-to-ceiling window and stands facing the city, arms locked behind his back. A king surveying his kingdom. I wait for him to speak, to tell me what I can do to save Pru. To fix this mess. If I thought I could save Pru alone, I’d have never gotten in that car with Tommy. But I’ll let him help me with this one last thing. Then, whether on my own or not, I’m leaving.

  Finally, he turns to me, all eyes in the room following his until they’re all looking at me: Oscar and Tommy and a girl with a white blond braid and cinnamon skin I’d not noticed before. She’s cradling a gun nearly as big as her tiny body.

  “You had a nice evening walk, I take it?” M’s words are spiders racing up my arms and legs. “We have located Pru, thanks largely to Julius, and we’ve let the Reds know we’re watching them. They don’t know how the sensors work, we hope, or they might take it upon themselves to rid Pru of them.” My chin sinks. The sensors are embedded in our skulls. “They wouldn’t be gentle about it, I imagine.” He lets his words settle like ash. “I can get her back, but not without a high price.”

  Rotten man! What about just helping her because she needs it! Why is it always about payment? I say none of this; instead, “Just tell me what it is. I’ll do it.”

  He holds up a hand. “I appreciate your enthusiasm; however, you may want to hear me out first before you make up your mind. It will take a day or two to set up Pru’s extraction. This one won’t be as easy as it was for Julius. They know we want her. They know she has something of value to me. They will not trade her without getting something they value in return.” He steeples his fingers.

  “Listen to my proposition, for there is something I want from you before I risk such an exchange for your friend. Then, tomorrow night, tell me what you decide.” He smiles and my heart sinks. “V, I would like to stream with you.” I nearly choke. “Just one-way. Your brain into mine. Like they do at the Center, I want you to pour your knowledge into me.”

  Twenty-Eight

  The next night, I spot M lounging at a table near the back of the dim restaurant. The hair on my exposed back stands up in the air-conditioned room. Or maybe it is my distrust of this man that makes my skin prickle. My stilettos—I’m a pro in these things now—clack as I cross the tiled floor.

  “Don’t worry, your time is not up just yet.” M raises wide palms at me as I take a seat across from him at a table set with so many instruments and glasses I wonder how one person could use them all. “I will keep my end of the bargain and not question you about your decision until our meal is over.”

  I haven’t officially made up my mind yet, but with every moment that passes, I’m fearing for Pru’s life. One moment I’m in, the next I’m backpedaling with excuses, knowing I’m not really going to say no, but hoping I come up with some reason why streaming with M is not the solution. I just can’t stomach that again. Not after finally getting away from the Center.

  A man in a black and white suit approaches, takes a bottle out of the sweating ice bucket on our table, and fills a slender glass with bubbling liquid. I notice Tommy take up a position near two other suited men—armed, no doubt—who are stationed nearby.

  M lifts his own slender glass in the air. “A toast.”

  “You call this toast?” I eye the fizzing drink. That’s some bizarre slang.

  M chuckles, his jowls shaking. “No, it means I want to dedicate this drink.”

  I raise my own, mimicking him. “To what?”

  “To you.”

  My eyebrows buckle. “Why?”

  “For many things: for all you’ve taught me these past few weeks. For agreeing to give me what I most want. And for the joy you’ve brought into my son’s eyes by bringing us the lovely Pru.”

  I feel the heat in my cheeks and twist the glass in my fingers. I’m here only because of Pru, but when M gets her back, I’ve got to tell her to leave Ty, leave M, and run. But she’ll have to make that choice on her own, like I’ve got to make mine.

  M tips his glass to his mouth, and I do the same. The cool liquid burns all the way down, leaves my throat hot. A muted cough comes out automatically. Laughing at me, M’s mountainous frame shakes our table.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything, my dear.” He downs half the contents of his glass. I hate that he thinks he can call me dear.

  “What happened to Ty’s mother?” Parents are a topic that fascinate me, and I’ve been wondering this the whole time why Ty didn’t have a mother around.

  M clicks his tongue. “Ty’s mother was the fast sort. All in, then, in a matter of months, all out. She knows nothing of the hole she left inside me when she ran, leaving me with a baby we’d designed together.” His eyes leave mine while this pain plays its old rhythm.

  Love. Is that what I’m seeing? I want to ask him about this word, too, but I don’t. It was taught to us as a bad thing, a thing that
corrupts and ensnares. And the Director thought it was taking over my identity. Bah! From M’s words, I gather that there have been plenty of women in his life, but none of them hold the place in his heart that Ty’s mother still does. The way Marcus holds a spot in mine.

  “I see,” I mutter, looking awkwardly at my bubbling glass.

  “Always ask me, V, when you have questions.” He offers a kind smile—pretty as an anemone, full of poison.

  M lifts an absent finger in the air and waits as the suited man approaches the table and refills his glass.

  “Ah, here he is.” M lifts his chin and his glass once more.

  Across the tiled floor, Ty approaches. Ty! He looks tired and a few scars crisscross his face, but not at all like he was on his deathbed last night. Center medicine really does work miracles.

  I’ve never seen Ty in anything but a t-shirt, so the dark suit he now wears transforms him. Desperately, I wish he were not M’s son, wish he and Pru could find happiness in a gentler world.

  “Good evening, V,” he says with a curt bow, taking the chair between his father and me. His syrupy skin shines from a fresh shave. Seeing the two of them together reminds me that Ty looks nothing like the man across from me, save for the nose. His mother must have been a truly beautiful woman.

  “Tyson, thank you for joining us. Miriam did a wonderful job, did she not?” He scrutinizes his son’s face, looking for flaws, then leans back in his chair, his suit jacket splayed open to accommodate all it holds.

  The waiter arrives. M orders for me, which annoys me, but I remain quiet. He tells me I won’t be disappointed. The waiter looks pleased as he disappears with a smile.

  “Now, let’s cover the plan again. I thought it fitting to enjoy a nice meal before tonight’s efforts.” And before I can protest again, he adds, “Pru is in no worse shape just because we’re taking the time to plan our actions well. The Reds have agreed to the ceasefire. They are waiting for the exchange; they won’t harm her.” He reaches for his glass. “I’ve negotiated a deal with the Blue City Mafia”—at my confused look, he adds—“the Blues, as we call them, that says they’ll relinquish a portion of their territory the Reds have always wanted. Fair trade for Pru, I think.” He sips silently for a moment. “And, for my payment, if V agrees to stream with me, I’ll be able to take Streamline Impressions to the next level. Expand our enterprise to a new frontier.”

  Julius is currently back at Streamline setting up what will be my last and final stream … if I agree to it. One last time. Letting my brain, my identity, flow into M’s mind. To save Pru.

  M places a hand on his stomach, lifts his glass halfway. “This has the potential to greatly improve our city, even our nation.” For emphasis, he takes a sip of his champagne. “Why keep the technology of thought sensors confined in the Center?” To Ty’s bewildered look, he adds, “V and I discussed this while you were recovering.” He leans forward, barely whispering. “And the best part I haven’t even told you yet, son.”

  Ty looks between me and his father a handful of times. “And?” he asks his father.

  Offering a hint, M whispers, “We’d stop crime before it ever even happens.”

  Ty’s eyes become disks. My chin falls, and I stare at my array of utensils. It sounds so great, but is it worth it? M wants to use streaming technology on the general public. Use Atlanta as a pilot city. Show the world what streaming can do! Stop crime, he says, by reading people’s thoughts.

  “Don’t look so righteous, Tyson. Think of it. This kind of technology, the kind that can scan men’s thoughts—which, if she so chooses, will be supplied graciously in one stream from our young V here—will be the perfect solution to all this killing!” A shiver runs up my spine that has nothing to do with the cold air blowing. “No more rape, no more drugs, no more theft.” His words settle like floating dust.

  I’d been leaning toward no earlier today, but now, hearing his rationale again, the pendulum in my mind swings, the automatic no falling back toward a possible yes. It would help so many people. A fault line is opening up within me, threatening to shatter my resolve to never stream again. I can do it, just once more.

  M chuckles, watching us. “The punishment for a felony will be simple: mandatory thought monitoring. A punishment people would actually want to avoid.” He tips his brow at me.

  “Sounds too good to be true,” Ty mumbles, clearly unsure what to say.

  “Isn’t that what humanity has always been striving for? The perfect society?” M slaps a hand on his massive thigh. “Well, looks like we might just be the ones to make it happen.”

  “How would you convince lawmakers to do it? Monitoring thoughts seems a little invasive, even for criminals, don’t you think?” Ty’s voice is accusatory.

  “That is a concern, of course.” M winks at me. “But it is easy enough to get legislation through when you know the right people.” He chuckles again, shaking the table, clearly enjoying himself. “And just think of how much crime we could stop from the first captured felon alone! One caught drug lord, and we’d see all of his buyers and sellers right from inside his head! No more hunting them down with spotty intel. It will be a slow process, of course, before all or most crime is eliminated, but it’s one I think is worth starting.”

  “You’d be leaving it to me to finish.”

  M nods, ignoring the scared look on Ty’s face. “It will take years, I think, before we see just how effective this will be in the fight against crime. The culture of violence will remain a while, but it will eventually slow, and possibly stop altogether. But even then, we will probably never quite attain a truly crime-free nation, as there will always be the criminally insane who’d be unaffected by the threat of consequences. But it will be as close as humanity will ever get!”

  Ty leans forward. “How do you expect to handle all that data? And you never answered the question about all this being invasive. People will never agree to it.”

  “I have a plan in place.”

  “Oh, do you? A little vague, don’t you think?” Ty’s critical tone is making me uncomfortable. I just want to get this over with and get Pru back.

  “You forget, son, that I have connections all across the country. I need an empty warehouse. I’ve got one. No, I’ve got a hundred. Just like that.” He snaps his fingers. “I want processors made that can store immeasurable amounts of data? I’ve got that, too. People are desperate for jobs in this country. Think of the jobs this would create: people building the computers, people delivering the parts, people installing the sensors. And, son, this process won’t be invasive because no human will ever read another human’s thoughts. That would be horrific!”

  “What do you mean? Who will monitor the thoughts for crime?” My questions take both men by surprise.

  M takes a sip from his glass. “Your friend Julius is already working on the basic program that can read human thoughts for us. He’s miles from what we’d need, but he’s on the right track.”

  “Julius agreed to help you?” I ask, shocked. But I remember, this is for Pru.

  “Without much hesitation, too.” M smiles. He pauses here and, whether he means to or not, impales Ty with the words, “I like that kid.” The small flicker across Ty’s eyes, the steel he injects into the thin line of his mouth tell me Ty hates Julius for the approval he’s won from his father. An approval Ty himself has spent a lifetime pursuing. In the pause, M and I both drink, but Ty’s stare remains fixed on his father.

  “Once the program is in place, we won’t need millions of people watching screens all day long, looking for criminal acts on the rise; we’ll simply have an alert pop up when the computer finds a thought that it deems harmful. We’ll have it screen for all kinds of things. The program will be unlike anything the world has ever seen.”

  I will wait until Pru is safe, then I’ll convince Julius to obliterate this program.

  Ty tilts his head, glances at me a moment, then back at his father. “No more crime … that is your goal.” He ponder
s this a moment, his eyes fixed somewhere at the back of the room.

  “I will never live long enough to see it through to completion, but you, Tyson, you will. If V agrees, I’ll have given my son what no father before could give his son: a safe world.” M’s rolling chins support the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on the man. As he leans back, pride swells up from his colossal chest, making him look almost childlike.

  Parents and their children. It is a topic I will never fully grasp. I was raised, like a puppy in a litter, with fifteen others, by a surrogate team of nurses and domus staff. I can’t say M and Ty make this topic any easier to understand, but at this moment, as I watch Ty’s face melt into a smile as he listens to his father’s plan to create a better world for his son, I think I see something like love. Buried somewhere deep in my genes, jealousy pricks my insides.

  “I have asked V here to help me. Julius has served me well already and will continue to for the foreseeable future, though it is regrettable he can no longer stream; otherwise, I’d already have what I need. V, however, contains in that glorious brain of hers the information I need to understand the intricacies of live-thought streaming, which, as you know, son, I can’t seem to figure out, despite my efforts these past few years. Now I have the key to creating the perfect nation, a true uto—”

  Bang!

  Across from me, M’s face crashes into the table, knocking over his unfinished glass of champagne, sending the liquid bubbling over the tablecloth.

  What? I stare, completely perplexed. What just happened? Ty jumps up, his chair clattering backward. The two gunmen closest to us are moving, but I still can’t understand what’s going on. Then another loud bang shocks me into comprehension.

  “He’s been shot!” Shouting it makes it more real. Hopping up, I look over my shoulder. A man sprawls on the floor by the door, a puddle of crimson spreading around his face, which is turned toward me, smushed against the tile. Death. It looks so ugly up close.

  “Dad!” Ty is digging for a pulse.