by Drew Briney
After many minutes had passed and with very little dignity remaining, Vaya Sage mustered the courage to climb the tree to recover his gear. As newly appointed assassin hunter, he feared his nerve to carry out this job might fail him.
MEMORY IMPLANTS
VAYA SAGE SAT ATOP A TALL BAMBOO CHAIR AT THE BAR with the chair back hugging a wall and his hooded head closely hovering over scribbles that looked like some eccentric mixture of Sanskrit and Japanese. An onlooker may have guessed he was nearsighted but caution motivated his posture, not poor eyesight. Besides, a hunkered posture offered the deception that he was a small, perhaps overweight.
He’d developed ideograms without any written glossary of terms so his notes couldn’t be compromised in the unlikely event they became stolen but that didn’t stop him from jealously positioning his body around the parchment so his scribblings couldn’t be observed. There was no use in drawing any attention. The average person was bound to ask questions about them and the brotherhood would unquestionably photograph the life out of them only to hire some AI service to determine whatever could be deciphered. He guessed that would probably remain a wasted effort but there was no safety in assuming anything when AI were involved.
Vaya Sage scratched his nose, inadvertently forgetting the prosthetic one he was wearing was slightly oversized, and then flipped through the holo-menu for a healthy snack. Exotic spices, more especially cumin, passion fruit, and Tongan beans had teased his nostrils despite finishing his main course at least an hour previous and despite having already sampled a half-dozen cocktails from the complimentary e-water, though he had no intention of purchasing any alcohol. He’d probably settle for some meat skewers and a local mango otai blended with thick coconut chunks and then tip the bartender extra for her trouble.
This was his third day scouting local bars. Normally, Vaya Sage spent time in public judiciously but he suspected this place would attract the men hunting him and that was precisely what he wanted. Having catalogued his experience with Treiliki under high-tech-mind-control gadgets he’d rather avoid, Vaya Sage re-donned his desert of emotions so making himself easy bait was as angst free as soaking in a jetted tub.
His cloak would draw their attention, his newly dyed black hair, prosthetic nose, and temporary UV tattoos would prompt second guessing, and his speaking Tongan with the native bartender would instill uncertainty long enough to give him an advantage. No one knew he’d downloaded Tongan for personal amusement and it had been an unlikely accident that he’d been greeted with an elderly woman from the islands. It made sense that she’d get hired in a quaint, themed-bar like this one but he hadn’t expected fortune to greet him so freely. Still, he was growing impatient that nobody had shown. He continued to fidget with the holo-menu before settling on what appeared to be a local specialty: coconut glazed chicken with guava chunks on a stick.
The moment he raised his hand to summon the bartender’s attention, he heard an eerily familiar hissing sound. Reflexively, he scrunched the parchment in his left hand, snapped his head to glance toward the sound while drawing his hood around to cover his cheeks with his right hand. As expected, he saw two men hanging back in the shadows as if exiting from the restroom, one holding an L-shaped black box he discreetly pointed toward patrons one at a time, the other spraying the room with a spattering of tiny, biting granules that left patrons swatting at their skin as if bitten by a mosquito.
ZN5.
Vaya Sage deftly rolled over the counter to the other side of the bar, ducked low enough to avoid any potential spray, and lunged into the kitchen where he quickly gained footing and began to run. Trying not to cause any trouble, he brushed past a large man who would have given him a run for his money had he not been so surprised and zipped out the back door before he heard the end of shouts undoubtedly castigating him for leaving without paying. He’d make it right some other time.
More shouting erupted from the bar and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering added to the confusion. Undoubtedly dealing with more pressing problems brewing inside, no one bothered to follow Vaya Sage out the back door. He was grateful for that small echo of fortune but was more abundantly grateful he hadn’t felt any mosquito-esque pricks on his skin as he ran through the back alley.
He expected members of the brotherhood would use this route as they exited so he hid behind a malodorous, graffiti-laden dumpster that had seen shinier days. Still in shock, Vaya Sage’s mind reeled with uncertainties. He could have anticipated dozens of scenarios the brotherhood might have chosen to attacked him but this approach wouldn’t have made the list.
Instinctively, he sunk his right hand underneath his sleeve so he could unzip his hoodie without anything touching his fingers, tore the zipper downward as fast as possible, and tossed the hoodie to the ground underneath the dumpster where he’d be certain not to accidentally touch it again. He inwardly grumbled over blatantly leaving DNA evidence behind but keeping it on wasn’t an option. So-called memory granules were largely ineffective when they didn’t directly puncture skin but they were designed to induce mini-lacerations to allow drugs to enter the bloodstream. Wearing tainted clothing wasn’t a risk he was willing to entertain, at least, not with a memory implanting ZN5 unit less than a quarter block away.
Mind still racing, he hoped no granules had landed on his parchment and he figured he’d have to throw away both pants and parchment as soon as he had an opportunity. He certainly couldn’t do that now. It was one thing to walk through town with a bullet proof graphene tank top in the chill of the evening. It was quite another to run through town sporting naught but your underwear.
Vaya Sage clinched his jaw as he waited to spot the two men or the unmistakable, sleek design for the rare ZN5 unit. He’d seen it briefly, largely without markings, but small enough to conceal underneath a trench coat. Old school units hadn’t been portable. Only newer models were gun-like and the havoc they’d wreaked had been both predictable and unbelievable. Nevertheless, penalties for possession of a ZN5 were so heavy, even he hadn’t seen more than images of portable ZN5 units. And that was truly saying something. Times were changing.
Continually distracted by retracing what few details he could conjure, he wondered what upgrades portable models might have before estimating he’d be the only bar patron who’d have a clue what really happened there that night. Lips pursed and brow furrowed, he squatted down with his back next to cracked stucco and anxiously waited for two men to appear. It seemed unjustifiably long before they rounded the corner and coolly meandered down the alleyway as if they’d just returned from an early night downing a flight of beers. Sloppy.
Or spines of steel.
Silently crouching, Vaya Sage weighed the advantages of taking out these two men or sniping them from a distance after following them back to their hotel. He settled on the latter. If they’d been implanting memories in the bar, they’d be doing it to cover their own hit, which thankfully, hadn’t been Vaya Sage. Increasing the body count in the back alley would assuredly draw a more careful investigation, making covering his tracks more difficult, especially considering his granule-tainted hoodie, and none of that took into consideration the obvious fact that close-quartered hits tended to be messier.
Thankfully, the two men entered predictable transportation. The brotherhood misguidedly preferred gray Zent hovercraft. Supposedly, they were so common that they were easily lost in traffic but to Vaya Sage’s trained eyes, specific amenities often gave them away. No decorations, black interior, flat black blades, and as few lights as local laws allowed, brotherhood hovercraft caught his attention from long distances. He watched it preparing to launch, removed a slim tracking pen from his back pants pocket, and aimed it at the vehicle the moment both men looked away from his location. Tiny lights registered a successful tracking link.
When the hovercraft launched, he sprinted to his own vehicle, synched his tracking pen, and instructed his hovercraft to anticipate the other craft’s location and to arrive first while he unpack
ed his old school Russian sniping rifle. He preferred classic weapons when they could be used effectively. While they were easier to track, only the wealthy could afford more effective laser rifles so he traditionally rotated old school guns with the brotherhood who laser-rebored, refurbished, and DNA-cleansed his weapons after a hit. Occasionally, he used higher tech weapons owned by the brotherhood for especially complicated hits but penalties for possession were so high that it wasn’t worth the risk to use them on more mundane jobs. He still had one but he wouldn’t be using it today.
Soon, Vaya Sage was wearing a new, grayish-black jacket with gadget-filled pockets and discreetly lying across two seats with a window down far enough to allow a clear shot at his brothers the moment they exited their hovercraft, which his own hovercraft had estimated would land within ten seconds. He counted the numbers silently in his own head now that the hovercraft was turned off.
Disappointingly, the gray Zent landed on a corner of the parking pad Vaya Sage hadn’t anticipated so he deftly tumbled out the left window to take up a better position. He was still on higher ground so within seconds, his shots found their marks as the two men headed toward the back hotel doors.
Both men down, Vaya Sage tossed his rifle into his hovercraft and ran to the brother assassins, deftly grabbing a small pistol with his right hand and checking the fit of a thin glove on his left. It was thin enough to check a pulse but that wouldn’t be his focus.
When he arrived at their sides, he quickly checked vitals and noted one was barely breathing. Perfect. But he still needed to hurry. Skillfully searching pockets while keeping an eye on the breathing brother, Vaya Sage located his holo-unit and initiated brain scanning identification before he died. Scans still worked post-mortem (he’d tried before) but they quickly became unreliable and the brotherhood used nothing less secure so if it didn’t work, he wouldn’t obtain access to any files without an overriding security clearance he wouldn’t obtain before taking out Anna. A green light flickered. Gratitude flashed through Vaya Sage’s heart as he raced through the holo-unit’s settings to turn off all security requirements so he could pilfer through files later when there was more time.
In the distance, he heard a sound that may have been city security. Abounding with caution, Vaya Sage spotted and pocketed the ZN5 unit, regrettably left the unfound granule sprayer behind, and backtracked a half dozen paces before shooting the barely breathing man a second time. Well placed, he was certain he wouldn’t be breathing when medical help arrived. Despite not hearing any other signs of security, Vaya Sage ran back to his hovercraft as fast as possible, jumped into his seat, engaged the engine, and instructed autopilot to fly him to his own hotel as inconspicuously as possible while he carefully removed his glove and turned it inside out. He’d run it, the holo-unit, and the ZN5 through a DNA cleanser as soon as he returned to his room, call in the hit, and pick up payment before morning.
UNTAGGED MEMORIES
BLINDS PULLED, CURTAINS DRAWN, AND LAMPS ON, VAYA SAGE sat on the floor, as far from the window as possible, and scrolled through holo-unit files. Insomnia often visited after his jobs so he hadn’t slept more than an hour all night. If it was dawn outside, the light was still too feint to see through the blinds and curtains. Unsurprisingly, the unit brimmed with misleading, useless files but his discerning eye eventually uncovered the gold it sought after. One portion of a news article tore at his attention:
Brain scans from several eye witnesses confirmed their presence at the crime. Eyewitnesses uniformly allege Qi Jon and Essa Fen, suspected members of a clandestine organization of assassins, shot and killed Mahal Ashbaz and three of his children, one of whom had been recently appointed as Ashbaz’s heir to the quickly growing Blazing Monkey franchise. Typically, a quadruple homicide with multiple eye witnesses would have landed Jon and Fen behind bars without bail until trial but their own, preliminary brain scans inconclusively determined they were not present at the crime scene. After successfully arguing for his clients to be released on bail, defendants’ attorney, Jack Des Honet called for more thorough brain scans to be run on each witness to determine if they were themselves victims of memory implants. While motives to frame Jon and Fen initially sounded outlandish, Des Honet disclosed that Treiliki Naktai holds significant stock in a rival corporation and alleged this as a possible motive to stage an elaborate ploy to frame his clients.
The rest of the article was a standard recap about the brotherhood and hearing dates. Another clipped article attached to the first continued:
Des Honet’s request drew scathing criticism from local law enforcement and the prosecuting attorney as overly broad and far reaching but Judge Waddups quickly shut down the prosecution’s objections, noting defendants Qi Jon and Essa Fen had a constitutional right to pursue this evidence in their defense. However, two witnesses recently filed independent pleadings arguing that the additional, comprehensive scans requested by Des Honet violate their First Amendment privacy rights so further proceedings are at a standstill until their motions are heard by the trial court.
Experts on memory implants immediately called further scans wasteful as Des Honet’s theory would require technology more sophisticated than common brain scan units currently possess and would require transporting witnesses across the country to find a suitable lab. Even then, results for such tests would be inconclusive at best and tantamount to get out of jail free cards at worst.
The article continued to lambast Des Honet but that was of little interest to Vaya Sage. He crumpled his brow, considered the information. Why hadn’t he heard about this before? Both the brotherhood and Treiliki publicly operated as legitimate, commercial businesses but the brotherhood’s claim that Treiliki framed them was clearly dubious as he’d witnessed them using the ZN5 and granule sprayer earlier that evening. He’d held the ZN5 unit himself so there was no question but that it was real.
Contrarily, he considered he hadn’t taken time to identify either of the men - both of whom were undoubtedly wearing camouflaging prosthetics. Theoretically, that allowed for the possibility that they could have been part of a different organization but there were too many other details pointing to the brotherhood for Vaya Sage to seriously doubt what he’d observed. Nevertheless, nagging suspicions needled his thoughts as he retraced every detail he could summon.
Too tired to gain much intellectual traction on the matter, his thoughts teetered on a half dozen issues before settling on payment. He’d picked it up after calling in the hit but he still needed to stop by a bank to verify that the card’s screen accurately identified its value. The bank wouldn’t open for at least a few more hours so he’d have to be patient.
The DNA cleansing unit’s whirring transitioned into silence until the indicator light glowed red. Vaya Sage leaned hard, grabbed tongs to transfer red sludgy bacterial-laden items from one small silicon barrel to another, closed the lid, and set the unit to finish the cleanse. He was grateful the ZN5 unit easily disassembled and fit into the barrels. Desperation would have allowed everything to be handled and “rinsed” manually but the simpler procedure with barrels was much more accommodating.
Earlier, he’d destroyed his pants and parchment after copying the contents, selectively wiped the memory of his tracker pen and the hovercraft tracking unit, and called in the hit. Once the DNA cleanser finished rinsing its contents, the only thing left to do was verify funds.
Given the rinsing ZN5 unit and his own recent run-in with Treiliki, Vaya Sage determined a visit to a local, licensed memory physician might not be out of order. He tossed the idea around his head a time or two as he flipped through the remaining files in the holo-unit. It didn’t appear that there was anything else worthwhile to be found. He guessed a local AI search might conjure up more information but further manual searching was probably a wasted endeavor. He considered throwing the unit away but decided not to, a gut feeling guiding his decision.
*** ** ***
VAYA SAGE AWAKENED WITH A START, IMMEDIATELY SURPRISED tha
t he’d fallen asleep but grateful for what little rest he’d received. Less than an hour later, he’d gathered his gear, checked out of the hotel, eaten a light breakfast, and arrived at the bank closest to a licensed memory physician.
Inside, he patiently made his way through three security scanners required for larger transactions. Initially, he’d objected because his card shouldn’t have triggered heavier security policies but when he’d informed the front teller that he wanted to verify the card’s screen amount, she’d mouthed off a veritable storm about bank policies until he conceded defeat. He’d nearly determined to leave but he wasn’t willing to continue pursuing risky hits with any nagging doubts about payment teasing his subconscious so for now, he’d submit to rules and regulations and high brow social controls.
“How may I help you, sir?” The banker’s expression was as empty as Vaya Sage’s confidence with this financial transaction.
Short and pudgy, the middle-aged man looked as if he’d grown too cynical to have any close friends and he wore a stiff, formal shirt and vest combo that suggested an overactive ego. Unusually deep wrinkles and a crinkled nose cemented Vaya Sage’s observation despite oversized, round glasses that nearly transformed the man’s appearance into something more comical than crotchety. Habitually grumpy, he guessed.