Tether

by Jeremy Robinson

35

  I take a bite of the burger, trying to act casual. The juicy meat and gooey cheese hit my tongue as an explosion of flavor. I sag in my chair, actually relaxing as my hunger awakens. I’m pretty sure I moan and roll my eyes in delight, but I’m barely aware of it, as I take another bite.

  When I emerge from my burger bliss to eat a fry and wash it all down with a sip of cider, I manage to say, “So good.”

  Reggie smiles at me, food untouched.

  “You know,” she says, “Morgan used to fret about you. She worried you’d never recover from… What was it? A nervous breakdown?”

  My chewing slows. Is she mocking me, or just being honest? Either way, I decide to roll with it. Play it cool. Get some answers. “Something like that.”

  She waits for more.

  “I spent too much time in the darkness,” I say. “It broke me.”

  A nod is all I get, like she understands and doesn’t need to hear more, which is good, because I don’t want to relive that past. Breaking down in tears in front of these stoic guards isn’t going to do me any good.

  She takes a bite of her burger. It’s more of a nibble. Then she places it back down. Over the years, I’ve interviewed hundreds of people charged with or convicted of crimes. I’ve built up something of a guilt radar. I can detect the difference between who is guilty, and who feels guilty. It might not seem like an important detail, but when you’re seated across from a murderer, it’s good to know if they’re a sociopath or full of remorse.

  And Reggie, she’s torn up.

  I just don’t know why. Is it because we’re friends? Because she was Morgan’s friend, and apparently colleague? Or because the fate that awaits me is so horrible that she’d feel bad for subjecting a stranger to it?

  “So,” I say, chewing on another fry. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” she replies.

  “If I act clueless, will that change anything?”

  Her frown is subtle, but says more than her words. “You’re far from clueless.”

  She takes another bite, this time bigger, signifying that she’s done speaking. It’s my turn.

  “Fine,” I say. “SpecTek was developing something. For DARPA.” My mood sours. “You fed me that information. You said you didn’t work for them.”

  “I don’t,” she says.

  “Right, you work for SpecTek.”

  “Consult,” she says. “I’m an independent contractor.”

  “With access to their fleet of private jets,” I point out.

  She shrugs. “My contributions have been considerable.” She rolls her eyes, but not at me. “Don’t brag. I’m not. I’m enlightening.”

  My snicker pulls her out of the one-woman argument.

  “What?” she says, irritated.

  “I was wondering if that was real or an act,” I say. “The talking to yourself.”

  “I imagine you’ve been wondering what is real since you awoke to Morgan’s call,” she says. There’s a momentary staring competition, as I resolve to give her nothing, and she waits for me to break. Eventually, she says, “What else have you learned?”

  “Those monsters… They used to be people. They’re ghosts, but they’ve been changed.”

  “That was my hypothesis, too,” she says.

  “You didn’t know?” I ask.

  “It was not the intended outcome,” she says. “They were not the intended subjects.”

  “Wisp,” I say. “The flowery-looking one… It… She...is Morgan.”

  Reg lowers her burger to the plate, eyes locked on the table. She didn’t know, and the news rocks her…though she’s trying hard to hide it—maybe from me, maybe the men watching us.

  I take a drink of cider and end up pounding down the rest of the can.

  “How do you know?” she asks.

  “I spoke to her,” I say, “because, you know, I can do that now. Speak to dead people.”

  “But only when you’re touching Rain.”

  “What’s her real name?” I ask.

  “No idea,” she says. “I only ever knew her as Subject 005. But from what I understand, as bad as you think SpecTek is, she is worse.”

  “Was worse,” I say.

  “We’ll see.”

  I don’t like the sound of that, but I’m not about to let Reg psy-op me into not trusting Rain.

  “What does it stand for?” I ask. “RAIN?”

  She takes a pad of paper from beside her laptop. It’s covered in scrawled math and crude drawings, none of which mean anything to me. She turns to a clean page and writes: Riesegeist Assault INitiative.

  Assault and Initiative are easy enough to understand. But Riesegeist?

  Sounds German. When I mentally break the word down, I recognize the word ‘geist,’ not because I’ve ever studied German, but thanks to the movie Poltergeist.

  ‘Geist’ means ‘ghost.’

  And it fits what I already know, so I don’t question it. “What is Riese?”

  “Giant,” she says.

  I close my eyes and sigh. “That’s…the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I thought so, too,” she says. “But Morgan convinced me. Showed me the potential—”

  “To weaponize ghosts?!” I say, raising my voice. Down the aisle, Garcia leans over to check on me.

  “Never mind the how of it,” she says. “You wouldn’t understand. Just try to imagine the potential. Souls not only exist, but they’re also malleable. Easily changed into something…no longer human.”

  “A genetically modified human soul,” I grumble.

  “Essentially, though genetics have nothing to do with it.” She eats another fry, hunger building as guilt gives way to the excitement of scientific discovery. I wonder if that’s how World War II Japanese scientists in the horrific Unit 731 slept at night, focusing on the science rather than on the horrors for which their discoveries were being used. “With a Riesegeist, you could send it into an enemy stronghold, or city, and let it loose.”

  “And how do you do that?” I ask. “Send a ghost on a mission?”

  “A beacon,” she says. “Something that the spirit is connected to and will pursue to the ends of the Earth.”

  I remember the tether connecting me to Wisp. I am Morgan’s beacon. She’s been following me all this time.

  “Ideally, that beacon is a source of great pain or rage—”

  “Because what good is a killer ghost if it’s not enraged?”

  “You might think this reprehensible, but it’s actually quite humane.” She ignores my scoff and continues. “Do you know how many people lost their lives in the development of weapons you consider to be mundane and totally acceptable? All the bombs, and jets, and nukes? Thousands. The beauty of a Riesegeist is that you need only one. One sacrificial lamb.”

  “Rain,” I say.

  “Its victims die without pain, and our armed forces never set foot on a battlefield. There is no radiation to contaminate the land or prolong suffering. It’s impossible to predict, or intercept—and best of all, no one would know who sent it.”

  “Them,” I say. “There are four, remember? Cat’s out of the bag now.”

  “There are five, actually,” she says. “And while the destruction and loss of American life is regrettable, it also deflects responsibility away from us. Why would we attack our own people?”

  I’m disgusted by her casual dismissal of the lives lost, American or not, but I focus on the first tidbit. “What do you mean, five?”

  “There were five people at SpecTek that night. Six if you count Rain.”

  “Wisp, Brute, Dragonfish, and Dalí,” I say.

  “Silly names,” she says.

  “Says the woman who helped create kaiju-ghosts. Why weren’t you there?”

  She huffs a laugh. “I’m not stupid. I understood the risks. What I didn’t understand was Morgan.”

  I wait for more.

  “I know you want to blame me for this. Or S
pecTek. But the burden of guilt for everything that happened that night rests on Morgan’s shoulders. If not for her, we’d have one Riesegeist, and it would be under control. Now we have five on the rampage, and no clear understanding of what their beacons are, or even if they have beacons.”

  “What did she do?” I ask,

  “I don’t know how she did it, but she reversed the Riesegeist pulse so that it affected everyone outside the containment chamber, rather than the one woman inside it. As for why…she found out about Rain’s beacon.”

  “What…is Rain’s beacon?” I ask, not really wanting to hear, but knowing I must.

  “A daughter,” Reg says, eyes low. “She’d given the girl up when she was born. Rain wasn’t a suitable mother, and she knew it. Imagine being raised by an assassin. Even worse, an assassin so dedicated to her country that she’d volunteer to become a perfect weapon.”

  “Until she found out you had her daughter,” I guess.

  “For the process to work, the Riesegeist pulse needed to be activated at the moment she felt the strongest emotion regarding her beacon. Her daughter’s image, in the hands of SpecTek, would have accomplished it.”

  “And her daughter is where? In Austin?”

  “I don’t know where she is,” Reggie says, looking dismayed.

  I shake my head, disgusted. “That’s how you create the tether…” And then I understand. Tethers with the dead aren’t just formed by rage, or loss, or desperation. Any emotion can get the job done. And in Wisp’s case, it was forged by Morgan’s love for me.

  And now in death, as in life, she is doing her best to protect me from the world…and from her work.

  “Yes…” Reggie says, squinting at me. “For most of the Riesegeists, Rain is a beacon, but only when she’s in close proximity, and the connection between them seems more complex.”

  “She can shut them down,” I say.

  “But only when their emotional energy has been somewhat expended.” Another fry. “It could prove useful. Other than that, it’s clear the five souls feel a powerful connection to SpecTek and the labs they’ve all worked in or visited.”

  “Which is why we’re flying to Austin,” I guess.

  “Unless Rain feels like repeating that map trick, it’s the most logical assumption.”

  “And you’ll do what? Contain them?”

  “Ideally,” she says, “free them.”

  “How do you do that?” I ask, but my mind is already hard at work, sussing out that mystery. Traditionally, ghosts are trapped on the mortal plane because something is keeping them here. Some kind of injustice doesn’t let them leave. For the Riesegeists, that’s SpecTek…and Rain.

  “You’re going to destroy the lab,” I guess, and then I clench my fists beneath the table as I realize the full ramifications of what this means. “You’re going to kill Rain.”

  Reggie says nothing.

  “And Garcia,” I say. “And Bjorn. They know too much.”

  She stares at me, waiting for more.

  Damnit…

  “But you’re not going to kill me. And it’s not because we’re friends, or because you’re a good person. You’re not. It’s because you already have a Riesegeist with a beacon you can control.”

  She smiles and takes another bite of burger. “Always said you were smarter than people thought. But you’re still missing the point.”

  “And that is…?”

  “You have nothing to fear. So, as my dear Bjorn would say…” She holds up her hard cider in a mock toast. “…Skål.”

  36

  I return to my seat, still hungry and still confused. While I accomplished my mission—to obtain more information—what I learned has left me feeling powerless. Some small part of me feels relief about not having a target on the back of my head, but it’s dwarfed by my concern for Rain, Garcia, and even Bjorn, who do. Rain still has a purpose—to lure the Riesegeists into SpecTek’s containment trap—but I’m concerned Garcia and Bjorn will be killed the moment they step out of this luxury plane and onto the easily cleaned, polished concrete floor of a hangar.

  At least Garcia is eating like she knows it’s her last meal. The flight attendant has been coming in and out with samplings of the kitchen’s meals, appetizers, and desserts. Even the stoic guards are smiling when the attendant returns with another tray. I don’t know if they find it funny because they’ll soon be killing Garcia, or because they respect her appetite.

  I fire up Asteroids again and score a 10, intending to warn Garcia about her impending doom, but we’ve filled the top ten slots with decent scores. So I’m forced to play again.

  And again.

  But my game is off. Exhaustion and despair are setting in. I’m losing my gusto for shooting digital rocks.

  “C’mon,” I grumble, crushing buttons and rubbing my eyes between levels.

  My last life is taken by an aggressive UFO. I nearly shout a curse and toss the joystick like eleven-year-old Saul would have, but I rein in my emotions when I manage to snag the tenth place spot.

  I AM SAFE. RAIN IS SAFE—FOR NOW. YOU AND BJORN ARE *NOT* SAFE.

  Doesn’t get any clearer than that, I think, and I send my high score message.

  Her response comes just ten minutes later. A first-place score. My slack-jawed awe at how fast she decimated my high score fades when I see the response is just one word.

  UNDERSTOOD.

  What the hell does that mean?

  I mean, on the surface, it means she understands. Obviously. But does the one-word answer mean she’s resigned to her fate? I was expecting a plan. Or some hint at resistance, like ‘WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT.’ But ‘UNDERSTOOD?’

  It’s underwhelming, which is something I had not expected from Garcia.

  I want to prod for more, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to hit the top ten again. Not when I’m this tired. So I exit the game—hiding evidence of our clandestine communiques—and I lean my seat back and close my eyes.

  What follows might be a dream.

  Or lucid thought.

  Or maybe even real. Some kind of metaphysical experience. I’d love to scoff at that possibility, but my resistance to the concept of a supernatural realm is at an all-time low.

  I’m seated, still in the plane. But there’s a glowing umbilical extending out from my chest. It pulses with energy, sending sharp tingling sensations throughout my body, like my nerves are on fire.

  The pulsing, I realize, is my heartbeat.

  I reach out for the cord and take hold of it with my hands. It’s warm to the touch. It’s tangible, yet it slips through the plane’s side without causing any damage. Simultaneously material and immaterial.

  This can’t be real…

  But it is real. At least, my connection to Morgan is real. Or is it to Wisp? I’m having trouble reconciling the two of them being one and the same. Morgan might inhabit the monster, but she can’t really be the monster. Like Nemesis and Maigo, I think, recalling the novel and the TV series. Together, but separate.

  In my heart, I know it’s not true, but there’s no reason I can’t pretend.

  The tether moves, sliding closer and downward, like we’re passing over—

  I jolt upright, awake and aware.

  “They’re beneath us!” I shout, on my feet. I stumble into the aisle, trying to shake the tether’s image from my mind. I glance at my chest. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there, sliding toward the back of the plane as we pass the Riesegeists, moving far below us.

  The guards rise at my approach, but don’t take action, and don’t look to Reggie for guidance. They know my worth… And they don’t really see me as a threat.

  “What makes you think that?” Reggie asks. She’s not doubting me, but as a scientist, she requires evidence.

  “A dream,” I say. “But I don’t think it was a dream.”

  She raises her eyebrows, dismissive.

  “How’s the saying go?” I ask. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistingui
shable from magic.”

  “That’s not a saying. It’s a quote from Arthur C. Clarke. And a dream is not technology.”

  “You used technology to open Pandora’s Box,” I say. “And now you’re going to doubt what you find inside?” I have a little chuckle at Reggie’s expense. “Despite all your brains and ego, you don’t understand the supernatural any better than I do.”

  The cabin grows brighter, like the sun is blazing through the windows. When the guards look around me, I understand.

  “Your evidence is behind me,” I say, without looking back. I know who’s there, and I know what’s happening. I step to the side, letting Reggie have a good look at Rain’s brilliance.

  “They’re beneath us,” Rain says, calm as ever, confirming my claim.

  “Ma’am,” one of the guards says. “Are we—”

  “We’re thirty thousand feet in the air,” Reggie grumbles.

  “Actually,” the guard says, “we’re about to begin our descent.”

  Worry sneaks into Reggie’s eyes. “We’ll have to move fast. Once we’re on the ground—”

  A muffled trio of sharp pops interrupts from the back end of the plane.

  “What was that?” Reggie asks.

  The guards, like me, have no trouble identifying the sound of gunfire. In response, they draw their weapons.

  “Swanson,” the lead guard says, hand to earbud. “Do you copy? Swanson?” He motions for the other two guards to check it out.

  “Move it,” the first of the two growls at me.

  I obey, sliding to one side of the aisle and glancing back. It only takes a moment for me to register the fact that both Garcia and Bjorn are missing.

  The gunshots…

  They were Garcia!

  As the first guard passes, I extend my leg.

  In a rush and focused on the rear door, the man doesn’t see it. He topples forward and pancakes on the floor.

  The second man’s gun swivels toward my face. At the same moment, a luminous blur flashes by me.

  Reggie and I have the same reaction. “Don’t kill them!” we shout in unison.

  While keeping Rain and me alive serves Reggie’s purposes, she has no idea why I’d want Rain to spare the guards. The simple truth is that the moment Rain kills one of these men, the others will open fire. In the tight confines of the plane, I’m pretty sure not even someone with Rain’s skill could avoid being shot.