Freedom (41 page)

However, as Sebeck kept ascending, rising thousands of feet into the air, his view broadened, and he could see the bigger picture was the larger ocean of corn in which this island of variety was planted. The monoculture of corn stretched from horizon to horizon—and none of those farms were burning.

Sebeck hung there realizing the vastness of his failure. They hadn’t even made a dent in the old system. And here it was carrying them away—to disappear forever.

Sebeck kept rising, listening to the slap of the steel cable against the back of his harness as he swayed in the wind. He wondered why he wasn’t afraid of the height. Between his feet he could see thousands of feet to the broad plain below. He was actually level with the nearby clouds.

Then he heard the roar of approaching aircraft engines. He wriggled his body to turn enough to see—and there, some miles away, he could see the head-on view of what looked to be a C-130 cargo plane, chopping at the wind on a collision course with him. He watched it with silent amazement.
No effing way . . .

As the plane approached he could see what looked to be a V-shaped fork extending from the nose of the aircraft and running some ways away from the fuselage. It was collection fork, and, as Sebeck watched, the C-130 headed straight for the balloon. He winced as the plane roared past only fifty feet overhead.

As it did so, the steel catch fork grabbed the balloon, instantly yanking the cable and accelerating Sebeck so violently that he blacked out again.

P
ete Sebeck sat strapped to a thick wooden chair in a brightly lit holding cell. The chair was bolted to the concrete floor with L brackets. They’d taken his clothes and left him nude. He felt vulnerable. Helpless.

That was no doubt the purpose.

Just then the steel door of the cell opened and a man he recognized from darknet news feeds entered. It was The Major. In person he was more intimidating—a stern man with buzz-cut hair and a firm jawline. He appeared to be in excellent shape for his fortysomething age, and wore full combat fatigues in a shades-of-gray urban warfare pattern. He carried no weapons, however.

He closed the cell door behind him and examined Sebeck without betraying emotion. No surprise. No irritation. Nothing. “Detective Sebeck.”

“Major.”

The Major narrowed his eyes and dragged a heavy wooden chair across the concrete floor to sit across from Sebeck. “Sergeant, I must say that I’m surprised to find you, of all people, serving the Daemon.”

“I don’t serve the Daemon. Where is Laney Price?”

“Tell me about your quest, Sergeant.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where is Laney?”

“He’s safe nearby—telling us everything about nothing we care about.”

Sebeck stared into The Major’s cold eyes. “What are you doing to him? He doesn’t know anything.”

“Tell me about the quest Sobol gave you. You’re supposed to justify the freedom of humanity, is that it?” The Major studied Sebeck’s bonds. “How is that going so far?”

Sebeck said nothing.

“What are you supposed to accomplish to achieve this quest of yours, Sergeant?”

“When are you people going to leave me alone?”

“Answer the question.”

“Are you with the government?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

“Don’t shout. Shouting will only make you hoarse. And it won’t change anything. A lot of prisoners make that mistake. Now, let’s get back to your quest. How many darknet operatives are tracking the progress of your quest? How many are donating darknet credits toward its success?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, Sergeant. We’re already creating darknet objects—like the quest thread you followed to us.”

Sebeck stared at the floor.

“We have a complete breakdown of your activities from darknet news feeds, and we know your circle of operatives. You’ve been on quite a journey.”

Sebeck shook his head slowly. “You evil prick . . . you’re carving up young people to—”

“Yes, we’ve infiltrated the darknet, Sergeant. We’re more creative than you imagine. And unlike you, we’ll do whatever’s necessary to win.”

“I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

The Major looked at his watch. “Belief is malleable. All one has to do to gain access to the darknet is
believe
in its purpose. The teenage runaways I introduce to the Daemon consider me their dear friend. A friend who rescued them from life as a sex slave in some brothel—one who showed them a world they never dreamed existed. And once they’re in, they become very useful to me.”

“You cut off their heads and hijack their accounts!”

“Soon, we won’t even need to do that.”

“I thought I knew what evil was. But I was wrong.”

The Major just shrugged it off. “I don’t care, Sergeant. There’s no shortage of unwanted people in the world. Now let’s get back to this quest of yours. What happens if you succeed? What Daemon event are you trying to trigger?”

“Fuck you.”

“You won’t answer?”

“I don’t know. That’s the answer. Sobol gave me a quest, and I have no idea how to accomplish it.”

“What about this D-Space Thread you’re following?”

Sebeck realized with a pang of loss that he no longer could see the Thread. He no longer had HUD glasses, and D-Space was invisible to him. “I can’t see it anymore.”

“And what if we brought your HUD glasses? Would you lead us on the path of this Thread?”

“It wasn’t meant for you.”

“If you cooperate, I can give you your old life back. I can undo this curse Sobol cast on you. Make Detective Sebeck live again. Clear his name. Turn him into a hero.”

Sebeck just shook his head. “I’m not the person I was then, and I don’t want to be. I’ve seen the truth now.”

The Major nodded grimly. “Why would you help the same system that took so much from you?”

“This ‘system’ will help people take back control—from bastards like you.”

“ ‘Bastards like me’ serve a purpose. People need order, Sergeant. They need to be told what to think, what to do, what to believe, or everything will fall apart. This miracle of modern civilization doesn’t just happen. It requires careful management by professionals willing to do whatever is necessary to keep things running smoothly. . . .”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

“It’s the truth, even if you don’t want to hear it.”

Sebeck shook his head. “I don’t have to believe you. I’ve seen the truth with my own eyes. The people don’t need to be protected from themselves.”

The Major glanced at his watch again. “You disappoint me, Sergeant. You really do. I would normally have taken a more patient and deliberate approach with your case, but time is of the essence, and I must be off.” He stood and pulled the chair back along the wall. “And you—along with your DNA—were officially cremated many months ago. We can’t have you popping up and ruining the official story. Not now.” He rapped on the metal door. A portal slid open with a clack. A moment of recognition and then the door opened.

Two beefy soldiers in ski masks with stun sticks and metal whips on their belts entered.

The Major pointed to Sebeck. “Take him and his friend out to the dump at Q-27. Put their bodies through a wood chipper. I don’t want anyone to find a shred of evidence that they ever existed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sebeck glared from his chair. “You motherfucker.”

The Major regarded him. “Look at the bright side, Sergeant. Your quest is over.” He exited as the guards pulled out their stun sticks.

Sebeck rode in the passenger bay of a heavy vehicle. A diesel engine rattling somewhere beyond steel walls. He could feel his hands lashed behind his back as he lay facedown on a hard, cold diamond-plate floor. He was still nude. Road vibration circulated through his bones.

He turned over to see several sets of combat boots nearby and looked up into the masked faces of soldiers with M4A1s slung across their chests. They looked back down menacingly.

The closest of them pointed a gloved hand in Sebeck’s face. “If I get any trouble from you, I’m going to make it painful. You hear me?”

Another soldier on the opposite row of benches kicked Sebeck. “You hear him!”

Sebeck had the wind knocked out of him for a moment. As he got air back into his lungs, he turned to the man. “I’m an American. I’m one of you. Why are you treating me like this?”

“Shut the fuck up, you commie prick!”

He landed another vicious kick to Sebeck’s ribs, sending him rolling.

That’s when Sebeck noticed Laney Price nearby. Price was also nude, and he sat slumped with his back against the front wall of the vehicle. Price was staring into space with unseeing eyes. He rocked back and forth, muttered silently to himself. Sebeck was horrified to see Price’s body. He expected that it would be overweight and just as hairy as the young man’s face and arms, but instead what he saw along Price’s chest, stomach, and legs was a solid mass of burn scars. Sebeck was horrified.

“Laney. Laney!”

One of the soldiers leaned into view. “Tough little fucker, that one.”

Another soldier chimed in. “Yeah, you’re not going to reach him. He knows how to deal with torture. Don’t you, boy? You’re an old hand.” He smacked Price’s head.

Sebeck crawled closer to Price. “Laney.” Price’s eyes remained unseeing as his lips moved in a repeating rhythm. The scars all over his body looked old.

“Curling iron would be my guess.”

Sebeck turned to face the soldier who said it.

Another soldier shook his head. “This fucker had some sick parents.”

Sebeck felt his heart dropping. He remembered Riley’s words to him back at the Laguna reservation:
You never asked about Price’s suffering
. How could he never have realized? It nearly swallowed him with grief. He looked to Price. “Laney. Listen to me, Laney!”

The vehicle suddenly slowed and lurched into a steep turn.

The lead non-comm stood up and grabbed an overhead handrail. “Let’s finish this and get back in time for chow.” He wrapped a cloth around his nose and mouth, as did the other men.

The vehicle came to a complete stop and the back wall lowered like a drawbridge. Before he could react Sebeck felt himself grabbed by the feet and dragged roughly across the diamond-plate floor. He felt the pain of a dozen small cuts, and then he was unceremoniously dumped onto the dusty ground. All he could smell was the stench of death—so thick that he tasted it as much as smelled it. He heard the squawking and shrieking of birds.

Sebeck sat up and surveyed his surroundings. They’d been traveling in some sort of six-wheeled, armored personnel carrier and arrived at a series of tall wood chip piles—probably from brush clearing at the ranch. Nearby was what looked to be a well-worn wood chipper on a trailer, its chute aimed at the smallest pile of wood chips. Just beyond the blower, crows and buzzards fed noisily on carrion already splayed in a long streak of red-brown covered with chunks of gelatinous meat. They bickered over the scraps.

The whole place reeked of dead flesh. As he glanced around he saw nothing for miles in any direction. It was just flat scrubland.

Sebeck felt Price thrown against him, and as he sat there next to Price in the dust he leaned in once more to look Price in the eyes. He got up close. “Laney! Laney, it’s me, Pete! Talk to me. Please.”

There was a flicker of recognition in Price’s eyes, then they focused on Sebeck.

Sebeck looked around him as a squad of soldiers stared at two others pouring gasoline into the wood chipper’s fuel tank. Another was preparing a video camera with a ghoulish grin on his face.

Sebeck turned back to Price. “Laney, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it ended like this.”

Price’s brow contorted. “It’s not your fault, Sergeant. Sometimes things end badly.”

“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I know you didn’t have to be here—and now I’ve gone and failed everyone.”

Price shook his head slightly. “Your quest wasn’t about
you
, Sergeant. It was about how people reacted to it. It was
their
quest. You’re just carrying the flag.”

Sebeck stopped. The truth of it hit him. It was the effect his quest had on others that was the purpose. He was just an icon. It made his burden suddenly easier to bear.

Just then the wood chipper’s deafening engine roared to life, and the birds lifted off in panic, fleeting shadows against the sun. Two soldiers walked up to Sebeck. One pointed first to Sebeck, then the wood chipper. They both nodded and slung their weapons. They grabbed Sebeck by the elbows and started carrying him to the bloodstained maw of the roaring machine. Sebeck felt primordial fear grip him as he struggled and dug his bare heels into the dirt. “No!”