Subversive Elements (Unreal Universe Book 2) Page 30

  “Get your own.” Ute pulled his plate closer to him, hovering over it like a prisoner protecting his chow. “These are delicious, by the way. The staff can’t stop talking about them. Neither can the guests. What’s the secret?”

  Garth snapped his fingers to catch a waiter’s attention, pointed to Ute’s half-empty plate and ordered two more. “It’s like this, man; Humanity is, like, genetically engineered to love fast food. All those empty calories. Hey, this world got onions?”

  “Onions?” Ute wondered, puzzled. “Yes, of course. We use them in a few dishes. They’re especially good when they’re diced into salad. My old mom used to …”

  “Belay that, Ute. You think French fries are rad? Wait’ll I tell Charbo how to whip up onion rings.” Garth could see it now. He was going to bring fast food to Latelyspace.

  With Charbo’s epicurean genius, the Latelians wouldn’t know what hit ‘em…

  xxx

  Garth answered the call a heartbeat away from hyperventilating. He wished he could grab hold of his feelings for Naoko. The fact that how he felt made no sense at all wasn’t an issue any longer; somewhere between basically blowing himself up and buying an R&D facility he’d accepted Naoko as a blind spot and that was that. What remained now was a desire to keep from feeling like a nervous teenager every time she called. “Hey, uh, hi there.”

  Naoko waved hello. “How are you this morning, sa?”

  “Right as rain.” Garth hated himself. Every single awful 20th century platitude in the Universe wanted to bash its way out of his subconscious and past his teeth without bothering to check if he was okay with it. “And you?”

  “I am … sleepy.” Naoko confessed. “I found something interesting to read last night, and I was up late.”

  “Oh. So … we’re not hanging out today? That’s cool…”

  “I did not say that, silly man.” Naoko huffed. “All men are alike. I am not too tired to ‘hang out’ with you at all. Actually, I have an entire day planned. But if you are too tired…”

  “Hey now.” Garth replied with an easy laugh, raising his hands in self-defense. “Just calm down. No one said anything about me not wanting to see you.”

  “Then,” Naoko cautioned playfully with a waggled finger, “perhaps next time you will let me finish before deciding what I was saying. Excellent.” She laughed as Garth’s neck and face went red. “As I was saying, I have a day planned for us. Is it all right to pick you up?”

  Garth -who didn’t relish the thought of sticking Naoko in his ‘stolen’ aircar- nodded. He could easily imagine how a conversation about his mysterious possession of a vehicle would play out, especially since it seemed like he wasn’t going to be able to lie with any reliability, at least where Naoko Kamagana was concerned. “Sounds like a plan. I was wondering if we could make a side trip, though…”

  “Where to?”

  “Uh, this place downtown. I … need to get something before we head out.” Garth flashed the address, knowing as he did so that Naoko would recognize it immediately. Although Guillfoyle wasn’t number one on the Sheets any more, news of his treason and treachery had dominated the press for weeks. The only people who wouldn’t know about Ashok were on the other side of the Latelian Q-Tunnel.

  Naoko did recognize the address. Curious, she asked, “Why there?”

  “I, uh. I bought it yesterday.” Garth admitted, embarrassed by his wealth. He added hastily, “For, uh, legal reasons.”

  “As you wish, sa.” Naoko smiled sweetly, wishing she could tell Garth that she knew everything there was to know about who he was and what he was most likely doing on the planet and knowing she couldn’t. It was up to him to approach her on the matter and not the other way around.

  Naoko looked forward to that day, because it meant she would be able to trust him with her secrets. “Since I am in Port and you are in Central, it will take me slightly more than an hour to arrive. It is very lucky for you that our day together revolves around sites in Central and nowhere else. And Garth?”

  “Yes?”

  “I do not think you should wear that shirt. It would be better if you have one that says you are ‘Number One Bigtime Superstar’.” Naoko waved goodbye and hung up.

  “Son of a bitch.” Garth shook his head morosely. He’d completely forgotten he was wearing his ‘Widowmaker’ tee. More humbling than his embarrassment over the shirt was that fact that his soon-to-be girlfriend found his ‘fame’ hilarious. He headed off towards the bedroom in search of shirt that wouldn’t offend Naoko, or worse, make her laugh.

  The Sigma Protocol

  Chairwoman Doans snapped angrily for all of her advisors to close their mouths so she could have a moment to think.

  The situation with the last of Terrance’s black op agents showing up dead –and both in such unutterably dreadful ways- was rapidly spiraling out of control. Many of the agencies and departments with their own groups working silently behind the scenes were beginning to panic, demanding loudly for permission to institute their own stringent methods of protecting themselves.

  They feared that Reywin and Bolobo’s deaths were the work of anti-government terrorists, or even worse, that she herself was thinning the herd. Of course, they’d never mention those deepest worries aloud, but it wouldn’t be the first time a Chairperson had grown weary of the many and disparate agencies operating beneath them.

  Alyssa knew she couldn’t tell them the truth. That would be worse than any lie. Her plans were the boldest and most far-reaching of any Chair. The nearest possible parallel to rulers and plans was that of the Trinity AI, and she needed to tread lightly at all times until everything was in place.

  If word got out that there was a Trinity assassin roaming the streets looking for a newly converted Latelian immigrant, all that progress would be lost in minutes. No, the problem of Garth Nickels needed to remain so far buried that it’d take millennia for anyone to figure out what’d happened. She snorted mentally at the notion that the Ministries of Defense and Offence –indeed, all the organizations- could keep their mouths shut for any length of time.

  The various departments leaked like sieves. Possibly the only organization in the world to keep secrets was the freshly repurposed Ministry of Examination; everyone there was paramount at saying nothing.

  Alyssa thanked her lucky stars that Barnes had been quick enough to prevent anyone from tying the various deaths of Terrance’s black ops team together. Sadly enough, she was also pathetically pleased that the only unifying aspect in Reywin and Bolobo’s deaths was the depravity of the violence; the two murders were unique otherwise.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your concerns.” Alyssa smiled warmly; it was disgusting she had to pander to these people, even if it was very rarely. “The murders of both Reywin duFresne and Bolobo are regrettable, but I can assure you that there is nothing for your respective agencies to worry about. These incidences are isolated.”

  “How can you say that, Si Chairwoman?” The blustery Minister of Defense demanded fretfully. “We know these aren’t the only two. Reywin’s entire team is dead.”

  “Ah.” Alyssa pointed to a Sheet off to her left, which began showing live footage of a hospital. There were benefits to being Chairwoman, and springing the news that one of the team was alive was one of them. “This is a member of Si Reywin’s team. Other than being in extremely poor shape, I would say he’s not quite dead yet. If he survives, I imagine he will find himself wishing otherwise.”

  The assembled host muttered fretfully over the various wounds and damage done to the man, their protes automatically grabbing the feeds. Alyssa suspected that soon enough there would be no safer place in the entire system than that hospital room.

  The Minister of Offense, a good friend of Vasily’s and therefore normally a stable man, was nevertheless frustrated by the lack of progress, a frustration evinced by his tone. “I have reports concerning the activities of all major terrorist organizations in the system, si, and not one of them is respo
nsible for these heinous crimes.”

  “I assure you there is nothing to worry about.” Alyssa replied calmly, if a little more forcefully than necessary. “And besides, the group in question was engaged in the direct and illegal surveillance of a citizen. They bypassed numerous legislations, violated countless laws, in the course of that ‘duty’ and refused to come in when called. I rather think their deaths are actually of benefit to your various organizations.”

  “How so?” Newly promoted Minister for Examination Jane Paulson piped up. Her first official meeting had her sitting in with the all the Ministers and the Chairwoman. She was so nervous it was likely she’d start screaming state secrets to prove to everyone that she belonged in the room.

  “Consider: if you were to tell your groups that there is a new organization operating under my direct authority, their sole directive being the eradication of rogue elements, what do you think the result would be?” Alyssa wanted nothing of the sort, but there was little else she could do; the fact that there were already rumors –rumors that weren’t wrong- about the existence of such shadow operations would only serve to reinforce good behaviors. Things were critical enough without everyone seated at this table haring off into the wild lands of ‘responsible activity’. They needed unfettered access to Trinityspace, and if even one person before her got it into their thick skulls to investigate what was happening, Trinity might pull the plug, so to speak.

  Worse still, they might discover Bolobo’s cybernetically implanted organs –those capable of letting him hack without a prote- were missing, presumably in the hands of another cyborg so bizarre he might find a way to use them.

  “Is this true?” Ministry of Defense persisted. “Is there such an organization?”

  “It doesn’t matter if there is or isn’t.” Alyssa lobbied, waving a dismissive hand. “I am in control of the situation. There is nothing for you or your teams to worry over. If any more agents die, that is the nature of the job. Our worlds are rife with danger. Frankly, I am amazed you would even come to me with such foolishness. Spies, by their very nature, live lives of constant peril. I’ve given you an opportunity to leave with an answer to give to your employees, nothing more. If you insist on demanding further answers on a closed subject, I urge you to consider the actual penalties for wasting my time. They are quite severe.”

  “But…” The Minister of Offense struggled with the words.

  Alyssa turned her steely gaze on him.

  The Minister of Offense shut his mouth with a hasty click. Then, almost mystified, he opened his mouth to speak. “There will come a time, Chairwoman, when threat of your God soldiers will do you no good.”

  A quiet intake of breath moved around the table. A heavy silence penetrated the room, making everyone seated at the table uncomfortably aware of their own bodies. The Minister of Defense shifted nervously from side to side while the Minister of Examination apparently discovered her proteus for the first time.

  Alyssa savored the silence for a long moment. In these chambers, it was not often that all the Ministers found themselves speechless, much less specifically aghast at the behaviors of one of their own.

  Offense always chomped at the bit, hating the fact that he wasn’t personally in command of the God soldiers. He viewed the post of OverCommander as a superfluous one. All Offense Ministers did. Doans couldn’t think of a man or woman who’d held that post who hadn’t tried to oust the OverCommander. Further, this incarnation of Offense disliked her on a personal level and particularly loathed her right to call on them whenever the mood struck her. It was ironic that Offense was a chum of Vasily’s for all that he thought so poorly of the OverCommander posting.

  What every Minister of Offense failed to realize –often spectacularly so- was that their job was propaganda. They were the shining face of Latelian Pride, of the Strong Arms and Backs of the Regime. Nothing else, nothing more. Never anything else, never anything more.

  Alyssa smiled thinly, her eyes glittering like freshly made duronium. “I hope, Sa Holstrom,” Everyone winced at the common method of address, except Offense, who looked like he was going to throw up, “that when my plans involving Latelyspace and Trinity are complete the first thing to happen is that I am thrown out of this pathetically tiny office. Furthermore, I dream that the sequence of events following that includes the removal of everyone in this room from their power and that all the God soldiers are put out of their wallowing, aching misery.”

  Alyssa continued after a calm, deep breath. “You, I and all the others seated here know just what the Latelian Regime has done to itself. We may not be responsible for these deplorable conditions, but we are responsible for fixing what is broken.” She smiled a wintry smile. “Until that time, however, do not disabuse yourself of the following fact: I am Chairwoman. Me. My laws are the only laws. I play at bureaucracy because it suits my purposes. Trinity will not allow Latelyspace to persist as a Regime, and so we must change if we are to live, and live we must. The power-hungry have had their day in the sun, as it were, but never forget how I came to sit the Chair. Ladies and gentlemen, do not forget; I’ve outwitted and survived five murderous OverSecretaries and an amoral Minister of Defense who quite literally lost her mind in these very chambers.

  I am not even counting Terrance in this list, and his actions were inexcusably moronic. Therefore, when I tell you there will be no more deaths of the nature that brought you to my desk again, I mean that even if there are corpses posed on your front doorsteps in the most gruesome of ways possible, you will find your own methods of dealing with them. I will see nothing in the news. I will hear nothing whispered to the winds. I will see no writing on the walls, no internal memos. Anymore dead bodies done like this do not exist on Hospitalis. Am I clear? Moreover, if, by some colossal dose of lunacy, you feel that you can remove me from office by using the newest OverSecretary please, try. The new UnderSecretary is a friend of my daughter’s and is infinitely more malleable. She used to love my homemade cookies and quite rightly believes that the worlds breathe at my decision.”

  Chairwoman Doans flicked a hand that sent the Ministers running. They scattered and bolted through the doors like frightened birds. The new Minister of Examination looked as though she’d like to jump out a window and Alyssa permitted herself a quiet chuckle. Everyone always wanted to move forward, imagining that the next step up was better than the last step taken. Not so, never so. In time, the woman would become accustomed to her new role, if they survived.

  Alas, the problem with the Ministers would remain, even with her stern warnings. It was in their nature to disregard warnings, most of all when their own power and standing were in the crosshairs.

  Idiots. Their questioning and probing –which would only increase now they’d been warned off, more fools they-, was forcing her to issue a Sigma Order on Bolobo’s death, and by extension, the firebomb dropped by Barnes to cover Reywin duFresne.

  A Sigma Order. Doans groaned, massaging her forehead. It was too late to do anything else. The only way to keep her Ministers from using their vast resources to uncover the truth behind Bolobo’s death was to make it impossible for them to use said resources.

  What a choice. Let her Ministers engage in their foolishness and they would uncover Chadsik al-Taryin. Use the Sigma, and no machine anywhere within Latelyspace would be capable of processing any and all data pertaining to Reywin duFresne and Bolobo; no proteus, no main, no netLINK. Every file in every system everywhere would come up blank. Two Latelians would cease to exist, everything they’d done in their lives shifted and altered to hide their presence. Still her Ministers would push and pull, falling back on ancient methods of detecting. At that point, the fools would be easier to manage, but still, finding herself being 'lured' down this path was infuriating.

  Now wasn’t an optimal time to use a Sigma. Hospitalis shook and trembled with barely contained hostility, and terrorists who fed on such emotions would look at the Sigma as a sign of success.

  Across the sys
tem, various and disparate misguided fools would look at the descent of a Sigma Protocol as a call to arms, as a reason to fight against whatever particular flavor of dispute they’d used to cast themselves as liberators. They’d find reason within the Sigma to violate unspoken treaties lasting thousands of years. They’d use the chaos and liberated attitudes of Gametime to strike, causing limitless pain, agony and strife. They would call their despicability necessary, their mad eyes looking to a glittering future where every man was free.

  Doans tapped a lip thoughtfully. Neither choice was acceptable, but one was unavoidable all the same. She nodded.

  Alyssa Doans, Chairwoman of Latelyspace, spoke into her proteus, still working out the possible fallout from the Sigma she’d soon issue. “Barnes.”

  Hamilton Barnes answered immediately, his quiet voice filling the empty office. “Chairwoman, I am here.”

  “Have you located Chadsik al-Taryin?”

  “I have, Chairwoman. He sits atop the Eising Savings and Loan, monitoring the new UltraMegaDynamaTron.”

  Every Sheet in the office flickered to life with different points of view; ever-efficient Barnes carried a thousand military spEyes for use at all times, and was using them at the moment to keep a watchful eye on their cybernetic madman.

  Watching the assassin in silence, Alyssa wondered what every person who saw Chadsik from a distance eventually wanted to know: why did Trinity suffer such an abomination to live?

  There was no telling where machine and flesh met, ended, or married. Casual inspection revealed little. Chad looked like any another hard-as-rock man and wasn’t terribly out of place in a system where most everyone enjoyed an above average level of physical fitness. If not for his very rigidly defined FrancoBritish jawline, angular cheeks and straw-colored hair, Chad could easily pass as Latelian.

  Even his style of dress fell in line with the current trend of faux-military overcoats, camouflage pants and combat boots. Furthermore, his most obvious implants and cybernetic enhancements weren’t all that out of place, and again, for the same reasons; Latelians –if they had the money- were free to augment themselves in any way they deemed necessary.