The Pretender - Chapter 7

Friday, July 16, 2083.  9:30 p.m.

“Well, I didn’t think things could get any worse really, did you?”

Robbie’s voice was tinged in irony but Marcie stayed silent, watching the rest of the news broadcast on a vidscreen in the Flipside.  A solemn, but suitably bland, news commentator was frowning her way through the report:   “…for some unknown purpose.  The Eastdown Institute is a luxury rehabilitation centre in Aurora, Ontario.  It isn’t understood why Eastdown became the target for a terrorist attack, but inside sources suggest that the, as yet un-named group, was attempting to kidnap a politician’s family member.  Marcie Noel and Robbie McLean are long term business associates in the city of Toronto, catering to that city’s elite.  It’s believed they gained insider information from one of their clients.  They are considered armed and dangerous.  Anyone with knowledge of their….”

Suddenly, Marcie stopped the playback.  She shook her head in amazement.

“Well, how did they know it was us?”

“They know we’re mixed up in this whole thing.  Didn’t Stellan say we were about to be picked up?  Maybe they caught me on an internal cam at Eastdown and put two and two together.  Or maybe Henderson or Pall mentioned our names.  Who knows?”

“Maybe we should take up holding up banks, Clyde.”

“At least there’d be some money in it.  This international terrorism is for the birds.”

Marcie frowned.  “Robbie, if they suspect that we’re fortunatus, won’t they go after our families?”
“Sure, but my folks have resources.  They’ll be fine.”

“Okay, what about my Mum?”

She tapped the comm button on the vidscreen, and said clearly, “Dr. Jeffrey Stellan.”  She waited for the connection to go through and suddenly, Stellan’s face was on the vidscreen.

“What can I do for you, Marcie?”  He looked worn.  His voice was strained.

“Stellan, I need a vehicle, so I can pick up my mother.”

“I understand.”

“I want to leave in a few hours.”

“How many people will you need?”

“Just Robbie.”

Stellan paused. “Okay.” 

Marcie rung off and looked at Robbie.  “I volunteered you.”

“Good.”

“Before we go, let me check in with the office.”  She tapped a few buttons and signalled the waitress.  “And I need another cup of coffee.”  She turned back to the vidscreen and loaded her webmail account.  There were four emails.  In the first, Tracy reported that the police searched the place from top to bottom and seized company records and assets.

The second email came from a completely unrelated webmail account, but turned out, again, to be from Tracy.  She reported that Jeff was able to export nearly ninety-four percent of the business files while the police did their premises search.  He’d gone straight home and copied them to disk, deleted the remote copies, and deleted the file transfer logs.  The business could run if Marcie wanted it to.  The third email marked the next morning reported that Jeff had managed to hack three bank accounts before the authorities got their hands on them and; although Marcie was a lot poorer, she was by no means broke.  Apparently, Jeff had disparaging remarks to make about Marcie’s passwords.  He had ‘stolen’ the money and placed it in an offshore trust account for safe-keeping. 

In the last email, Tracy reported that in the absence of input from Marcie, she’d decided to do something about the situation, assuming that Marcie was a little too busy to handle things herself.  Tracy released the new staff from Noel and Co. and she and Jeff set up a ‘rival’ company that would perform the function of Noel and Co., under the name of TR Associates.  TR Associates then hired everyone back and business was continuing as usual.  The trust fund was set up as the third partner in the business and Marcie would receive thirty percent of the profit on a quarterly basis.

All in twenty-four hours.

Marcie thought hard.  Her old life was gone.  She shot back an email asking Tracy to change the arrangement and make her share of the trust account ten percent only.  Considering her tarnished reputation, she couldn’t see taking an active part in the business even in the far future.  However, the business concept, operating capital, client records, and all the free advice you ever wanted, ought to be worth ten percent and that was all she was willing to take. Considering the growth of the business over the initial two years, Marcie assumed that the ten percent would turn into a tidy sum over time.  She was content.  Besides, my new life as an international terrorist awaits.

Robbie had ordered meals along with Marcie’s coffee.  They ate, went up to their suite and changed into Outside clothes.  They walked through the Promenade on their way to the Outside elevators.  They noticed that the fields of the Sports Complex were full of people gathering for some kind of Fair.  There was music and revelry.  Marcie and Robbie stopped and Marcie asked a young woman what was going on.

“We are mourning our dead,” said the woman, with sad eyes.

“It almost seems like a festival.”

“Usually, our people don’t die so young, Ms. Noel.  We have taken to celebrating a person’s life and achievements on their death.  It’s informal, personal.  Usually fun.  But this day is so…”

“Heartbreaking.”  Marcie put her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her.  The woman nodded and moved away.  Robbie and Marcie stood watching for a few minutes.  “I want to stay, Robbie, but we can’t.”

“Yes, sugar.  Time might be an issue, here.”

They continued on and took the elevators up to the tired old farmhouse.  They walked out to the barn to collect a PA where they were met by Jason.

“Friends, we have a vehicle ready for you.”  He pointed to a brown, family-sized PA.

“Thank you, Jason,” said Marcie.

“I’ve taken the liberty of programming the PA to emit a false identity.  Without it, you’ll never get over the border.”

“I want to see how that’s done.”

“Feel free to access the code.

“Well, now that I have a keyboard to work with.”

Jason laughed.

They hopped in, drove the PA out of the barn; Robbie took off and stayed at local altitude.  They did their usual trick of making a series of short hops to Chicago.  Then, they powered down and re-initialized the PA.  Marcie had studied the ingenious code that created a personality to mask the personality in the PA.  The border authorities would think they were Jacob Reid and his wife Heather.  They would almost certainly not stop them.  As they went over the border, Marcie and Robbie stayed quiet.  Conversations were monitored without apology by both governments’ border guards.  They got into Canada without a problem.

As they flew to Toronto, they took turns napping.  They arrived around four in the morning and set down on the roof of her mother’s building.  Marcie’s key still worked.  I hope I’m still one step ahead of them.

They walked down the stairs to the top floor and to the elevators.  One was standing open.  They stepped in and pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

“Could be a trap, sugar.”

“I have no choice, Robbie.”

“I know. I’m just saying let’s be careful.”

The elevator opened on the eleventh floor and seemed loud in the stillness of the early morning.   Marcie could clearly hear their footsteps on the carpeted floor.  They went to 1115 and Marcie slid her access card into the lock.  The door monitor showed green, so Marcie carefully and quietly pushed it open.

“Hold it right there.”

Pauline Noel was sitting in her favourite chair, the one that faced the door.  She was a trim woman of sixty years, with slate grey hair and piercing eyes.  She was wearing a baby-blue wrap-around robe over cotton pyjamas and fuzzy slippers.  She had a large revolver in her right hand.

“Mum, it’s me.”

Pauline looked annoyed.  “Marcie, you really need to telephone before you come.  You gave me a fright.”

Marcie and Robbie stepped into the suite, closing the door behind them.  “Mum, where did you get that gun?”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Yes, sorry.  Pauline Noel, please meet Robbie McLean.”

“You don’t look Scottish.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Mum, where did you get that gun?”

“This old thing?  I’ve had it for years, dear.”

“Oh.”  Marcie didn’t know what else to say.  “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Yes, dear.  With all the stink about you, I was going to leave in a few hours, anyway, my normal time to go to the gym.  I’m all packed up.  Just give me a minute to change my clothes.”

“Okay, Mum.”

“Why don’t you make you and your friend a cup of tea?”

“Thanks, but we’re all right.”  Parents never stopped being parents.

“I’ll just be a moment.”

They stood waiting for exactly two minutes and then Pauline emerged from the bedroom wearing a smart pantsuit and carrying an overnight bag.

“Is that all you’re taking, Mum?”

“Oh yes, dear.  It’s mostly photographs, actually.” 

Marcie always thought that her mother was the most interesting woman she’d ever met.  It shouldn’t surprise her that Pauline would be ready and willing to pull up stakes and go at the drop of a hat.

“All right, ladies.  We should leave.”  Robbie was looking a bit nervous.  Marcie knew what was bothering him.  After the fiasco at Eastdown, and with their faces all over the evening streams, this was too easy. 

Marcie and Pauline nodded and they walked to the door.  Pauline took one more look around the condo.

“Such a shame, Mum.”

“Ah.”  Pauline smiled.  “Easy come….”  She walked out the door.  Marcie and Robbie were right on her heels.  Robbie closed the door quietly and they walked to the elevator, silently.  The elevator was still there.  They got on and Robbie pushed the button for the roof.

“Mum, did you know we were different?”

“Of course, dear.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Soon, dear.  It’s not an easy subject to breach.”

“Well, no.  You’re right.”

“So.  Are you a terrorist, dear?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Hmmm.  I have to tell you.  I have a few talents that I haven’t used in years, dear.  I might be able to give you a hand.”

“That’d be great, Mum.”

They exited the elevator and walked over to the PA.  It was a quiet morning.  The air carried the chill that comes with the dew.  The sun wouldn’t be there for a half hour, but the eastern horizon had already started to glow.  There was little traffic in the streets below or the skies above.  No one appeared to be about, nor would they be for some time, but Robbie is a distrusting sort.  When he got into the PA, he had the car display a proximity log and he ran a status check.

The reports came back and Robbie paused, but held the expression on his face.  He turned the vidscreen toward Marcie and pointed out that the proximity log was empty but that the status check revealed an anomalous object attached to the underside of the vehicle. 

Marcie picked up the keyboard and started tapping.  She was able to recover the data from the wiped log.  The retrieved log clearly showed activity under the vehicle in the last ten minutes.  She turned the screen back, so Robbie could see the results.

They had to guess whether it was a bomb or a beacon.  Which do they want most?  To blow us up or to find Origin?  Pauline was watching intently from the back seat. 

“Beacon or bomb?”  Robbie mouthed the word, barely whispering.

“Beacon.” Marcie mouthed the word back.  Robbie was nodding in agreement.  He obviously agreed with her.

They looked at Pauline.  “Beacon,” she said silently.

Robbie shrugged.  Since all of their answers were the same, the probability of the answer being the right one was much higher than if only one of them had guessed or if they had disagreed.  He initiated the start-up sequence.  The PA started up with no problem.  Except that they were being tracked, of course.  He paused for a moment and then said clearly into the microphone:  “Trump International Hotel.”  Marcie was about to protest, but he shook his head and brought his finger to his lips.  They may be listening in on our conversations.  They probably know what he owns and what he doesn’t.  After all, THEY did a background check.   Marcie sighed.

“Well it’s a beautiful morning, if a little chill.  I understand the temperature for the day will hit around twenty-six degrees, but I looked up New York before you came and, it’s too bad, but it’ll likely be raining there today.  Such a pity.  But I guess you wouldn’t like to be outside in New York in July, really, would you?  So, perhaps we’ll keep to the hotel facilities and the nice shops, shall we?  Do they still have Mama Leone’s?  Oh they must.  It’s been around for a hundred years – a real landmark in the city….”

Pauline kept on talking with Marcie and Robbie interjecting only from time to time.  She didn’t let up until they slipped into the figure eight over New York.  Then, she quieted down during the drop and landing.  She pulled a scarf and a set of dark glasses out of her purse.  Marcie put the scarf over her hair and slipped on the glasses while Robbie parked the vehicle. 

“There’s not much I can do about Mr. McLean,” said Pauline.

“It should be okay, Mum.”

They got out and walked toward the entrance.  The concierge recognized Robbie immediately and hurried over to greet them.  He was a small, trim man with a warm smile.

“Ken, good morning.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“We’ll need two adjoining suites under my name, please.  Will you take care of it?”

“Certainly, sir.”  Ken nodded and walked over to the check in desk.

Robbie turned back to Marcie and Pauline.  “Okay, ladies, wait here.  Ken will show you to your suite.  I have a little business to attend to outside.”

Marcie nodded and took her mother’s arm while Robbie returned to the PA pad outside.

“Come on, Mum”

“Don’t you think we might be able to help Mr. McLean, Marcie?”

“You have to call him Mr. Grant here, Mum.  Come on.”

Marcie and Pauline walked over to the counter to wait for Ken, who looked up and smiled at them as they approached.

“Almost finished, ladies.”  A few more taps at his computer and he walked around to the front of the counter.  “This way please.”

Friday, July 16, 2083.  6:00 a.m.

Before she knew it, Marcie was washing the tense night away in a hot shower.  Robbie had come downstairs only minutes behind them and reported that the bug was removed from the underside of the vehicle.  Robbie had put it inside the cab, to be certain that anyone monitoring it would consider all kosher.  He didn’t want their pursuers to give up on the beacon and send a real plane to follow them.  They decided to eat breakfast in their suite.  Robbie called in an order, and Marcie hopped into the shower.

In what seemed only a few minutes later, Marcie heard a rap at the bathroom door.  “Food’s here!” 
“Thanks, Mum.”  Marcie sighed, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel.  She dried off and pulled on one of the hotel bathrobes.  As she walked out into the main room, she saw Pauline and Robbie sitting at the table, already eating what looked like a sumptuous meal.  Robbie was talking.

“…and, oh, hi, sugar.”  He gestured to her meal.  “Eat up, we need to get going.”  He turned back to Pauline.  “When we leave, we need to leave everything behind as if we were planning to return, including your overnight bag, Mrs. Noel, photographs or no.”  Pauline looked sad, but didn’t complain.  “Take heart, Mrs. Noel.  I’ve left instructions.  I’m hoping they’ll be saved for you.  Okay?” 

She brightened up a little.  “Call me Pauline, Mr. Grant.”

“Only if you call me Robbie.”  He smiled.  “Okay, we’ll get on the elevator as usual, go down to the lobby, and then go up to the roof in the service elevator, after I disable the security system for a bit of maintenance.  We should be able to get up there and out before any cameras pick us up and before the sharks have any idea what’s going on.  But to get away, I think we’re going to have to risk a drop.  Okay?”

Marcie nodded.  “Okay.”  Pauline nodded too.  A ‘drop’ was an unscheduled fall from the lanes and a risky move in more ways than one.

“All right, eat up.  Could be your last meal.”

“Not funny, Robbie.”

“So Robbie, is it Grant or McLean, then?”  Pauline was the kind of women who liked to know everything about everyone, and she never forgot a thing.  Robbie seemed to understand this intuitively.  He just smiled and shrugged.  Best not to commit yourself one way or another. 

“What do you think?”

“Grant.”

“Is that wishful thinking?”

“Perhaps.  I always wanted my daughter to marry well.”

Marcie said nothing as they both looked at her.  She sipped a little more coffee and turned away to stare at the stream of rush hour traffic.  How is it possible that her mother would make this whole thing about finding a man?

“Mum, aren’t I supposed to be saving the world, here?”  Marcie didn’t bother to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“Yes, of course, dear.  But you must consider what you’re going to do afterward.  Hmmmm?”

Marcie felt a little stymied and then she looked at Robbie.  “Are you done?”  She stood up.  “Because I’m done.”

Robbie was clever enough not to laugh. Marcie went into the bedroom to change into some clothes and pull back her hair.  She was back in a few minutes.  Pauline and Robbie were both standing by the door waiting for her. 

As they left the suite, they chatted like they hadn’t a care in the world.  Marcie was getting used to playing this game and was still amazed that her mother played it so well.  I’ll have to find out how she learned all this.  They walked down the hall to the elevator and punched GL for ground lobby.  A few moments later, they emerged and the women waited while Robbie went to consult with the day manager.  Marcie watched as the two men greeted each other warmly and had a quick conversation.  They shook hands as Robbie left to walk back to Marcie and Pauline.

“Pauline,” he said as he approached.  “I just arranged to show you around the kitchens.  I know you like a bit of gourmet food, and I thought you might want to see a professional team in action.”

Pauline beamed at him.  Marcie schooled her expression.  Her mother liked food but hated cooking.  “Robbie, how gracious of you.  I would love a tour.  Come Marcie, darling.”

“All right, ladies.  Just this way.”  He gestured to the rear of the lobby and started walking.  They followed.  “The main kitchen is one of the most important elements of a world-class hotel like this.  One kitchen is responsible for preparing food for three main meals – breakfast, lunch, and dinner – in two of the three restaurants on premises, as well as, brunch seven days a week, mid-morning coffee break in the lounge, High Tea in the lounge, and room service in our eight hundred rooms twenty-four hours a day.”

“Who runs the other restaurant, Robbie?”  Pauline looked at Robbie with an honest inquisitiveness.  Mum, you’re good at this.  They went through an automatic door into one of the service corridors on the main floor.  Unlike the lobby, this floor was tiled, a neutral off white. and was busy with hotel staff going about their business.

“We hire the best chefs in the world.  Currently, our head chef is Jean Georges, a Frenchman from Thailand, who combines the two traditions in the most delicious way.  Would you like to eat at his restaurant this evening?

“Jean Georges!  We would have to wait weeks for a reservation!”

“Oh no.  We could go tonight.”

“I would love to.”

They arrived at a set of double doors.  The security monitors were showing a solid green.  With a kitchen this busy, Marcie wondered when they ever locked those doors.  Beside them, a maid was feeding dirty dishes onto a conveyor that disappeared through the wall.  Robbie pulled the door open for the women to enter.  The kitchen was huge and manned by two armies:  one preparing food and one clearing away.  The hustle and bustle was impressive.  Robbie continued the tour guide patter as they walked and Pauline continued to appear extremely interested. Marcie thought she could get away with looking a bit bored. 

Suddenly, Robbie stopped talking, turned on his heel, and started walking back to the door they came in.  Marcie perked up, Pauline lost her look of rapt attention, and they both followed him.  Robbie pushed the door open and Marcie noticed that the security system no longer showed green.  It showed nothing at all – Robbie must have had the security shut down.  I wonder how much time we have.  She picked up the pace.  Robbie walked them to a bank of service elevators where Robbie pushed the ‘up’ button.  They stood waiting beside a maid who clearly recognized Robbie and looked nervous in his presence.

As the elevator dinged its arrival, Robbie turned to the maid and said, “Why don’t you take the next elevator, Eleanor.  You’ll be glad you did.”  The young woman took his advice and stepped back to leave them room to enter.  She moved toward the call button as the elevator door closed.

“As you might have guessed, all security is off.  We have about three minutes, sugar.”   There he goes reading my mind again.  Robbie pulled out his PA remote and pushed the button that started the vehicle.  By they time they got to the roof, the PA would have run through all of its checks and would be ready to leave immediately.  The elevator opened onto the roof, and Robbie walked them directly to the PA.  They took care not to speak to anyone.  Most of the employees would likely be rigorously interrogated after they left.  It was best if they knew nothing.  The PA was already running and ready to take off.  All Robbie had to do was identify a destination.  He leaned over and spoke clearly into the microphone:  “Tampa, Florida.”  The PA lifted off immediately, paused for clearance from Control, and then began a steep climb to the state-to-state lanes.  Robbie and Marcie scanned the skies intently, but could see no pursuers.  Presently, they levelled off.

“But, Robbie, won’t they be able to track our flight path through Control?”

“Sure, but Control approved a flight to Florida.  Once we’re clear of NYC, I’m going to do the unscheduled drop and from there, we’ll fly low home.  Okay?”

Marcie felt a little sheepish.  “Sure.  Don’t we have to watch what we say?”

Robbie fingered the small beacon.  “Na.  It’s just a tracking device, no more.  We’ll dump it over a farmer’s field, and then, we’ll execute the drop.  Hopefully, it’ll be enough to get us clear.”  But he looked worried.

“Why didn’t we leave it behind?”

“They would notice right away if it wasn’t moving as we took off – especially if they’re monitoring Control and know what we’re doing.  They’d know something was up and they’d just sick a Wing on us.”

“But they’ll notice that the homing signal stops moving when you drop it.”

“Sure, but I’m hoping they’ve relaxed a little, now they think we don’t know about the beacon.  From their point of view, we think we’ve pulled off an escape and they think they have their little secret and can still track us.  I’m hoping that they’re going to rely too heavily on the edge they think they have.  They want us to lead them to Origin.  So, they need to back off and let their little plan work.”

“I’ll cross my fingers you’re right.” 

About fifteen minutes later, when they were well clear of the congestion of New York:

“Okay, this is it.”

They were flying over a farmer’s field.  Robbie opened the pilot’s window and threw the tracking device out, and then, punched the drop button on the dash.  The PA fell like a stone.  The descent was too abrupt for Marcie’s stomach, which stayed a few hundred feet up well after they fell.  Robbie levelled off just above the tree line over East Brunswick, Pennsylvania and continued south for a few kilometres. 

“I’ll stay on this course until we’re absolutely sure this worked.”

Marcie checked the proximity monitor and saw that they were well below radar range, practically skirting the tops of the trees.  ‘Topping’, she and her friends used to call it when she was a teenager.

The proximity monitor was clear for a few moments, and then, Marcie sucked in her breath as a dot appeared not far behind them and at their altitude.  Marcie turned and looked out the aft window.  She saw that a black, super-speed reconnaissance vehicle had levelled off behind them. A Wing.  Shit.

Control established the Winged Force, its own police, the same year it went live, with jurisdiction only in the streams.  The WF, by international treaty, enforced a global area, ignoring borders and domestic considerations.  A Wing, watching the flight streams would, as a matter of course, drop out of the flow to follow a vehicle making an unscheduled descent to ensure there was no emergency.  To do this part of their job, a Wing had a few extra capabilities.  The WF could legally monitor PA cab conversation just following a drop, to ensure that the pilot wasn’t out of control.  As it turned out, over fifty percent of folks making unscheduled drops were involved in criminal activity and monitoring their conversations usually hastened their capture.  Convenient, that.  So,  Robbie, Marcie, and Pauline stayed quiet for a few beats.  And then, Pauline started talking again, mainly about nothing, but complaining intermittently about having to go to the washroom.  She filled the air with innocuous conversation until they were able to stop in at a gas station.  The Wing hovered above the gas station for a short while, then, took off.  Marcie and her mother went to the bathroom for good form.

“Mum, that was great.”  Marcie whispered as they disappeared into the building.

“Yes, you must never underestimate the power of small-talk, darling.”  Pauline smiled and checked her face in the mirror.  “Come on, let’s get some snacks for the trip.”

They went downstairs to the snack bar and bought a bagful of goodies and drinks.  By the time they got back to the PA, the vehicle had been recharged and was ready to go.  They all climbed in.  They lifted off without a hitch and headed manually westward on the lowest stream.  They’d managed to get away, but it was going to be a slow ride.  Robbie set the PA on automatic and sat back looking at Marcie.  She raised her snack bag.

“Cheesy?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

As Robbie reached into the bag, they heard a solid metallic ‘thunk’ from above. 

“What was that?”

“Sugar, that was the sound of an attach magnet.  A Wing has decided to pick us up.”  Robbie sighed.  “We should have taken a ground car.”

Two hours later, they were back in Toronto, but Marcie couldn’t figure out what they were doing there.  By international treaty, a Wing is required to remand a criminal in the district over which he is apprehended.  But in their case, the PA was impounded by the WF and they were transferred to a prisoner transportation vehicle.  They were flown almost a thousand miles and over a border, all the way to the city of Toronto.  Then, they were remanded not to the local authorities, but to the RCMP – Canada’s federal policing agency.  They were formally charged with terrorist activities, and then, herded into a vehicle and flown for about fifteen minutes.  But when Marcie stepped out of the plane, they weren’t at a prison, as she expected.  She was standing, instead, in front of a beautiful house in the country, with a wide flowing staircase up to a grandly designed front entrance.  The house was large, three stories with a wing.  The grounds were tastefully landscaped and full of flowers.  Marcie blinked.  A guard shoved her from behind so she headed up the stairs.  They reached the top and the guard rang the bell.  A self-possessed woman in her forties opened the door and ushered them in.  The guards waited outside.  The woman closed the door and then turned and spoke to them. 

“Please stay here.  I would advise you not to try anything.  This facility is heavily patrolled and you’re a long way from anything or anyone who might be inclined to help you.  Do you understand?”  Robbie nodded and Marcie just stared.  Pauline was wearing her most vacant expression.  “This way, then, please.”

They followed the woman down a long, wide hallway to the wing where they turned the corner and walked into a small seating area.  The woman didn’t invite them to sit down.  Instead, she led them straight to an ornate door and tapped on it lightly. 

“Come.”  A man’s voice called.

They entered the room and found themselves in a large office, hexagonal in shape, with windows floor to ceiling on the three outside walls.  The interior walls were dominated by mahogany bookshelves full of hard cover, beautifully bound books.  Dr. Lawrence Ryan stood in the shadows of some thick drapes, behind a grand and ornate desk, also done in dark mahogany.  Marcie could barely make him out, but she could clearly see a woman was sitting on a visitor’s chair in front of the desk.  Helen Pearce!  Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline walked into the room.

“That’ll be all, Hilda.”  He was talking to their tour guide.

“Thank you, sir.”  Hilda’s voice communicated her relief.  Clearly, she wasn’t comfortable with her new guests.  She disappeared and closed the door behind her.

“Welcome. Some introductions are in order, I think.  I’m Dr. Lawrence Ryan of the Eastdown Institute.  I’m sure you’ve recognize Helen Pearce.  I understand you’ve been looking for her.  Helen, please meet Marcie Noel, her mother Pauline Noel, and Robbie Grant, a business associate.”

Helen looked a little confused.  “How do you do?”

Marcie didn’t react.  She was having trouble reconciling the situation.  This man was far too powerful.  He can hijack prisoners and have them brought to his…, what?  His home?  He must be extremely confident in his resources to be standing there so composed in front of them all, no fear showed on his face, nor was betrayed by his behaviour.  Not even nervousness.  He was above the law and a law unto himself.

“How do you do,” said Pauline after a slight pause.  “I hope you’re well.”

Again, Helen seemed confused by the civilized, almost bourgeois, conversation.  “They’re treating me well, yes.  I…I’m well.”

“Well, that’s something, my dear.”  Pauline turned to Ryan.  “And you, Doctor, are well I hope.”

“Very well, thank-you.”  Ryan was assessing Pauline with shrewdness in his eyes.  She didn’t fool him.  “Please ladies and gentleman, come this way.  We can have some lunch and discuss exactly what I want from you.”

He led them back out to the hallway, down to the back of the house, and into an airy dining room with a table already set for five.  The moment they sat down, they were served lunch.  Ryan and Pauline kept the conversation light for the whole meal, to the point where Marcie was almost starting to enjoy herself.  The change in tone came without warning.

Ryan sat back and smiled his most ingenuous smile.  “Well, I suppose you know why you’re here.”

“No, we do not.”  Marcie’s voice was firm.

“You’re here, Ms. Noel, because we want the location of Origin.  We’re prepared to do whatever it takes to get Origin and we’re not above using any means to extract information.  Do you understand?  Helen, is Ms. Noel going to tell me where the colony is?”

“No.”

“Hmmmmm.  Not frightened of me, are you.”

“No.”  Marcie said the word as matter-of-factly as possible.

“You should be, Ms. Noel.”

“Actually, Dr. Ryan, it’s you who should be frightened of me.”

“What are you talking about?”  He almost laughed. He thought she was bluffing.

“We found the results to the blood tests, Dr. Ryan.  You have a very efficient secretary – or at least you did until recently.  He or she kept back ups of absolutely everything and did it daily.  Someone tried to delete them all but, wouldn’t you know it?  We were able to save all those files.  Wasn’t that lucky?  We know what you are.  You know?  …I think you should do some testing to see how fortunatus luck cancels itself out within fortunatus society.  I would be really interested in seeing how that works.  For example, are we luckier when we are on the side of the just?  Does that give us an edge?”

As the impact of what she was saying settled on Helen, she stared a Ryan in astonishment.  Ryan had frozen as Marnie started to speak, his coffee cup almost to his mouth.  But his mind was able and quick, so it was Marcie’s turn to be surprised.  He recovered almost immediately and with confidence.  He again flashed what was becoming his famous smile.

“Well, now, Ms. Noel, whom do you think they’re going to believe?  A non-human terrorist like yourself, or me:  a pillar of my community, a top-notch researcher, and a candidate for high public office?  Hmm, who do you think?”

Marcie sniffed.  “What ever happened to Doctor Roper, Dr. Ryan?”

“Dr. who?”

“Roper.  Helen’s gynaecologist.  Remember him, Helen?  He died.  Then, they found him, a month later, lying on one of his own examination tables, crawling with insects, half rotted, soiled with the dirt they originally used to bury him.”

“Ah, yes.  I remember.  We killed him.”

“Really.”

“Yes.  He was the blabbing kind.”

“Oh?”

“We have a government directive that requires the attending physician to report a patient whose blood analysis returns with fortunatus markers.  They are required to call our hotline and we take over from there.  Most physicians have a sense of professional discretion, but Dr. Roper didn’t. He’d already requested money in return for Helen Pearce.”  Helen’s eyes grew wide.  “He wanted to go to the tabloids.”

“Ah, I understand.  Can’t have anyone knowing about your little hospital of horrors.  But why would you dig him up?”

“To tarnish Helen’s reputation, of course, and to make everyone think that she killed him for his money and tried to cover things up.  There’s no crime without a body.”

“Right.  But if you are a murderer, Dr. Ryan, it’ll be a little difficult for you to run for high public office.”

“No one will ever find out, Marcie.  One thing about sapiens.  They tend to believe what they want to believe – or should I say, what I want them to believe.”

Marcie looked at him.  His reputation was absolutely unsullied and his star was on the rise.  “I think you are a monster, Dr. Ryan.”

His smile disappeared.  “You don’t know the half of it, Ms. Noel.  Not the half.”  He stood and paced the room for a few minutes.  The silence was heavy.  “Helen, am I going to find out where Origin is?”

“Yes.”

“Am I going to destroy it?”

“Yes.”

“There.”  He turned on Marcie.  “You see?  You may as well give in.”

Before Marcie could speak, the telephone rang.

“Damn.  Guards!”  Ryan let the phone ring until the two guards appeared.  These men were burly and shrewd, the best that sapiens had to offer.  Ryan picked up the phone.  Marcie stayed put.

“Ryan.”  They waited in silence while Ryan listened to the caller.  “Yes, yes.  Good.  Send all the details to me and get General Chaisen on the line, please.  Thanks.”  He hung up the telephone.  “Well, I didn’t need you after all.  One of your operatives responded to our line of questioning.  Ms. Noel, I’d like to have you killed, but I think both you and Mr. Grant will make excellent subjects.  We’ll take your mother along to ensure that you comply, hmmmm?”  Ryan fixed her with a piercing look.  “Put them downstairs until we can transport them.”  He pressed an intercom button.  “Hilda?  Inform the kitchen we’ll have three new guests in the basement.  I’m afraid they’ll be around for a few days.  We have some pressing business.”  He looked at the guards.  “That’s all.  Come, Helen,” he said as he strode from the room.  Helen Pearce walked behind him almost meekly.

Marcie had never felt so trapped, so hopeless.  She stared at those beautiful windows and the open sky beyond.  Would I make it?  No, not today.  She stood and followed the guards out of the room.  They went to the back of the house and down a narrow staircase to the basement.  They walked past an impressive wine cellar and some storage facilities but quickly came to a desk behind which sat a rigid looking young man.  He stood as they approached.

“New guests?”  He looked almost happy.

“Yeah.  Keep the old lady away from the other two.”

“No problem.”

Marcie always marvelled at sapiens cruelty, feeling an anger begin to burn in her stomach.  Then, she remembered Ryan, a great example of fortunatus compassion, and settled down.  They walked down a hallway with seven doors, three on either side and one at the end of the hall.  Marcie was shoved into the first door on the left.  The door was locked behind her.  Marcie looked around.  An eight by five room.  A cot and a chair.  No window.  She heard two other doors slam.  She stood for a moment, and then, she sat on the chair and just breathed.

Saturday, July 17, 2083.  5:30 a.m.

Marcie was only dimly aware of a loud banging on the door.  She opened her eyes and blinked.  Same little room.  Same chair.  She focused on something new:  food on a tray on the floor in front of the door.  She got up and went over to pick up the tray.  She sat on the chair and pulled back the tin foil. 

The meal was much better than she might have expected.  Scrambled eggs and bacon, some toast, and coffee.  It was still hot.  She ate quickly, not knowing what to expect.  A while after she was done, there was another rap; then, the door opened without ceremony.  A man with short hair and a guard’s uniform poked his head in.

“Shower time, princess.”  He threw a towel at her and disappeared.  She caught the towel, stood, and followed him.  He walked ahead without fear.  Another guard was training a gun on her as she came out into the hallway.  The door at the end of the hallway stood open, waiting.  She went inside and found a washroom that was still steamy with the previous user’s shower.  The door was slammed and locked behind her.  She flicked on the fan and began to disrobe.  Then, she looked at the mirror and she could see a message written in the steam.  ‘Patience Sugar’ was all it said.  She smiled and wiped the mirror clean.  Moments later, she was in a hot shower, washing off the dirt and the events of the last few days.  It almost worked.

But. when she got out of the shower, she saw that her clothes were gone.  In their place, she found a set of blue workman’s overalls, some plain underwear, and socks.  She got into the clothes, thankful that they were clean, but when she looked in the mirror, she almost laughed.  So much for style.  When she was done, she tapped on the bathroom door.  It opened almost immediately and she walked out into the hallway in stocking feet.  The two guards were waiting for her.  One gestured toward the floor, and there she found a pair of army boots, in her size.  She pulled them on, tied them and stood looking at the guards.

“Follow us.”

She did.  There was little else for her to do.  They went back upstairs, but this time, out the back door.  Marcie could see a PA pad with a large RP idling on it.  They marched her straight to the door and stopped beside it, gesturing that she should get in.  Marcie went up the two stairs into the vehicle and only one guard followed.

“Last prisoner reporting, sir,” he said.

“Very well.”

Ryan was sitting at a thin conference table at the back of the RP.  There were three other men with him and four guards watching Pauline and Robbie, who were wearing the same blue outfits as she.  They were sitting quietly on bench seats, a few feet away from Marcie.  Between the prisoners and the conference table were banks of vidscreens, keyboards, and other communication equipment.  One of the guards gestured that Marcie should sit.  She took the place beside Robbie.  He said nothing, so she followed suit.  The silence gave them some time to listen.  A man Marcie didn’t recognize was talking to Ryan.

“… of Eastdown and requires that a whole new wing be added or that we consider processing clients earlier.  But really, my question is this:  If the client isn’t unusual in any way after the first round of tests, why are we housing them at Eastdown?  We need a facility, or a compound, where these people can live, something self-sustaining, something that won’t cost the taxpayers any money.  And keep it out of the way, certainly not on US soil.  They won’t want to play host to a penal colony.”  POW camp, you mean.

“Yes, great suggestion.  Perhaps we can put them to work.” Ryan was nodding.  “Find the real estate.”  The man nodded and made a note in his book.  “All right, then, gentlemen.  We have dispensed with other business.  Are we ready for today’s strike?”

“Absolutely, sir,” responded the three-star general sitting beside him.  I gotta read Who’s Who.

“Then, let’s do it.”

The meeting broke up.  A couple of the men, including the general, left the vehicle, and the rest of the staff began its pre-flight preparation.  One of the guards told them to buckle up.  All staff sat and strapped themselves in, including the prisoners.  They heard the engines rev, and then, felt the vehicle lift off and move forward.  It banked sharply for a time, levelled off and cruised.  Marcie didn’t have to be told where they were going.

A few thousand miles away, a sea of attack vehicles converged on the old farmhouse that stood above Origin.  Tanks, jeeps, and troop conveyance vehicles, dozens of them, kicked up enough dust to colour the sunrise pink.  In those pink skies, flew hundreds of PAs and utility vehicles.  The sound of this advance was deafening.

During the flight, the RP’s vidscreens were alive with the footage of the advancing army, with the faces of the commanding officers checking in for more instructions, with plans and diagrams of Origin itself.  What Marcie could see, however, wasn’t current.  Maybe they don’t know about the new warren.

Ryan was extremely busy.  Although clearly he wasn’t a military commander, he seemed to be in charge of the operation.  He was constantly talking on a headset, pulling people together, consulting with as many as ten people at once, generals, et al.  No wonder he felt powerful.  Marcie couldn’t say he was drunk on it, but she could see that he was definitely in his element; coordinating and communicating with his team.  Such a good little fortunatus.  This was what he was born to do.  She could see how he’d be loath to give that up.  No fortunatus community would accept him after what he had done to so many of his own; despite his obviously knowing the truth.  While, conversely, Sapiens would never accept him.  He was stuck in a living purgatory with nothing forward and nothing back.  He’d best live out this role to its fullest.

Once Robbie tried to speak to Pauline, who was looking a little bleak, but the guard nearest him didn’t bother talking; he just hit Robbie in the shoulder with the butt of his rifle.  They stayed silent for the rest of the journey.

Hours later, Marcie felt the RP descend, and then, eventually land.  Ryan and a couple of aides left the vehicle immediately without even a glance in their direction.  Some time passed.  Then, the telephone rang and one of the guards answered it.  He spoke briefly in quiet tones.  Marcie couldn’t hear what he had to say.  He nodded a lot.  Then, he hung up the telephone and gestured to the men with him.  The four guards came over and stood above them.

“Get up,” said one.

The three of them stood and followed two guards out the door.  The other two guards went behind them.

The sun was well and truly up, and Marcie immediately recognized the farmhouse, its humble outer buildings and barns.  All around the area, Marcie could see tanks and soldiers:  the pride of the US army.  Above, flew a veritable hive of military vehicles.  PAs, carriers, attack planes, and jets.

Marcie, Pauline, and Robbie were marched into the farmhouse and down to the cellar.  They passed five bodies that had been left in a pile by the big oak tree.  The old screen door had been ripped off, and the house inside was askew, obviously roughly searched.  In the cellar, Marcie was surprised to see a wall of potatoes and turnips.  No elevator door.  How’d they do that?

Ryan was standing studying an old blue print.  He looked up and smiled civilly when they came down the stairs.  He waited until they were all in the small cellar before he spoke.

“Who can tell me how to access the elevator?”  He sounded like Marcie’s grade three teacher.  They were silent.  He raised his eyebrows and continued:  “I don’t think you understand our problem here, ladies and gentleman.  If we cannot gain access without your help, we’re going to start using explosives.  And if anyone dies, it’ll be on your head.”  Oh, right, and your intentions are to invite them out to dinner!  They said nothing.  Marcie didn’t feel like being the resident consultant on Origin.  Let them figure it out by themselves.

“Sir, is it worth a stealth approach anyway?”

Ryan was shuffling papers.  “Not stealth, just more efficient.  I thought it might be easier to deploy a bomb with the elevator.  We could use the opportunity to test that thermonuclear device you’ve been talking about.”

Marcie was dumbstruck.  An atomic bomb?  Atomics had been outlawed by all civilized nations for decades.  Every great hesitant step forward precipitates two confident strides back.  She said nothing and tried to keep her face neutral.

“According to these plans,” Ryan continued.  “There’s a large open area directly below us.  We could simply send the device down and trigger it as it reaches the bottom.  It would save us all the ammunition we’ll need to break through.”  Marcie couldn’t help but pull a face.  How economical.

“Well, the elevator has to be behind this wall, right?”

“You know.  I might want to study some of what’s down there.  Let’s just start breaking through with conventional explosives.  Get a team on it.  You,” he said gesturing to a guard standing idle in a corner, “get rid of these three, please.  Lock them down.”

Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline were lead up and out of the cellar, out of the farmhouse and to a vehicle that looked like a troop carrier, but was actually a kind of brig.  They were marched into a small, windowless room and the door was closed and locked behind them.  They decided to try and relax and wait, though Marcie couldn’t help pacing back and forth.

After a while, the vehicle they were in started up, and they could hear a number of other vehicles around them doing the same.  Their vehicle started to move but didn’t take off.  They drove for maybe two minutes and then stopped.  Now what?

Possibly a few hours later – they had no idea of the time – the ground started shaking intermittently.  They all three felt the tremors, and they all three understood what the tremors meant.  Origin was being destroyed, without giving any warning to the people who lived there.  Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline sat in stunned silence.  There was nothing to say.  After a long while, the shaking stopped. 


Jacqui Burke is a freelance director, writer, and theatrical teacher living in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.  She is currently directing Wrong for Each Other for Encore Productions opening in April, Kidsplay 2012:  The Mayan Prediction opening in June, and The Last Five Years for TOKL Productions opening in July.  She is, also, serializing The Pretender, her first novel, online at http://thepretender-amarcienoelnovel.blogspot.ca/.  She is preparing for two Shakespeare is Boffo! summer camp sessions for 2012.

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The Pretender - Chapter 6

Sunday, July 11, 2083. 8:00 a.m.

Marcie walked briskly along the Promenade feeling a little at a loss for what to do. Robbie had given her an order to sleep in and take it easy. She’d been pushing herself hard; working all day on the training of the Eastdown team and then all evening on programming, barely getting seven hours sleep before she started the whole process again, but she wasn’t weary. She took the time because she wanted to think. She knew she was still not totally committed to this enterprise, still not sure she was doing the right thing. Despite all the years of karate, violence was not in her nature. She watched the citizens of Origin go about their business as she walked. What do I really have in common with these people anyway?

She went to the Flip Side for a late breakfast. As she arrived, she found it busy, but she was able to snag a table on the patio. She’d never really taken the time to watch Origin life as it happened, relying heavily on the early Reels scanned quickly over breakfast, or moments witnessed in passing as she hurried from one class to another. She sighed and sat back. Her waitress brought her coffee right away. Good lass!

She sipped her coffee and looked out. No one was running but, unlike a sapiens city, these people all moved with a purpose. Small stalls were opening all along the other side of the street, and beautiful shops they were. A textile shop was displaying richly coloured materials. Next door, a sculptor showed his wares while working on his current piece. Somewhere, perhaps on a balcony above, someone was playing the violin. Despite the parochial nature of life here at Origin, its citizens were obviously artistic, well-educated, and eloquent; aware of the world outside and participating, in their own way, in Outside ideas and trends. In short, for a community of only fifteen thousand people, Marcie didn’t feel like she was living in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of hicks. A high percentage of people living in Origin were artists: painters, potters, sculptors, and weavers and, as a result, many of the finer things in life didn’t have to be imported. They could be had straight from the artists’ shops on the Promenade.

Her breakfast came. Marcie tended to order the special and, though she had no idea what many of the dishes were, she was rarely disappointed. This morning, the dish was a plate of light crepes rolled with a kind of humus paste and eggs inside. Very tasty.

Marcie loved food in Origin. They didn’t eat much red meat, mostly due to the fuss and mess of keeping that many cattle and sheep and, as an extra plus, the cooking was influenced by eastern traditions. There was no pot roast to be found and no Yorkshire pudding. Robbie, who liked his beef, was trying not to complain too much, and Marcie was trying not to gorge herself too much, at least when he was around. Today, this was not a problem. She was just cleaning her plate when a young girl came up to her table.

“Excuse me, Ms. Noel. I was wondering if you would write a note in my scrapbook.”

Marcie looked at her, surprised. The girl still had that coltish awkwardness of a young teenager. She offered a large keepsake book, stuffed with photos, leaves, and other mementos. Marcie took the book and felt a wave of nostalgia. She’d had something similar when she was a girl.

“Call me Marcie.” The girl looked thrilled. “What would you like me to say?”

“Whatever comes to mind, Marcie. I’d appreciate it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Kim.”

“Okay, Kim.”

Marcie looked over and saw the girl’s parents watching from another table, obviously proud of their daughter’s pluck. Marcie had no idea that anyone needed any pluck to approach her. She blinked. She took up the pen and looked down. Staring back at her was a blank page of homemade paper that had bits of glitter in it, very similar to the paper she had made for her own keepsake book so many years ago. She paused and thought for a moment, and then she wrote:

‘Dear Kim: I’ve been in Origin now for only a few days and I find it a beautiful place, full of happy and interesting people. I wish you just that: beauty, happiness, and interesting people and things in your life. Good luck to you. Marcie Noel.’

Marcie handed back the pen and the book. Kim thanked her and moved away without even reading the message. She sat down with her parents, looking a little flushed and pleased.

Marcie had never been a celebrity, certainly never a role model. She suddenly realized that her connection to these people was profound. She would have said that it was almost ironic that she was here: a wolf amongst the lambs, a pretender to the birthright. But these people believed in her. Believed she could lead them. Believed somehow she could save them.

She finished her breakfast and nodded to Kim on her way out, wishing the whole family a good day. She walked down the Promenade slowly, fingering silks, inspecting pots. She wasn’t really much of a shopper. She didn’t want anything but a good pair of socks, which she found, but she was actually more interested in watching people and how they interacted. These were polite and soft-spoken folk, who were quick to laugh. But soon, Marcie realized her very presence was having an effect on their behaviour. Once they recognized her, she was treated with an extra deference and respect. It dawned on her that this walk down the Promenade was being recorded and would be in the Reels.

So, she gave up on the Promenade and walked to the parkland surrounding the Sports Complex. Robbie had made her swear that she wouldn’t go near the place, but she wanted to find a tree, sit under it, and think. She settled down cross-legged in the perfect spot on some grass just off the Promenade, with a good view of the traffic on the main road, and watched the world, as small as it was here, go by.

Very soon, a little child came up to her with a card in his hand. His mother wasn’t far away and he ran back to her the moment Marcie accepted the offering. The front of the card was decorated with stick figures and inside were scribbles incomprehensible to Marcie, but she smiled warmly and waved when the boy peeked at her from behind his mum.

Word must have got out. Maybe she was already in the Reels? Soon there was a line up, mostly of children, but of some adults too. Some carried little tokens and notepads. Some simply wanted to have a word with her. Perhaps it was the personal nature of the Reels but all of them acted like they knew her, like she was part of their family, like they could be open with her. Marcie didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or honoured. She chose to accept each offering for what it was: a gift. She was late for her call at noon.

Tuesday, July 13, 2083. 6:28 p.m.

A few days later, Marcie toyed with the enter key as she assessed the program she’d written. It looked solid; it was time to let it loose on an unsuspecting Internet.

The last week had been hard work. The program was much more complex than she’d first imagined; in part, because she had to synchronize the time of the attack and she couldn’t rely on the settings on the host computers. So, the program had its own internal clock that confirmed time with Greenwich Mean immediately upon download and this was a lot riskier – quite a few virus scanners monitored systems for that kind of activity. But there were ways and ways around everything. The program was just a little bit bigger than she’d previously thought it would be, and the project a little more difficult. Well, that’s how opening your mouth got you in trouble, as her mum would say.

Luckily, the Comm Team was fantastic. Lee, Talla, Carmen, and Brett all seemed to understand her intentions quickly, and all seemed to enjoy working out their own solutions to their problems. Marcie was used to having to come up with the answers herself. It was gratifying to have a team that she could rely on, a team she could leave alone. Just like at the office. Hey, Tracy has auburn hair. Just how many of us are there?

She hit enter and sat back. The email was away. She’d listed the ‘from’ as the very generic name of John and she included a really good joke in the body of the email. This email was sent to a list of a million viable email addresses and would be delivered in less than an hour. Who knew what percentage would forward the joke to their friends but, certainly, it would take a few days to infect enough computers. She took a moment to set up a tracer that would follow the email as it travelled around the world and keep track of the number of computers infected. She started the tracer and then she got up and left the room. She’d check back in a few hours.

She went down to one of the lecture halls they had commandeered in the Sports Complex for the duration of Project Eastdown. Stellan was there talking to the team leaders. They all turned and looked at her expectantly when she entered the room.

“It’s away,” she said simply.

“Fine, so we go in forty-eight hours,” said Stellan.

“No,” she replied. “We hit in forty-eight hours.”

Stellan looked a bit sheepish. “Yes. I see.”

Marcie turned to the team leaders. “We all need a good night’s sleep tonight. Then, tomorrow, review and light exercises. Another good night’s sleep and we get ready to go. All right?” Nods all around. “Karen, your teams will be under the most stress during this time. Do you feel you’re all ready?”

“Absolutely.” Marcie was impressed. Karen seemed certain.

“All right. Of course, just shout if you need more people. Questions? None? Okay, good night, all. Robbie, can you wait up a moment?”

“Sure.”

“Dr. Stellan, just one question. How many of us are there outside?”

Stellan paused and thought for a moment. “Well, people have been leaving Origin for about a fifty years. There may be thousands of us out there.”

“Right. Most in North America?”

“I would assume so, but who knows? By definition, these people are rolling stones.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Are you worried that we’ll go up against some of our own?”

“Not really. But if they’re out there and on the other side, it’ll make our job more difficult because we won’t have the natural edge we have over sapiens. I’d be surprised to meet many of us defending the complex, though.”

“I would, too. We are a peaceful people.”

“All right, good night, Doctor.”

“Good night.” Stellan nodded and left. Marcie turned back and smiled at Robbie. “What’s up, sugar?”

“Want some dinner?”

“Sure.”

They decided on an Indian-style place. They sat near the back, away from the activity on The Promenade. After ordering, the waitress took their menus and left. Robbie turned to look squarely at Marcie.

“Okay, what’s up, sugar?”

Marcie smiled. “What? Is it written on my forehead?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, it is. So shoot.”

“All right. It doesn’t make any sense that I’m the one leading this team. I don’t have any strike force experience. Really, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t. You’re right. You’re not qualified to lead the strike force. That’s why I’m leading the strike force and you’re in charge of the communication. That’s how we always play it.”

“I would be happier if….”

“Well, I won’t do this any other way. You can’t go in with us, Marcie, no matter how hard you try and if you do try, the whole thing will fail because I won’t be going in either; I’ll be sitting on you.”

Marcie was silent. She hadn’t realized until he spoke that she really did want to be on the team going into the Eastdown complex. She wanted to have the satisfaction of physically rescuing those people and she knew she would’ve been a real asset to the strike team, but she accepted his opinion. He wouldn’t hold her back unless he had good reason. She changed the subject and they chatted while they ate their meal. Robbie was in good form, telling her a story about one of the recruits trying to figure out what to do with a jock strap – athletes in Origin practice and compete in the nude – especially since the recruit was a girl. The food was fantastic and Marcie had a good time. It almost made her forget the whole business.

When she got back to the suite, she decided she needed to meditate for a while. She had to be certain that she would sleep and sleep well. She changed into a light shift and sat cross-legged on the floor beside her bed. The décor in the room was spartan and Marcie had done nothing to pretty it up because she simply hadn’t the time. So, she was able to stare at a blank wall and really clear her mind. She adjusted her breathing and worked through her relaxation exercises. Fifteen minutes later, she was completely relaxed and ready for sleep. She crawled into bed, fell asleep immediately, and didn’t wake until morning.

Wednesday, July 14, 2083. 6:45 a.m.

Norman Li walked down the main corridor at Eastdown. He liked the place early in the morning because it was still quiet. The only doctor usually in at this time was Ryan, and it had been Li’s custom to have a cup of coffee with Ryan every few days – a great time for a meeting – but, today, he didn’t go to the Administrator's Office. He had a message to relay. He went down the back halls to the kitchen.

In stark contrast to the rest of the complex, the kitchen was all hustle and bustle. Norman fingered the small slip of paper, like a fortune from a fortune cookie, hidden in his pocket. It was destined for Helen Pearce. He planned to slip it in her porridge as he inspected food trays. This standard inspection was a remarkable opportunity to pass information on, something he would never have dreamed of doing even a few weeks ago.

He walked into the serving area in the kitchen and did his usual checks. He pulled out five trays, seemingly at random, and used a fork to push the food around. During this process, he managed to slip the paper onto Pearce’s bowl and then continue with the inspection. A few moments later, Li noticed that the kitchen had gone uncharacteristically quiet. He straightened up slowly, leaving his hands in clear view. He had to be careful. He turned around.

The kitchen staff had disappeared and in their place was Dr. Ryan standing by a prep table with two security personnel Li didn’t recognise and that thug, Welsh. The security men were training hand pistols at him. Li wasn’t worried. He wasn’t planning to run. Welsh had such a satisfied look on his face that it gave Norman pause. Oh, he’s going to get my job. God help these people. Norman raised his hands slowly to show that he would not fight. He didn’t want the world to think him a traitor. Instead, he wanted the world to know what was going on in Eastdown, and he would use the court martial as an opportunity to tell his story. Command would believe him, or they wouldn’t, and if they did, something might get done about this place.

“Norman, Norman.” Ryan was shaking his head.

Ryan looked shocked, numbed by Norman’s betrayal, and Norman felt bad. He’d really liked Ryan in the early days. Ryan was a hard worker, just like himself, and he was respectful of security procedures and concerns. He didn’t mess with the staff or breach security protocols when it was convenient. Lawrence and Norman had been friends. Coffee at seven every few days.

“Sir.”

“Come on, Norman. Let’s see what you put in that woman’s bowl, hmmmm?”

Norman stepped back to allow Ryan access. Ryan pulled Helen’s tray out of the warming cart himself, wincing a little at the heat. He placed the tray on the counter, picked up a knife that was handy. He pushed the porridge around. The note was easy to find.

“Norman, Norman.”

Norman looked at Ryan. Ryan’s face was ashen, his head down, his eyes glazed. Norman was surprised at how disappointed Ryan seemed. Ryan looked rocked to the core.

“Why, Norman?”
 

“You have to stop all this torture, Dr. Ryan. These people have suffered enough.”

“You have forgotten our mission, Norman.”

“No.”

“You forget what’s at stake.”

“No.”

“Humankind will not lose to a group of upstart, genetically-engineered monsters.”

“If you continue with what you’re doing, humankind will lose because we will have lost our humanity.”

“Ah. Nobility, Norman. How quaint.”

He will never stop this insanity. Norman sighed. The betrayal of Ryan had been difficult for him because he considered the man to be his friend. He was trying to help the Subjects, yes, but he’d also wanted to save his friend from himself.

“You’re going to have to tell me everything, Norman.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“Oh, Norman. Bring him.”

They went back to the main corridor and turned down the hallway leading to the testing rooms. Ryan led them to Testing Room 8 and disappeared through the doorway.

Wednesday, July 14, 2083. 7:10 a.m.

Helen Pearce pushed her body up from the floor. One fifty-eight, one fifty-nine. She pushed up again. The workouts were doing her some good. At the very least, she no longer felt dull and logy anymore. She’d started to feel invigorated, more like her old self before she came to this place, but she wished that the reason she’d begun the exercise sessions didn’t exist. A few weeks earlier, the intensity of testing had picked up and so, too, had the screams and cries of pain and discomfort from the testing rooms. At first, the noise had made her pace her cell, as if her body wanted her to go to the aid of the victims. Later, feeling as if she were going insane, she had begun to exercise. Suddenly, she heard a gut-wrenching scream. Man, they started early this morning. And then, another yell from down the hall. There was anger in these cries. The Subject hadn’t broken yet. Just keep counting: One sixty-one, one sixty-two.

She was startled from her concentration by banging on the door. She hopped up to her feet and stood waiting. Why do they bother knocking? Since there was a security camera on her at all times with no allowance for privacy, the guards may as well have just walked in without warning.

Two men came into her cell, grabbed her roughly by the arms, and dragged her out of her cell, like some life-sized rag doll. She’d begun to think of this whole exercise as a game, a charade, as a way for the guards to show their superiors, watching on the cameras, that they were doing their jobs. Helen Pearce didn’t really matter – they would have treated anyone the same. But there lay the conundrum of the place. In order to survive, these men had to run around pretending not to care. When did their inhumane ‘act’ become reality? At what point did they stop caring about anything but themselves?

The guards half dragged her down the hallway to the testing rooms. What am I in for today? They stopped at one of the Psych rooms, but she no longer viewed these rooms as havens. They were just as bad as any of the others. The guards opened the door and pushed her in.

She stumbled as she crossed the threshold because of the shove from behind, but she righted herself quickly hoping that, at least, she could maintain her dignity. She looked up. Oh, great. Dr. Lawrence Ryan, her worst nightmare, was standing behind a small table, mask firmly in place, his eyes in shadow from the one overhead light, the rest of the room in darkness. She walked over to the table and saw it was bare except for a little piece of paper that looked like a fortune from a fortune cookie. Helen’s heart sank. She wondered if, at least, he’d let her read it. He gestured that she should sit. Helen had no choice. She sat down.

“You can leave us alone.”

The two guards left the room and shut the door behind them.

“Surveillance off,” said Ryan clearly.

Ryan sat down. He looked at her with those hard, hazel eyes for a long while. Helen kept her face passive, her back straight, her hands folded demurely on her lap. Finally, Ryan moved. He lifted his hand and Helen almost flinched, but instead of doing anything to her, he pulled away his mask.

He was not unattractive. He had a strong jaw and a thin nose.

“Your friends are coming for you, Ms. Pearce.” He pushed the little paper toward her. Helen stayed silent, but she looked hard at the paper to see what it said: ‘Fear not. We come.’

Ryan continued in a matter-of-fact voice that Helen found chilling. “But they will fail. However, just in case, I’ve decided to evacuate key staff for a few days and to be doubly sure I’ve requested military backup: two platoons of Canada’s finest. So, your friends don’t know what’s going to hit them. On the odd chance their attack is successful, I can’t have them taking you, so you will come with me along with one other key prisoner. Not that I’m worried. They won’t be prepared for professional soldiers and most of them will die except the few who will tell me where their base is.”

He pushed his chair back, stood, and started to walk around the table. His tone changed: “Sad, really, isn’t it? And it’s all because they found out about you. Now what about you would motivate them, hmmmm? Your obvious charms, perhaps?” He stopped behind her and gently touched her head. Helen shied slightly and relaxed as soon as she understood he wasn’t hurting her, but she was too late. She had betrayed her fear. Ryan smiled coldly. Then, he tapped his neck under his right ear and spoke: “Jake. Send in our friend, would you?”

Ryan stepped around Helen and suddenly crouched beside her chair, trying to catch her gaze, but she kept her eyes straight ahead, not looking at him.

“Do you know why you’re here, Helen? May I call you Helen?” He waited, but she refused to answer. “You’re here because you’re not human, well, not homo sapiens at any rate.” He waited again, but she did her best to control herself. Not homo sapiens? “And, even amongst your own kind, you’re unique.” What is he talking about? Still, she refused to look at him. “You make a correct guess ninety-seven percent of the time. Ninety-seven. That’s practically always. Your species, on average, guesses things right more often than sapiens, about sixty percent of the time, but you, you guess the right answer almost all the time. I would call it a miracle, but I can’t. And apparently, your friends can’t either. They know what you can do, and they want you to perform your tricks for them. So, don’t think you’re special because somebody out there loves you. You’re nothing without this ability. They would’ve let you rot in here, like they left a few hundred others, if you were just an average member of your species. They are cowards. Nothing. I can’t leave you in the hands of those people.”

He stood and walked back to the other side of the table. “So, you won’t be here when they come, because my guess is they’re coming for you. And after we slaughter most of them, we will find out from one of the survivors where their base is.” Helen could see her knuckles were white; she was gripping the chair so hard. She forced herself to relax her hands. She said nothing. What is this? Some kind of sick test? She heard the door open behind her and heard the footfalls of people walking into the room, but she did not turn to look. “You, my lucky one, will come with me, to my own home, where we’ll wait out the attack. And, where you’ll begin to learn that there is no one you can trust more than me. No one. And then you’ll begin to help me with what I need to do.”

It was time to speak. “I will never help you.” She was surprised how even her voice sounded.

“Oh, I think you will.” He gestured for someone to come forward.

And, suddenly, there was Greg. He looked a little worn out, but otherwise fine. He was nodding slightly as he always did when he was trying to reassure her. She felt a surge of emotion welling up from her chest, but almost immediately, she began to control it. Too late. Ryan was smiling. He knew he had her.

“So, let’s start, shall we?” Helen looked at him. “I want you to just answer naturally, like you do with the cards. Don’t think too much about it.”

Helen looked at Greg. He shook his head, ever so slightly. She held his eyes, but she couldn’t do as he wanted. Greg didn’t know what he was up against. She did. Ryan was right in one way. She already trusted him, his cruelty at least. She looked back to Ryan and nodded. He smiled.

“Will they attack or try to sneak you out?”

“Attack.”

“Will they come today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. We’ll certainly be ready for them.” He turned away abruptly, done with her for the time being. “Transport them to the facility at my residence immediately.”

He pulled his facemask on once more and strode from the room. Helen watched him go silently. She decided she liked him better with his mask on.

Thursday, July 15, 2083. 1:00 p.m.

About a half hour to take off, the team assembled in the various barns of the old farm on the surface above Origin. Marcie finally came up after tying up some loose ends and having performed a last minute check on her virus. Over the previous day and a half, it had spread, slowly at first, and then picked up speed at an amazing pace. Her tracker reported that the virus had infected a few hundred million computers in approximately forty hours. By the time they got to Newmarket, that figure could double. Perfect.

When Marcie was ready to go, there were few vehicles left. The supply team had started leaving as much as twenty-four hours before to obtain all the materials they would need and the strike team had been leaving all day. Marcie stood beside Robbie as they waited for a few PAs to back out of the barn.

“Look at that, sugar.”

She turned to him and saw that he was staring at the ceiling. “What’s up, Robbie?”

“Ha, ha.” They were silent for a moment, looking at beams of light streaming through chinks in the barn boards. “It’s the sun, creepin’ through the cracks. It’s something you don’t get down below, huh? Something they never see.”

Marcie smiled. Robbie the Philosopher. “No, they never do.”

“It always finds a way in, though.”

“What’s that?”

“The light.” He smiled. He was being reassuring. She smiled back at him but wasn’t sure she shared his optimism. Something was bothering her. Something was still missing from the puzzle and, though essentially she trusted Stellan, he was still a politician. It was their turn to go.

Robbie and Marcie hopped in their assigned PA, drove out of the barn, and Robbie took off without clearance from Control. He executed the first of what would be a series of untraceable short hops to Chicago, where Robbie would power down, reset, and restart. Then, they would run through a standard clearance procedure and make the final jump to Toronto; Origin’s location couldn’t be traced. They flew for hours on the slower local height streams. Marcie actually enjoyed the ride – no steep climbs or descents – but as they approached Chicago, they put the PA down in a remote suburb, re-adjusted the start-up to automatic, shut down, and then re-booted the PA. He said the word ‘Toronto’ clearly and the PA took over, guided both by its own systems and Control.

While the PA flew itself, they sat back and chatted about nothing. They arrived without incident two hours later and set down on a public landing pad just long enough to power down, reset and reboot the PA, and then do a manual merge into the slow lanes flying north. They came down in the borough of Newmarket after about fifteen minutes of flight. Even without the auto-nav, they found the rendezvous warehouse relatively easily because a huge blue cross had been painted on the roof. This warehouse was as large as a jetball field, but this stat wasn’t impressive; the building looked like many others in the area. Robbie landed the PA on the pad on the roof and they took the service elevator down to the ground floor.

As the elevator descended, Marcie surveyed the small fleet. Four PAs would carry two crew each, drop a bomb on cue at the beginning of the attack, defend as necessary during the attack, and pick up soldiers or freed prisoners at the end. Three vehicle carriers would transport the frontal assault team. Each carrier had a crew of four and held one attack humvee and with ten infantry besides. Each humvee had a crew of two. These thirty-six people would launch the dummy frontal assault. There was also one troop carrier that would hold the whole of the twelve members of the Release team, the two members of the Computer team, as well as two medical staff and four beds for ill prisoners. And, last but not least, the Command Vehicle with two pilots, four staff, and Marcie. A total of seventy-nine people on the Strike Team, not including the few hundred staff both in Ontario and in Origin who had made the preparations for the Strike and were readying for the return of the prisoners.

The warehouse was a hive of activity, but without the general buzz of conversation that Marcie was used to in large groups of sapiens. They were greeted at the elevator by one of Karen’s team who directed them to a large changing area. They checked in at a table and were each given a pack with their names on it. There was one changeroom for both the men and the women, so Marcie and Robbie sat down to dress together.

“Warriors all, I guess.”

“Yeah,” replied Robbie. “You could prance about here in the altogether right now and I probably wouldn’t notice.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Robbie laughed.

Marcie’s kit was small, just some clothes and some electronics. Robbie’s pack was extensive, however: automatic rifle; machine gun; small laser pistol, the latest in personal weapons; some hand grenades; including three Automatic Detonation Bombs, or ADBs, that could be programmed to go off at various times in three different striation modes; clothes, helmet, watch, canteen and more.

“How will you carry all that stuff?”

Robbie gave a wry smile. “That’s always the question, isn’t it?” And then, Robbie pulled out the only piece of equipment that the two shared: A communication headset. “This is my umbilical to you, sugar. You’re gonna show me the way.”

Marcie smiled. She didn’t really understand what she did next, but she did it and she meant it. She held his face in both of her hands, and then she kissed him hard on the lips. She pulled away quickly and shook out the green shirt she’d been issued, trying not to think about what she’d just done.

“Maybe I should insult you more often.”

She smiled, but felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. They should have their minds on other things except, of course, this was the only thing that really mattered. She decided to ignore him, shucked off her shirt, and pulled on the green turtleneck she’d been issued. They dressed in silence. Marcie was done first and helped Robbie with his belt pack and the crossband that carried extra ammunition, grenades, and ADBs.

They left the changing area together. Marcie could see the command centre as they got to the aisle. She turned to go to it, but stopped because Robbie grabbed her hand. He switched off his head commset to make sure they had privacy. She did the same.

“If it all goes wrong, sugar, if everything goes bad, give the word and go. Don’t worry about me, okay?” Is something bothering him, too?

“I’m responsible for all those under my command, you or anyone. I wouldn’t just abandon you.” She believed it. Every word.

He smiled and then he let her hand go and turned away. Marcie couldn’t watch him go. She switched on her comm unit immediately and turned away herself. She wanted to get into the command vehicle to confirm the time and check on the status of the virus that she’d sent out a few nights before.

The command vehicle was a vacation RV designed for a family of four. Not so big to be alarming and not too small either. Karen’s team had gutted it and re-installed all the necessary equipment including an extensive arsenal and four battle stations – turret rooms, they’d begun to call them. The command centre was laid out exactly as they had planned it. Marcie knew where her seat was without anyone telling her.

“Hello, all.” She said, as she stepped into the plane. She kept her tone light.

“Ma’am,” came the formal reply from around her. She was going to have to talk to these people about calling her ma’am, but she would wait until after they returned.

She sat down and powered up the three computers and six vidscreens she would be using personally. From her ops computer, she logged onto the Internet immediately. As it was making the connection, she also logged onto the two other computers that would act primarily as external monitors.

At her ops machine, she called up the tracer program after first checking for a tracer on the tracer. Was anyone watching? Apparently not. The tracer reported that the virus had been more successful than she had originally hoped – a half billion machines infected – and that the virus continued to spread at an exponential rate. By the time they struck, only minutes away, the total could possibly be a billion. Marcie sat back and wondered, for a moment, just how many personal computers there were out there. At any rate, it would be enough for what she needed to do. She checked her watch and went to pour herself a cup of fresh coffee. She returned to her chair and tried to relax while she printed out a timeline, four maps, a list of local comm codes, and the master checklist. She logged onto a military site to confirm Greenwich Mean to which she synchronized her command computer. Then, she ran through a systematic check of all her vidscreens, remote cams, and other periphery equipment.

She took care with her radio set up. She had three states: pre-attack, when all channels were open to all; attack, when every team and subteam – eighteen in all – had their own isolated channel; and emergency, on which Marcie could also monitor the radio traffic of the local law enforcement agencies. All was working. She had eight minutes to spare. She spent two minutes setting three alarms: Deployment, Attack, and Bug Out. Then, she downed her coffee, went to the bathroom, and poured herself another on the way back. At the appointed time, she started her global check sequence.

“All team leaders check in, please.”

“Topaz Leader, here.”

As each leader confirmed attendance and readiness, Marcie checked them off manually on a paper list. Quaint, yes, but also foolproof – at least for Marcie.

“Team leaders, confirm staff, please.”

Again, as the team leaders confirmed that their group ready to go, Marcie checked them off. There was a small problem with Hephaestus (the frontal assault) Team, but they were able to confirm readiness by the time she cycled back to them. Marcie continued down the global checklist until it was done.

“Time to deployment: six minutes. Please start vehicles and idle. Gold Leader, initiate Launch Doors, please.”

“Initiating,” came the immediate response. Marcie was feeling confident in their plan and their team. Every member had the timeline memorized. She could rely on each to do his or her part without her having to order it. This was freedom.

From above, Marcie could hear the low level grinding of gears and hydraulics as a large hatch opened in the roof. The launch sequence was set; all Marcie had to do was give the go ahead. Marcie watched the clock. She shifted her view to the overhead cams on the RV, so she could monitor the lift off and then she spent the intervening few minutes breathing deeply to settle her nerves. At exactly six twenty-five, her ops computer beeped its first alarm and Marcie gave the command to go.

The PAs went first. They rose and hovered like bees and then disappeared through the launch doors seemingly at random, although Marcie knew that their flight plans were locked in. Next, the medium-sized vehicles: the command centre and the one troop carrier flew a little more slowly out of the warehouse. As they emerged into a sunny evening, Marcie checked her undercams and watched the three vehicle carriers as they lifted off as scheduled, following them out.

“Local forces?” Marcie was asking Talla, her external communications monitor, if their lift-off had been noticed.

“As expected. No mention.” Talla’s voice was certain. No forces alerted or dispatched.

Good. “All clear as of lift-off,” she informed the rest. “All clear.”

Marcie sat back and waited. The flight to Eastdown was less than five minutes due south. Though the sky was clear and everything was moving as it should, Marcie suddenly felt anxious. She started checking the various cams and monitors at her disposal including her proximity alert, scanning the skies for any sign of pursuit. Nothing. So, what is bothering me? Her job, up to and including the Attack Point, was to call off the operation, if necessary, and she was feeling edgy and worried. She was looking for any excuse to call an Abort.

Nothing happened as they advanced on Eastdown. Marcie could see no reason to call off the operation, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should. She must act. She made a decision.

“Hephaestus, be wary, no indications. All teams: Condition Yellow. Repeat Condition Yellow.” She was sure something was wrong; she just didn’t know what it was and she may as well let everybody in on her hunch. Under this condition, anyone, including the guy who rolled bandages, could sound an Abort – the rationale being that a counter-indication could come from the most unlikely of sources.

They were flying well, not in formation but clearly together. They looked like an extended family group on vacation. The skies were clear of other traffic. There was nothing to fear. So, why? Her computer beeped. She quickly double-checked the time and their location.

“Attack Point reached. Go ahead. Attack Point reached. We are going ahead.”

Thursday, July 15, 2083. 6:30 p.m.

The clock ticked over ten-thirty p.m. Greenwich Mean Time and well over a half billion computers attacked the Eastdown security system, all at once. Because of Internet traffic congestion and the restraints of the cables going into the complex only a few million a second got through, but it was enough to shut down the internal workings of the Eastdown computers completely as the system dropped everything to defend itself. Nothing would be apparent to security staff, however, unless they tried to change something: Like raising the parking lot barrier, switching out lights, or shifting security readiness from daytime to night time.

At six thirty, the evening shift should have taken over, with the day staff long gone. According to their intelligence, and this is what the Origin force expected, a company of twelve civilian security guards patrolled the facility in the evening, relying heavily on early warnings from the intricate surveillance system that watched every square inch of the compound, both inside and out. Of course, this evening, the system would be otherwise occupied.

About thirty seconds after the computer attacks began, four Origin vehicles landed on the Eastdown grounds. Three carriers landed on the lawns at the front of the building and three humvees emerged immediately with the troop compliments in their wake. The troop carrier touched down in the gardens, spoiling the central flowerbeds, and the Release Team came out in a tight group that moved quickly toward the side door. No alarm sounded and there was no obvious response from the building. The virus is working.

“No alarm. Bombs drop, go.” Marcie felt like she was watching twenty vidscreens at once, but at least she could see and assess just about everything. Her voice was clear and confident. She was in her element. In response to her command, seven vehicles dropped low-level explosives, more boom than bite, onto the grounds at Eastdown and one AP dropped the large bomb, all bite, that would destroy the power plant.

Marcie saw both the frontal attack and release team ground troops reach their marks. The frontal group was taking up position near the main entrance of the building. The release team was approaching the side entrance to the building through the gardens.

Just as Robbie placed a small bomb on the door mechanism, the power plant blew. Marcie wasn’t expecting the force of the blast. Even the command vehicle shuddered with the explosion. She could see that a few of the soldiers on the ground had fallen. She switched to Robbie’s channel to check all was well. Robbie was calling to his novice fighting force to get them on their feet.

“Blow the door, Robbie. Time, time.” Marcie stole a glance at the countdown to Bug Out. Only four minutes left. She turned back to her vidscreens and saw a small blast and the door pop open. Her force would be inside in seconds. The fake frontal assault had begun, with soldiers lobbing low-level ADBs and firing wildly at the building. Marcie hoped there were enough diversions to keep most of her people alive. There was no sign of response yet. She didn’t know if that was a bad sign, or good.

Robbie disappeared into the building with his team. Marcie could no longer easily see what was happening though the soldiers all had cameras on their helmets. In combat, the pictures were usually too jerky for a co-ordinator to make head nor tail of. What did help Marcie were the sensors built into the watches and clothing of the soldiers. Data was constantly streaming in and was being processed by Brett, a computer whiz working on her team. Brett was already running programs to graphically represent the data, so Marcie could understand what she was looking at. The graphs were displayed on her vidscreens almost immediately. She could see her team as green dots showing on a map of the complex. There was a cluster of dots outside by the front door and some moving in the humvees. She could see the Release team moving in the building. Other bodies, enemy forces or prisoners, identified only by body heat sensors, would show up as red dots. Marcie scanned the map for red dots. Nothing yet. The team needed to be closer for their scanners to pick up the information.

Hephaestus Team split into three groups as they entered the building. The Computer Group went to the administrative offices to steal hard drives. The Release Group, led by Robbie, would get as many victims out as possible. A Patrol Group of two soldiers took up a position at the intersection of two main corridors to watch out for opposing forces and defend as necessary.

“Release Group, I have three people in cells but about twenty warm bodies down at the end of the cell corridor in the larger room – some kind of holding cell? Start there.”

“Got it.”

Marcie noticed two red dots moving quickly down the corridor toward the release team. “Robbie as you come around that corner….”

“On it.” Robbie’s voice had changed a little. He sounded harder, more focused than she’d ever heard him. There were two short bursts of gunfire. The two red dots stopped moving.

Marcie could see more warm bodies in the offices. “Computer Group, you have company waiting in the outer office. Two targets.”

“Two. Okay,” said Trent Poole. A few moments later, he whispered: “Computer group calling door check.”

“Correct door,” Marcie said.

Marcie kept her channels open, so she could monitor what was going on. Trent was talking, or rather whispering, to Drew Carter, his partner.

“They’re right there waiting for us. If we go in, we’ll get shot.”

“What about a flash ADB?” Drew sounded uncertain of himself. “Would that work? It won’t do too much damage and it’ll leave them blind.”

“Great idea.”

A few seconds later, Marcie heard the sound of a muffled explosion and Trent was saying, “Go, go, go.” Then, some sounds of gunfire. Marcie could barely sit in her seat.

“Office, clear.” Trent was sounding subdued. Marcie started breathing again.

She watched her screens intently. A few seconds later, the Release Group arrived at the holding cell.

“Release calling Door check.” Robbie’s voice was terse.

“Correct door,” Marcie said clearly.

“Sure?” came the answer back. “The door doesn’t seem to be locked.”

A trap! Marcie yelled “Get out!” just as a massive amount of gunfire sounded.

Robbie was shouting: “Fallback! Fallback!”

Before her eyes, Marcie could see members of her team scattering and some dying. Marcie got a hold of herself and said clearly “Bug out. Repeat: Bug Out. All teams leave immediately. Bug Out.” She watched as the red dots in the holding cell, at first, surged forward and out into the hallway after her retreating force, and then, stopped moving one by one. She watched the dots in the other cells carefully, but none emerged – these were probably actual prisoners.

Some curses came back. She heard Trent on the Computer team yell “Okay take whole box, let’s go.”

Marcie was relieved to hear Robbie’s voice: “I need a check on Helen Pearce.” One of their primary goals was to release Helen Pearce. Stellan had not been clear why, but he had made it plain that it was not only because the girl was his niece. Marcie checked her cell.

“Someone’s in her cell, Robbie, but who?”

“I’ll go see.”

“It’s Bug Out, Robbie.”

“Don’t worry sugar, it’s on my way.”

A few moments passed in which Marcie studied her troop screen carefully. Four were dead. If any were hurt, Marcie couldn’t tell from the readings.

“Door check.” Robbie again.

“Correct door.” She heard the door blow immediately.

“Come on, come on.” Robbie was talking to someone else. “Sugar, one occupant, male. Could be one of us; so we’re bringing him along. Bugging out.” Well, maybe we saved one guy, anyway.

Then, Marcie noticed a surge of new red dots, soldiers probably, coming up from a lower level. A large compliment moved toward the front of the building and a group of twenty dots headed toward the back. As she scanned her external cams, she also saw a force of ten jeeps coming in from the road. Too many. She spoke immediately.

“Bug out Manoeuvre C. Manoeuvre Charlie. Charlie Bug Out. Enemy re-enforcements on their way, from inside and outside. Gold group lay down covering fire to block the front entrance. Keep those troops inside the building. Silver group take out the jeeps coming in from the north. Ground troops, I repeat: bug out Charlie.”

The external scenes became battle zones, with ADBs dropping everywhere. The advance of the jeep force was slowed significantly and the troops attempting to come out of the building were stopped at the doors. On the inside monitors, Marcie watched as her people immediately turned away from the predetermined exit and headed instead for the closest doors. “Gold and Silver, they’re coming out. Break off and pick up.” Marcie switched back to her many cams and watched the Computer Team burst out a crash door into the gardens. Seconds later, she saw Robbie and his teammates come out another crash door on the other side of the building, with one man Marcie did not recognize but who could have been Robbie’s brother, they looked so much alike – the freed prisoner. PAs started diving in to pick people up.

The Frontal assault team was trying to fall back but with the lack of covering fire, the enemy troops were making this difficult. An ADB exploded over the heads of a group of five of their force and three of the team died, just as the vehicle carriers touched down to pick up whoever was left.

Seven members of the original twelve on the Release Team were still moving. Of those seven, only six made it into a plane, including the Computer Team who hopped into the back of a hovering PA, throwing an armful of equipment as they went. Two humvees made it back to the vehicle carriers and then turned and laid out covering fire for the retreating troops. One humvee was cut off by four enemy jeeps and was fighting to get to its carrier. The frontal assault forces took a beating as they fell back, covering fire or no. Well over half of them were down by the time they got to their carriers.

“Marcie,” Robbie voice was hoarse and he was breathing heavily. “Charlie Bug Out means you go too. Go now. You can’t do anything.”

“One sec. Talla, target sector four, with a tight but full blast ADB.” She wanted to help that stranded humvee.

“Targetted.”

“Fire.” The bomb dropped and exploded a few seconds later, hopefully disabling a few jeeps and giving the humvee a fighting chance, but Marcie did not wait around to see. She switched channels and said, “Away, Howard,” to the pilot of her van. The vehicle surged up and out just in time for Marcie to see a small cloud of military vehicles approaching from the east on her forward monitor. Damn!

“Incoming. Incoming,” said Marcie. “Delta Bug Out. Delta. Delta Bug Out.”

Delta Bug Out required that all vehicles move whether they had all their passengers or not. The four vehicles on the ground lifted immediately. Only the one humvee was left stranded. Marcie watched in horror as the humvee came to a screeching halt where the vehicle carrier used to be.

“Control to Ground Bronze, hang in. We’re coming to get you.”

“Ground Bronze to Control. Don’t try. You’re too late.”

“No, wait. We can….”

“Ma’am, Kal and I agreed. We do not want to be taken. Go. You can’t save us.”

Marcie watched as enemy soldiers tentatively approached the humvee, confused by its lack of motion and lack of defence.

“Wes!” Marcie was struggling to figure out a solution when the humvee exploded, killing its occupants and some of the enemy forces as well.

Marcie fought back tears and forced herself turn her attention to the military planes on their way. Most were carriers of some description, but her proximity monitor identified two as attack jets. Extremely fast. We can’t outrun them. Marcie toyed with scattering the fleet, but she knew that, against jets, they were stronger together. If even one of them were captured, the risk of exposing Origin was too great. They would have to fight.

“Dog fight. Dog fight. Bronze flight group defensive formation, please. Command Centre, battlestations, please. Battlestations.”

Every vehicle had been modified to include defences, but the Command Centre had a large arsenal. They would take the first shot. The rest of the fleet pulled away, while the command vehicle and two PAs, all equipped with laser and ADB rifles, took a defensive stance against the jets hurtling toward them. Marcie was sure that if they weren’t able to take at least one of those jets down, the hopes of the fleet were sunk.

Marcie ran to her battle station in the cockpit of the aircraft. She slipped into the pilot’s chair beside Howard.

“Relinquishing control,” barked Howard.

“Got it,” said Marcie as she grabbed the stick control. She almost smiled. If Robbie were here, he would find the fact that she was piloting ironic to say the least. She plugged her comset into the port by the pilot’s chair and hoped she could ignore her stomach. Howard disappeared down the companionway, to take his position in turret room three. Marcie assessed the oncoming jets. They were travelling around three hundred miles per hour and would be here in seconds.

“Fire at will. Here they come.”

Marcie enabled the automatic defences and grabbed the controller stick with both hands. She strained to see the oncoming jets, tiny dots in the distance, but the dots grew amazingly quickly and the jets were on them almost before she knew it. They arrived deploying a forward sweep laser that Marcie only barely avoided with a sharp bank to the south. Oh my stomach. The automatic defence system went nuts as did the four human fighters in the ‘turrets’. Marcie could barely follow the jets as they went past. She was struggling to keep control of the vehicle while at the same time performing more crazy tricks to avoid their fire. She heard, but didn’t see one of the jets explode.

“Got it!” That was Talla in turret room two. She was almost laughing with relief.

“Single target approaching,” Marcie said into her radio. “Warning fleet. Go on the attack. Warning fleet.”

“Fleet warned,” came Robbie’s voice. Marcie watched her radar screen closely as she executed a tight turn to take them back to the fleet. She set the vehicle on a pursuit course, but she knew they were too slow to be of any help. It would be over one way or another long before the command vehicle got there.

Marcie switched radio channels to check on the local police forces. They were being alerted and mobilizing. Her team had to get out of here. Okay, one thing at a time. She followed the two PAs in pursuit of the lone jet.

“Civilian forces on their way. We have no quarrel with them. Let’s dispatch this fighter and get out of here, people.”

The radar showed the fighter jet arriving at the fleet and circling. It managed to shoot down one PA before exploding under their combined fire.

“Fleet: drop and scatter. Rendezvous when you can.”

The remaining planes dropped low, out of radar range, so they would be difficult to track and took off in various directions. Eventually, they would all end up at a small base that had been set up just north of Algonquin Park, in Ontario’s wilderness. Assuming all went well, most of the fleet would arrive in about an hour. There, they would change planes and slip back into the stream of traffic crossing the borders.

“Sugar?” Robbie. Marcie felt a flood of relief to hear his voice. She hadn’t known which PA had been shot down. “Isolate, channel three.”

“Isolating.” The radio clicked as the two switched over. “Okay, what’s the bad news?”

“Sugar, we lost about half. Considering they were ready and gunning for us, I’d say we’re all lucky to be alive.”

“Your released prisoner, are you sure he’s of us?”

“Sure.”

“Search him anyway. Strip him down, give him some fresh clothes and chuck everything else he was wearing out a hatch. They could put homing equipment in it as a matter of course.”

“Will do.”

Marcie turned back to her readouts and sucked in her breath. “I just lost Henderson and Pall off my monitor. They must have been left behind.”

“Damn. At least they’re still alive.”

“We have to go back for them.”

“Sugar, there’s no way. It’s suicide.” Marcie knew he was right. She sat silently for a moment staring at the vidscreen. “There is nothing you can do, sugar. We have to get the rest of these people home.”

“You’re right,” she said finally. “Switching over, Robbie.”

“Switching over.”

Marcie changed back to general channels, and listened carefully to the civilian emergency channels. Fire and rescue vehicles were being dispatched to the Eastdown location, but no call for pursuit had been made.

About fifteen minutes later, Marcie’s radio came to life: “Home to Control. Home to Control.” Stellan’s voice over scrambled channel. The call she was dreading.

“Control here.”

“Report.”

As neutrally as possible, Marcie recounted the losses. They had come away with only two administrative computers and managed to free only a single prisoner. Unless they could get some key information out of the boxes or the prisoner, the whole mission was a disaster. They knew we were coming, sir,” Marcie finished.

“The only explanation. We have a traitor?”

Marcie shrugged. “Possibly.” But Marcie was certain that Stellan wasn’t telling her everything. She planned to have it out with him when she got back. It was a trait she’d learned from her years with sapiens. Occasionally, even for a fortunatus, it was good to yell.

“Origin exposure?”

“Origin is likely to be completely exposed, sir. If even one of the two captured soldiers survives, I hazard a guess that they’ll stop at nothing to find out who and where we are.” Yeah, and who the fuck is Helen Pearce? Marcie schooled her breathing. Now wasn’t the time.

Almost twenty-four hours later, Marcie and Robbie arrived back at the farm in a family-sized PA that looked like it had seen a little wind and rain. They parked the vehicle and made their way down the elevators toward Stellan’s office. As they arrived, Les greeted them.

“He’s not here, Marcie. He’s down in the labs.”

Marcie nodded and turned back toward the central elevators. She was feeling ashamed. She’d hoped to help these people, her people, and had returned horribly defeated. To get to the research centre, she would have to go through the Promenade. She wasn’t looking forward to the walk.

But when they arrived at the Promenade level and started the walk toward the research labs, she was deeply surprised by the response from the people of Origin. Instead of shying away or confronting her, people stopped and nodded in sympathy and understanding, many even gently touched her arm or shoulder as she walked past. By the time she walked the length of the Promenade she was crying, but working hard to keep her face as impassive as possible. She had never felt so understood or so supported.

They arrived at the elevator and stepped inside. As they turned back on the Promenade, there seemed nothing out of the ordinary. Robbie said clearly: “Level twelve.” The doors closed and Marcie wiped her eyes. Perhaps, she would not go after Stellan. Perhaps, she’d do it the Origin way and ask him a lot of questions.

As they arrived at the lab, the door was standing open. Marcie walked in first. She saw Stellan standing over a computer with Trent, one of Origin’s computer gurus. Stellan met her eyes. He was horrified. His face was ashen and his mouth was hanging open.

“What? What is it?”

“Trent found a series of deleted backups that stop abruptly about a week ago. Maybe Ryan had a change of staff? Anyway, Trent restored these files and he’s been working on them all the way home. He found something. I’m stunned. Am I reading this right?”

Marcie looked at Trent who was shaking his head slowly. She walked around the back of the bench and looked at the screen. There were two windows open on Stellan’s computer. The first window was a lab report on the employees of Eastdown. Every employee, apparently, had had to submit to a genetic analysis in order to determine his or her species. A wise precaution on their part because one employee was, in fact, identified as fortunatus. Employee #D285. Marcie looked at the second window, the employee log file. She scanned down the list looking for employee #D285. She found the entry. She felt her jaw go slack and she raised her eyes to look at Robbie.

“What, sugar?”

“Dr. Lawrence Ryan is fortunatus. He is one of us.”

Friday, July 16, 2083. 7:33 p.m.

Robbie sat down hard on lab stool. He shook his head as he tried to understand the implications of this information. The one man installed by sapiens to study fortunatus, the man who was performing horrible experiments, the man who was ignoring any pretence of human rights and dignity was, in fact, a fortunatus himself.

“Is it a secret or does the government know?” Marcie’s mind was already ticking away at the possibilities.

“They’re so paranoid about us, I can’t believe they know,” said Stellan. “I certainly can’t believe that they would install a fortunatus in a position of that much power.”

“I don’t think so either. So, it’s his dirty, little secret, huh? What do you think the government will do when they find out? I don’t think he’ll get to keep his job, do you? Worse, he has nowhere to run. Do you think anyone in Origin would be interested in housing him?”

Stellan looked at her. “Doubtful. His name’s become synonymous with evil around here, the kind of name parents invoke along with the bogey-man.”

Marcie nodded. “So, the only way for him to survive is to keep his ancestry a secret and keep on doing what he’s doing.”

Robbie sighed heavily. “Until it tears him apart.”

Marcie nodded slowly. “The situation will get worse before it gets better. He’ll be after us with a vengeance, especially if he thinks we know his secret. Stellan, you need to evacuate Origin.”

It was Stellan’s turn to sigh. “You’re right. But most people won’t go, Marcie. Yesterday, as soon as we understood the possible exposure, a team of twenty families left to set up a surface community. They’re posing as religious zealots. We gave them a lot of money. They’ll flourish.”

“Twenty families? About a hundred people?”

“Basically.”

“What about the other fifteen thousand?”

“I told you, Marcie. Most of us won’t go.”

He won’t leave either? She schooled her voice and changed the subject. “I wanted to ask you about Helen Pearce.”

Stellan sat back and waited. He looked like he knew this was coming. “What can I tell you about her?”

“Why is she so special, Stellan?”

Stellan didn’t even pause to consider his answer. “Every species has its abilities, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Every individual within that species will likely represent that species’ general tendencies or not, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Some individuals may be the exceptions that prove the rule, like yourself and Mr. McLean, but some individuals may embody those abilities so absolutely as to be the pinnacle of that species’ achievement.”

“Helen Pearce.”

“Yes. We don’t know everything, but we do know that she’s capable of some amazing feats. For example, she can guess the right answer almost one hundred percent of the time.”

“That’s an edge.”

“Yes.”

Great. “And Ryan knows her abilities.”

“Yes. Well, he was the one who found out, or rather, one of his researchers. If it weren’t for our spy, we would never have known.”

“Then, I bet you he also has Greg Pearce,” Robbie said. Marcie was nodding. Robbie continued. “Ryan will use Greg to force Helen to work her magic for him.”

Stellan’s brow furrowed. “We’re in trouble.”

“Yes, we are.”

Jacqui Burke is a freelance director, writer, and theatrical teacher living in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.  She is currently directing Wrong for Each Other for Encore Productions opening in April, Kidsplay 2012:  The Mayan Prediction opening in June, and The Last Five Years for TOKL Productions opening in July.  She is, also, serializing The Pretender, her first novel, online at http://thepretender-amarcienoelnovel.blogspot.ca/.  She is preparing for two Shakespeare is Boffo! summer camp sessions for 2012.

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