Freedom Club (29 page)

Sumeet rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Sartre? Where did I hear that name before?”

“I mentioned him the other day. He was the one who also said, Do as you like and then deal with the consequences.”

“Oh, yes, now I remember.”

“I’ll send you some links that outline his work. I think you’ll find it useful knowing what motivates man to create technology.” Shinzou waved his arms in all directions. “It explains why we’re so eager to do any damn thing. As long as we think it’ll make the world better somehow.”

A small tone sounded. Sumeet didn’t realize where it came from until Shinzou fished out a small phone from his jacket.

“I thought there were no transmissions allowed in Bisbee,” he pointed out.

Shinzou grinned. “They’re not, but this is Quantum.

Quantum? Sumeet was surprised by that fact. Quantum communication was not widely distributed, and most users were either fabulously wealthy or worked for some government organization. Why on earth would he be carrying that? Sumeet stared as Shinzou read a short message displayed on his quantum reader.

Shinzou looked up and noted Sumeet’s funny look. “I’ll explain my little toy later. In the meantime, we need to take a short trip up to Santa Fe, New Mexico.”

“Santa Fe? What’s there?”

“Another technology, but something more recent – compared to electricity, that is.”

Sumeet asked warily. “What technology might that be?”

“Sentient Beings,” Shinzou said, heading for the platform. “Embryonic Sentient Beings to be precise.”

Sumeet looked on completely aghast. How could that be, he thought to himself? Was this a joke? But Shinzou seemed quite serious and started walking back toward the mining cars while looking intently at something written in his reader. Sumeet followed, shaking his head and trying to get Shinzou’s attention back.

“But...Sentient research is classified,” Sumeet said. “No one gets to see how Sentients are created.”

Shinzou swiveled about to face Sumeet and said, “Then I suppose this is your lucky day!”

Douglas Arizona: 1906
Command Post—Arizona Rangers

C
aptain Rynning looked up from his work as a shotgun blast echoed through his office. What the hell? Its target was outside, a severely deformed tin can that careened up in the air upon impact. No permanent harm was inflicted, but Thomas didn’t appreciate the unscheduled disturbance.

Standing up, he angrily cursed under his breath and stomped over to the door. Squinting out into the bright morning light, he peered to see who fired the shot. A few men near the corral were admiring their Winchesters. Cheshire cat grins and nods were shared amongst the men.

Rynning yelled harshly. “What’s going on? Who scheduled target practice?”

Grins faded and the group settled on a safe answer before replying. “Just getting ready for tomorrow, Captain!” one private hollered back. “Trying out the new ten gauge!”

Rynning jabbed angrily with his index finger. “Don’t waste too much ammo! We’ll need it down in Mexico!”

With sullen approval, Captain Thomas Rynning of the Arizona Rangers returned to work. More rounds went off periodically, but they no longer disturbed him. He placidly scratched out one signature after another, his inky scrawl drying increasingly faster in the diminishing humidity.

More time passed, and the sun moved higher, relentlessly baking the Sonoran desert. Maybe he was wrong to yell before? They’d be going into Mexico come morning, and they would probably need to shoot their way out of there – if things went badly, that is. But the target practice had finally ended, and he could only see a few towering Saguaro that stood by passively within the dusty compound. Quiet sentinels with arms jutting toward the sky in silent prayer.

Silence broke as someone finally approached his office. His Sergeant, John Packard, walked in with additional reports and news of the troop’s preparation.

“Captain Rynning?” he said politely. “The men are ready to leave for Cananea in the morning.”

Rynning continued filling out forms for several moments. “Very good, Sergeant,” he said with passive interest. “And what about Bisbee? Did we round up enough men?”

“At least fifty, sir.”

Rynning looked up and slapped a hand on the table. “Good! And what about Tombstone?”

Packard flipped through a report. “Yes, sir, I confirm over a hundred.”

Rynning nodded with satisfaction. “That means the posse will have over two hundred. We’ll need them if things don’t settle down.”

“And...all the telegrams have been filed for you to read later. That is, should you want to see them,” Packard added with guarded concern.

Rynning sighed and adjusted his glasses. The Sergeant’s dry expression was annoying. He put his pen down gently, gesturing for Packard to sit in the empty stool facing his oak wood desk.

“Take a load off,” Rynning ordered. “Seems you have something you want to get off your chest.”

Packard sat and removed his hat, placing it neatly on his lap. His stool creaked but held under the weight of the heavyset ranger.

“Well, sir, it’s about this deployment. For Colonel Green, that is. With all due respect, I am not sure our actions are right.”

Rynning smiled, and nodded rhythmically a few times. Leaning back, he crossed his legs to think.

“You don’t believe I have acted within my authority?” he asked.

Packard did not immediately respond. He rubbed his hat brim and considered his reply.

“Well, sir,” he began. “I think the Governor’s mind is clear. He doesn’t want excursions into Mexico.”

Rynning sat up straighter and vigorously rubbed his glasses with a chamois. “Yes, he indeed did make his feelings known. But his intent was to stop any direct conflict.” Rynning put on his reading spectacles and adjusted them carefully “But by my reckoning this ain’t the same thing.”

“Sir?”

Rynning huffed. “Clearly, we have no desire to fight Mexican troops. We’re helping Bill Greene, an American businessman who’s requested our support against socialists within his workforce. And this mission is undertaken with the explicit request of Governor Yzabel himself.”

“But Mexico’s a bee hive. There’s even talk of revolution against Diaz. Us going down there might look like we’re taking sides. Ain’t that what the Governor was talking about?”

Rynning nodded again. “Diaz isn’t going anywhere as I see it. Revolution is a dream, and talk is cheap so I don’t pay it no mind. The way I see it, Diaz wants us down there to keep the peace. I’d stake my life on it. But I’m concerned about a more important issue. You need to see the big picture here.”

“Big picture?” Packard asked.

Rynning stared at Packard with smoldering anticipation. “Do you know what’s really going on down there, Pack?”

He spoke guardedly. “Seems to me the miners are mighty angry about something.” Packard scratched his head in contemplation. “Reckon it’s about their wages. I heard they want to get the same as whites and...”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant,” Thomas rubbed his eyes again. “I mean...what’s our business down there in the mines? Why do you think everyone’s so loco about copper?”

Packard fidgeted in his chair. “I suppose we use it to make things. Bullets and such.”

“Right, that’s it. We use copper to make things. But I want you to see the really big picture here. Copper...well, it’s worth more than gold practically.”

“Uhm, yes, I reckon you’re right.”

Arms akimbo, Rynning rocked on his heels. “I can see you haven’t had the chance to speak with Colonel Greene, but don’t you see, Pack?” Thomas walked over to the window and jabbed a finger toward the desert. “Right now there’s nothing out there! But the world is changing. We’re inventing all sorts of contraptions. Cheaper cars, hydroelectric power plants. Don’t ya see? We don’t need gold to make those things. We need copper!”

Packard swiveled back and forth in his stool to observe Thomas as he paced about. Rynning seemed all charged up and finally stopped to lean against the window ledge.

Looking outside, Thomas entered a dreamlike state. “One day, every home will have copper wires. Newfangled lights that use electricity...maybe even a telephone. The world ain’t gonna look like it does today.”

Packard gawked like a young schoolboy. “Well, I suppose. But what does that have to do with the miners getting all riled up? I just think they want money. But I don’t know Colonel Greene like you do, sir, and...”

“Bill? He’s a great man!” Thomas belched out. “Been prospecting these parts since you were a little kid, and brave as they come. Why, he’s been in more shootouts with Apaches and outlaws than any man in our company. And lived to tell about it, mind you!”

“I see,” Packard nodded.

“But all that changed when he discovered Cananea. It was worth more than anything imaginable. Everyone laughed at first, but Bill was the man to figure it out. He’s a new kind of capitalist.

“A capita-what?” Packard said, cocking his head.

“A self-made millionaire! With a vision about what this country can be one day. Don’t you see?” Thomas pointed out the door toward the flat desert.” If we want to turn that wasteland into a proper city, we’ll need people like Bill, his Mexicans, and his bankers from New York. Help us make it into a...well, you might say into a Garden of Eden.”

“So...,” Pack drawled on. “The Mexicans are helping make us a Garden of Eden?”

Thomas looked back annoyed. “Well, in some sense. But we both know how tough it is down in the mines. And Bill? Well, Bill Greene is a fair man from where I stand. So if he sends a telegraph asking for help? Well, by golly, that’s what I intend to do!”

“Yes, sir!” Packard said, standing up quickly.

“You with me, Pack?”

“Why, of course, sir! The men and I will follow ya into hell if you say so.”

“Not hell, Pack. The Garden of Eden!” Rynning purred. “I’m mighty happy we had this talk. The truth will make things right.”

“Yes, sir!”

Steps on the porch echoed. Private Ronald McDonald stepped into the office holding a small parchment.

“Captain, we’ve received another telegram from Naco. They’re ready to move out first thing in the morning.”

Packard stood up and took the paper, examining it and then shuffling it together with his other reports.

Looking up, Packard smiled. “That’ll put us over two hundred and fifty, Captain.”

Slapping hands on his desk, Thomas leaped out of his seat. “That’s what I wanted to hear! Now we’ve got a posse big enough to create some order!” He walked toward the door and patted Packard on the arm. “Let’s go check on the supplies. Come morning, we’re on our way to the Garden of Eden!”

With a burst of laughter, Thomas marched out the door and down the steps. Ronald looked on with suspicion and then turned to Packard.

“The Garden of Eden? What the hell’s Captain talking about?”

Packard smirked and put his hand on Ronald’s shoulder, escorting him down the porch steps. They followed Thomas, who hurried at an eager pace toward the supply depot.

“The Garden of Eden?” Packard exclaimed. “First let me explain to you the big picture.”

“Big picture?”

“Yes, indeed!” Packard said, grinning. “Let me tell you something about...the future.”

The two men strolled after Captain Rynning and passed by several towering Saguaro. Arms silently pointed toward the sky, their prayers continuing.

Unaffected by the actions of man or time.

Chapter 14—Dark Sublimations

The ego represents what we call reason and sanity, in contrast to the id which contains the passions.

—Sigmund Freud

A
s heavy doors closed behind Sumeet and Shinzou, antiseptic whispers brushed over the titanium bolts of the airlock. Sumeet became alert to severe changes in air pressure, while harsh strobe lights and numerous laser scans danced over his body like intense fairy dust. Quite unnerving. He peeked to his side only to find Shinzou unaffected by the whole process. Apparently for him, it was business as usual.

Sumeet was beginning to like Shinzou, but their visit raised questions. Who was he? And how could he so easily gain access to the Santa Fe Institute Langton Center for Sentient Research? The place was a fortress. One didn’t just walk in like it was a department store. Just getting permission to see the visitor’s center was difficult. But entry to the inner sanctum? That was simply unheard of.

On the short trip over, Shinzou had explained in somewhat vague terms his association with numerous government entities as a research consultant. However, Sumeet still didn’t entirely fathom Shinzou’s vocation. The term “research consultant” could mean a number of things, and Sumeet presumed Shinzou’s expertise was technical in nature. But that assumption didn’t easily explain the endless resources and strange network of friends. Was it just imagination, or was there some clandestine background to the man he had befriended just a few days back?

As the airlock cycled through its security protocols, Sumeet couldn’t shake his doubts. He even wondered what might happen if they were deemed undesirables. A simple phone call to the authorities? Or would the lock engage some unseen weapons array and shoot them where they stood? He relentlessly fantasized until a green light flashed, allowing them both to quietly exit through the inner door. What a relief.

Beyond the threshold, a small floater awaited them. Scrolling with crimson red text, it requested they follow through several nondescript inner halls of esoteric designation. Along the way some walls became semi-transparent, revealing the movement of individuals inside. Strange markers also embossed secured entryways, but did little to explain the purpose of each section. Sumeet figured it was better not to ask.

Noticing Sumeet’s curiosity, Shinzou said, “I’ve known Dr. Gupta a long time, but we haven’t seen each other in about two decades.”

“You worked here?” Sumeet asked.

“Not very long, but in my line of work I’ve had to engage with various professions in deep tech. I was lucky to befriend Gupta back then.”

“I see,” Sumeet said, looking from side to side.

“I can’t talk about it freely, you understand, but Gupta and I were fairly close. He’s going out of his way to let us visit.”

Sumeet gazed around the hall. “Outsiders don’t get in here much.”

Shinzou grinned. “An understatement.”

The soft clacking of heels ended as the floater came to rest before a door. Its security panel strobed with dancing lights and cryptic icons until the door’s embossed markings changed form. Indistinguishable at first, they rearranged themselves and spelled out the title: Director’s Office – Dr. L. Gupta.

A mild hissing sound emanated as the door unfolded, revealing a spacious office packed with wetware research equipment of varied design and purpose. Waiting patiently for them was a short man of Indian descent. Quite thin, his face was juxtaposed against extremely long white hair trailing down both sides of his dark bald head. Stark eyebrows were abnormally fulsome, and hung slightly over asymmetrical eyeglasses which bulged enough to convince Sumeet of concealed mechanics. But for all his unique features, Dr. Gupta wore very casual attire. A simple linen shirt with baggy chinos projected a relaxed form, one that Sumeet appreciated within the Institute’s faceless penetralia.

Raising both arms warmly, Gupta greeted Shinzou with a long and overly zealous hug. “After all these years! I can’t tell you how happy I was to hear from you. And now? Here you are.”

“Thank you for allowing the visit,” Shinzou answered, then gestured toward Sumeet, who waited patiently a few paces back. “This is Sumeet Ramasaraswati, a good friend of mine. He’s visiting from Japan and I wanted him to join. With your kind permission.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sumeet said, stepping up.

“Any friend of Shinzou is a friend to all,” Gupta answered with a firm handshake. Looking back at Shinzou, Gupta gestured toward foam couches set up for guests. Two serving flatheads waited patiently nearby to assist with drinks and other refreshments. “Please sit and have something while we chat, shall we?”

Sumeet accepted a tea and sat down next to Shinzou. Dr. Gupta nudged the flathead aside and filled a plate with sweet biscuits, placing it carefully on a small coffee table made of interwoven ceramic and bronze.

“I’m sorry to come to you under such troubling circumstances, Babu,” Shinzou said, after Gupta plopped himself down deep into foam.

Gupta’s mood, which had been quite placid, soon darkened. Thoughts of turmoil welled up, his face creased with unspoken pain, cold and sober.

“Ach, the tragic deaths of Kim and Nagel have been a shock to everyone here. No one ever expected to incur such a loss, with colleagues so close.”

“Tell me,” Shinzou inquired after a respectful pause. “Were they here when you and I worked together years ago?”

Gupta lay back and chewed a biscuit thoughtfully. “They were, but I wasn’t director back then. Still, I must be careful. I’ve already provided records to the ASPAU central authorities. I’m not sure how much I can share with you.”

“Don’t worry. I’m just a freelance consultant, Babu,” Shinzou explained. “Some agencies were impacted by the Martin Luther King, so I was asked to look into it. And only because of our relationship...well, that’s why I called.”

“Can you tell me which agency?”

Shinzou briefly glanced at Sumeet before answering. “Uhm, the SWCISA, which stands for Southwest Criminal Investigation System Agency. But they’re not leading the investigation. They’re how I got involved. Direct contact with you isn’t possible without explicit permission from ASPAU’s central command. This is really just a friendly visit, you see.”

Sumeet made careful note of the agency name. This was an interesting fact that Shinzou had left out until now. Maybe it would explain things. He would need to follow up, or even discuss it at length with Shinzou when the opportunity availed itself.

Taking a cup of tea from a nearby crawler, Gupta happily dunked his biscuit and nodded. “Yes, a personal visit. That’s the most sensible way to look at this. I certainly won’t tell anyone, but please understand that this whole affair is a tragedy. And there really is no evidence that Kim and Nagel have any bearing on the matter, other than being on the Martin Luther.”

“You have my sympathies and understanding,” Shinzou offered politely. “But you mentioned that they both had become moody in the past few months.”

Gupta put down his cup. “Well, that was speculation based on hearsay. Kim and Nagel, you see, didn’t work in the same area. Kim was an expert on education and Sentient-based developmental learning, and Nagel was our technical director for embryonic neural pathology. There are some crossover topics, as one would expect. However, on a day-to-day basis they didn’t meet very often. I only noticed because people talked about them. We are a very close-knit family, as you can imagine.”

Shinzou looked confused. “Why were they together on the flight, then?”

“A robotics conference in Yokohama,” Gupta said. “It was planned months back.”

“Interesting. Were they angry about anything?”

Gupta thought off to one side. “No, I wouldn’t say that. This is why I didn’t want to bring it up with the authorities. There’s nothing I can really explain. Maybe it’s all just coincidental, personal matters and the like.”

“Have their families said anything?”

Gupta shook his head. “Kim was a bachelor and a bit reclusive. No one to talk to. And Nagel’s wife has said nothing to me. She is very distressed, as you can imagine.”

Shinzou considered the information. “What about their past? Did they ever have any kind of relationship, either here or at other institutions?”

“That’s an interesting question. I assumed not, but I can check it.”

Gupta walked over to his desk and began typing a few search commands. Before long, streams of data began scrolling on his flexi panel. He then drilled down and pushed translucent text in various directions, looking for something of interest.

“It’s hard to tell,” Gupta said with a mild grimace. “Over the years there are many white papers and projects. Their names appear in big lists, but that doesn’t mean they really collaborated. Let me try something...”

Gupta deftly made additional key strokes and manipulated datasets with his hands. Shinzou and Sumeet looked at each other with anticipation.

“Interesting,” Gupta finally said. “There’s a classified project sixteen years back. They worked closely with three external consultants, two of whom were very old at the time, so I am not sure if they’re even alive now. I can check, but the third one was a bit younger, a professor who lived in Japan.”

Shinzou became more attentive. “Do you have his name and current location?”

Gupta peered over his bulbous glasses. “I can’t send this information to you, but if you happen to overhear me reading out loud, there is little I can do.”

Shinzou grinned.

Looking carefully over his glasses, Gupta verbalized slowly. “Dr. Shunro Kamiyoshi in Omika Japan. Let’s see here...at the time he was a teacher specializing in theology. Roman Catholicism, to be precise.”

Shinzou abruptly stiffened and screwed up his face. Sumeet noticed something was wrong, but was completely befuddled by the statement’s implications. Unsure what to make of it, he just took a sip of tea placed out for him on the table.

“This might sound a bit strange,” Shinzou asked, “but why on earth would a theology teacher work on a classified project?”

Nodding at the screen still entranced, Gupta mulled over the question. “Indeed, it does look odd. The files on that project were archived decades ago. I will need to retrieve them. They should come back online within the hour.”

Sumeet’s curiosity became unbearable. Everyone was talking around the issue rather than about it directly. What was the problem? With little knowledge of Sentients and their origins, he simply had to interject.

“Excuse me,” Sumeet asked timidly. “May I ask why that’s an issue?”

Gupta looked up. “Pardon?”

“Why is theology a problem?”

Gupta looked at Sumeet then at Shinzou, who just shrugged apologetically. “I see you have little knowledge about Sentient upbringing.”

Sumeet stared back silently as Gupta returned to the couch and sat down. Enjoying the innocent question posed, Gupta picked up his cup and took a long sip.

“I’ve been locked up in this place so long,” Gupta finally said. “I’ve forget sometimes what it’s like to meet people who really don’t understand.”

Sumeet looked at both Gupta and Shinzou with mild trepidation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask too many questions.”

Gupta laughed quite loudly, and then slapped Sumeet on the knee several times. “No, my boy! It’s quite all right. Why don’t I give you and Shinzou the standard tour? He can see the upgrades since his last visit, and I can educate you while the archives are retrieved.” Gupta bowed toward Shinzou. “Unless you object?”

“Lead the way, Babu,” Shinzou said, holding out an outstretched hand.

All three departed down the hall to an elevator, which Gupta opened with high-level clearance. A floater attempted to follow them inside, but without much thought Gupta pushed it outside just as the doors began to close.

“Pesky little things,” he said, punching in commands to the elevator.

With only the slightest alteration in momentum, the elevator descended. Sumeet watched with interest as the floor counter decreased into negatives and then simply went blank. Pressure altered before they finally came to rest on a floor identified as SubTerr157-A. It was hard to make out what that meant. Were they one hundred and fifty seven floors down, or was this strange numbering system indicative of a complex multidimensional maze? Sumeet mulled over the possibilities as the door hissed open to a hallway with lush carpeting and cool indirect lighting.