Local Event - CHAPTER FIVE
The Core
If not for the machines, The Core would have been silent. As it was, no human sounds could be heard. Sal would have bet money that, after almost two decades in this business, nothing could surprise her. In stunned wonder, she marveled that it had happened, not once, but twice in the space of a few hours.
What was all that about making the wall appear two feet closer? Did the gun really fire bullets? If so, what happened to them? Dying in Brazil? And the disappearance of the two men...how had they done that? Was it some sort of new cloaking technology? Were the men still in that room, no longer detectable by the Core's sensors? Or, could it be something else entirely?
And what was that about calling Jones "Colonel"? There was nothing in her records about Jones being in the military. And if he had been in the military, there would have to be a very good reason why it was hidden from her. There were security levels, and then there were security levels. That led off in a direction she was not sure she wanted to go.
She sat that way for some time. No one in the room felt the need to disturb her.
Eventually, she reached for a cigarette, lit it, drew deeply and held it. When she blew out the smoke, she had made a decision. Leaning toward the console before her, she opened a circuit and spoke in a low, calm voice.
"Code: Majestic."
About five seconds went by. Then, a female voice, steady, but with an overtone of disbelief, replied, "I am required to inform you that you have activated a Level 12 security protocol. Please verify that this was intentional."
"That is correct, Gunnery Sergeant Michaels," said Sal. "Please take us to Condition Yellow. No one leaves until the protocol is fully satisfied."
After another, longer pause, the upper half of the Marine appeared on the screen. Her face showed shock, her eyes questioning, but her voice remained steady when, moving closer to the camera, she quietly said, "Sal, are you sure?"
Touched by the genuine concern of her friend, Sal said, "It's Ok, Stacey. Everything will be fine. It's just going to take a while to sort it all out."
Stepping back from the camera, the Marine spoke in her "official" voice, "I acknowledge your verification. The Core is now locked down. Marines are posted at all entrances and exits. Until further notice, communications will be conducted on this channel, only."
"Thank you, Gunny", said Sal, the warmth of her voice carrying more meaning than just the words. Closing the circuit, Sal's thoughts began to fill with hopes for restored power, renewed franchise, and increased funding. She fought to extinguish the smile that was suddenly lighting up her face.
Stalking, she thought. Stalking the bad guys.
She opened a recessed panel on the console. Extracting a disk the size of small coin, she clipped it to her collar. She had never felt the need to wear the microphone, before. Now, however, she must be certain everyone in the room heard every thing she had to say. Standing, she turned and faced the terraced rows where her team sat, quietly watching her every move. When she spoke, her voice could be heard coming from each person's console.
####
The TAB
The TAB floated approximately eight feet above the ground. It noted the time (11:59:37 p.m. local) and location (USA. Texas. Austin. 572 9th street. Rear alleyway) as a matter of course. Other factors were noted; limited ambient light, minimal spill from distant street light at front of building, limited precipitation (level: fog), third shift construction crew on 38th level of building four blocks to the east. It didn't actually think about these factors. They were part of a continuous stream of data being compiled by it.
It had adjusted its exterior surface to a matte-black finish. It would not reflect or emit any light, sound, or other stimuli detectable by biological sensors under these conditions. As an added safety factor, it had located itself in a slender shadow cast by a window ledge. Among the limited choices available to the TAB, shadow concealment was the best in these low-tech circumstances.
Subject:Wayne had never been out of its sensor range from the point of acquisition, 73 minutes and 13 seconds ago. The TAB did not have a choice in the matter; it had to follow Subject:Wayne. That's what it was programmed to do. Mission parameters required it remain, at all times, beyond the sensory abilities of Subject:Wayne. An early sweep had revealed Subject:Wayne to be entirely tech free; no electronics of any kind. The TAB had noted the anomaly in its growing report of the night's activities. Tech-free humans were rare. The TAB had also noted the absence of any other surveillance equipment in the area.
If the TAB had feelings, no one knew about them. AI was new enough so that the humans who knew this kind of tech even existed were still never really certain which tech could think and feel, and which tech could only serve. Even developers had been surprised from time to time. If this TAB had feelings, it had to be experiencing some level of frustration. TAB's were programmed to be curious, in an electronic surveillance kind of way. For some unknown reason, this TAB could not fully satisfy its curiosity.
Another human had joined Subject:Wayne. The TAB could not identify this human. In fact, this human could not even be brought into focus by the TAB. Regardless of which optics it accessed, regardless of which other sensors it brought to bear, the best it could do was record a humanoid-shaped smudge.
Sound was no better. Subject:Wayne was being recorded without difficulty. However, Subject:Unknown:01 seemed to be producing meaningless, low volume sounds. No amount of adjustment could clarify the sounds coming from Subject:Unknown:01. The TAB noted the anomaly in its report. The TAB investigated various options. Each option was, in turn, compared to the mission parameters, and rejected. The primary objective of the surveil was Subject:Wayne. All other matters, including unknown subjects and anomalies, were secondary, only to be included in the report as they related to Subject:Wayne.
The TAB also rejected the option of making contact with its employer. Since the primary mission was undetectable surveillance, such transmissions were precluded. Contact would have to wait until the TAB presented itself, physically, before its employer. The mission parameters were clear on this matter. Thus the (yearning?) curiosity of the TAB remained unsatisfied, at least as it related to Subject:Unknown:01. Having no options, it continued to do what it did.
####
The North of England
It seemed he had been like this, forever. He was on his knees, and he was being sick. He had long ago emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground in front of him. His entire world had shrunk down to the heaving of his stomach muscles and the darkened view of the grass in his direct line of vision.
In his agony, he had little flashes of understanding. There was a light somewhere off to his right, distant and dim. He was crouched in some sort of field, on wet grass and earth. He was alone. When the next convulsion hit, he threw back his head. Water washed his face and flooded his mouth. Instinct slammed him forward again. He spewed the water from his mouth before it could choke him. He was outside, in a field, in a rainstorm. He knew he had to do something; he just couldn't think clearly enough to figure out what that was.
Then, he heard distant voices, moving closer, coming in his direction. Rough hands touched his face; others took hold of his left arm, rolled up his sleeve. There was a blinding light, and, for a few seconds, the rain stopped falling on him. Then, through tightly clenched eyelids, he sensed the light repositioning, pointing somewhere other than his face. He felt the prick of a needle in his arm. Soon, he felt his roiling stomach begin to subside. The rain returned, but the inner storm was moving away. He decided he was happy keeping his eyes closed. Within minutes, he soon found that he could feel no sensations, at all.
He heard the voices, again. This time they were clearer. "This is the great John Beauchamp? I expected more.", said one voice. Female, he thought. A Brit.
Then, another voice, a familiar voice, answered, "Cut him some slack. As I remember it, you were no better on your first jump."
That's David Ashby, he thought. No. Wait. Ashby's dead.
A third voice joined them. Another female. This one was a Brit, too. He was sure of it. "David? What are you doing here? After the ... ahem ... disagreement, we weren't expecting you back ... for a while."
Then, the familiar voice again. Ashby? Can't be. "I don't know why we're here. I wasn't coming here. I was taking him to Paris."
For a while, there was nothing save the sound of the rain. Then, he heard the third voice talking. Only this time, it sounded as though it was coming from very far away.
"Well. That is strange. Alright, let's get him into the house. He can recover, and we discuss how all this came to pass. David, get his shoulders. We'll each get a..."
And that is the last he knew.
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