Second Paradigm (6 page)

Reality crashed back into full motion for Wanda. Screaming and sounds of panic came from the direction of the courthouse below. She laid on her back staring down the barrel of a gun.

When a gun is pointed at your face, it can be very difficult to look at anything but that black tunnel that signifies your death, concealed in its shadowed chamber, there and waiting for you. She tried to jump through time, but something blocked her from slipping the time stream to safety.

A man loomed over her, dressed in dark clothes and looking like nothing so much as a classical private detective. He wore a rumpled trench coat, battered fedora, and had an unlit and dented cigarette hanging from his lips. He stood a solid six foot three, towering above her. Rugged good looks combined with a crooked nose, broken at some point, completed the effect.

As he stared down at her he slowly winked. “You missed, Wanda.”

She gasped as recognition sparked. She knew exactly who this man was. “Alexander Zarth. Pleasure to finally meet you. Though I would have preferred a less … intimate setting.”

Alex chuckled softly as he looked down at her. “The pleasure is all mine.”

He pulled the trigger.

1972 A.D.: Denver Colorado.

Alex mopped his sweaty brow and looked down at the job foreman. No one enjoyed working in the hot day. Noontime sun beat down on the man, as he sought refuge from it in the lee of the site’s main office. Workers milled about below, lifting, dropping, or in one memorable case sleeping, around various positions on the site.

No eyes were on him at the moment. With an impish grin, Alex sighted the Denver Courthouse from his perch and installed the Hazer in the grid work of the buildings girders. Once the Hazer had blended with the girder to the point that he could no longer see it, except on close inspection, he ran a system check. Reality shifted by about a quarter of an inch as he activated it, then everything settled down to look normal again. He grinned and deactivated the unit.

Over the course of the afternoon, his nano machines worked their magic, imbedding the Hazer’s circuitry into the building’s central wiring. By the time he finished working on masking the Hazer, its circuitry was seamless with that of the building, making its activation invisible against the background electrics already running.

About fifteen minutes before the shift ended, Alex winged a screwdriver out of the aperture in front on him, aiming about two degrees off, right at the foreman’s back. With a satisfying thunk, it walloped the man in the back and he screamed in outraged pain. Alex deactivated the Hazer again and headed downstairs to get into a fistfight.

He came out from the building’s half-constructed entrance and bellowed, “I am goddamn sick and tired of working my ass off while you hide in the shade and dodge having to work!” Challenging a foreman’s authority was about the fastest way to get into a fight. Getting into a fight in which the foreman threw the first blow was the easiest way to get fired without leaving a paper trail behind.

As he strode up to the foreman, the other man cocked a fist and threw a punch at him. Alex easily sidestepped the blow and threw his hardest uppercut straight into the man’s solar plexus. The foreman crumpled around Alex’s fist then slid to the ground. Ten minutes later Alex had been fired and he walked away into the future. It amazed him how well he could hide in the system by being willing to do an honest day’s labor and then get into an honest fight.

***

Relativity Synchronization:
The Fourth Cause

2044: Brave New World

As Chris stepped out of the hospital and into the downpour outside, he closed his eyes and turned his face towards the heavens. Cool rain gently washed down his cheeks and he felt some of the tension he had built up over the last half hour evaporate as his muscles relaxed.

Opening his eyes, he noticed the GeoCorp guard behind him in the reflection of the massive glass windows. Standing halfway down the hallway, the man watched Chris while gripping his gun. Smiling inwardly, Chris walked away, turning up his collar against the chill.
Some people will always be small-minded. Hmm. The world may have changed but humans will always be human. Directions.… Where do I go?
Chris looked at his surroundings. The light from the afternoon sun lost itself in the mammoth maze of buildings.

Around him, at ground level, it looked like an abandoned war zone. All he saw were rusting hulks of cars in the damp shadows.
Its mid-afternoon …
around him the steady rhythm of water pounded on rusted metal and cracked concrete.
And the streets are empty. What is wrong with this city?

The streets were not, however, silent for long. At the edges of his hearing Chris became aware of a humming echo reverberating through the concrete canyons, a dull rush above the spattering of the rain. Chris swallowed.
Of course.
Far, far above, he could see a line of gray sky between the glowing neon spires of the skyscrapers around him. Below, in between the buildings, rushed hundreds, thousands of small, flying vehicles.

Chris looked again at the rusting hulks of vehicles around him.
They’re up there now
. No one seemed to use ground level anymore. He could see advertisements projected on walls promoting everything from cosmetic cybernetics to hand grenades. Most were flashing the GeoCorp or PolCorp Securities logos on them.

“Hey, no loitering. Get lost loser.” The rotund guard stood in the door of the hospital glaring at Chris with his assault rifle leveled at him. “PolCorp hates doing cleanup jobs on ground level. Believe me, you don’t want to make ‘em come down here to take care of this. Now leave and I won’t even fine you.”

Chris flipped the man off as he headed down the street.
Malicious little pig.
The guard kept his gun trained on Chris for a minute before turning back inside, once Chris had walked far enough away.

A deep rumble came from above Chris like an earthquake. He looked up in time to see a train rumble along tracks five stories above his head. The gridworks suspending the tracks were integrated into the sides of the buildings and appeared to wind through and connect to all of the buildings in sight.

Despite the grand arches that jumped from building to building, the entire thing looked run down and shabby.
That train must be what the poor people take
. He looked at the remnants of cars around him.
Either that or the people of this time are frightened of the streets.…

“Got ten bucks, buddy?” The gritty voice came from his left, slurred and bone weary. From the alley next to him a gnarled figure staggered out toward him until he shadowed in the mouth of the alley. “So how about it? Help a guy down on his luck?”

Chris thought for a moment. He had no idea how far the money Dr. Jameson had given him would go, but he needed some information.
Besides, what’s ten bucks out of two hundred and fifty thousand?
He studied the figure in front of him for a moment. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll give you a fifty if you can answer a few questions for me.”

The man grinned a gap-toothed smile as he emerged from the alley. “What ya wanna know?” He wore ripped jeans and a plastic bag as a poncho, and his question degenerated into a hacking, phlegm-filled cough.

As he studied the man’s face, Chris realized with a start that while the man looked like he was in his sixties, he probably wasn’t even thirty. Chris couldn’t tell where the five o’clock shadow ended and the dirt began on his face. “All right,” He fished a fifty out of his pocket but kept it held in his hand. “For starters, what’s the date today? Do you know that?”

The man smiled again. This was going to be the easiest fifty he had ever gotten. “Monday, October sixth, or close to it.”

Ok. Fall. So I was put into the coma in summer.

“Good enough. Now, where am I?”

“You’re on Greensborough Avenue—right down the street from GeoCorp Central Facility.”

Well, that means absolutely nothing to me.
“Sorry, I meant what city are we in right now?”

“Are you serious, man?” The vagabond peered into Chris’s face suspecting some sort of trick, but unable to figure out what it might be.

“I’m serious.”

“Denver North, man. Old Thornton Corporate District. Where the hell do you think you are?”

“Thanks.” Chris handed the man a fifty.

“Shit, man, for another fifty bucks more I can take you wherever it is you need to go. You want a guide?”

Chris thought about it.
This is too easy. What if this guy is a GeoCorp plant? Jameson said to watch out for the company.
“I’ll compromise. I’ll give you another twenty if you can tell me which way is south.”

“Aw, hell man, south is that way, but you don’t want to go down there. That way is a bad scene, man.”

“Thanks again.” Chris turned his back on the old man and peeled through his bills for a twenty, but he couldn’t find anything less than a fifty.
What the Hell. They wouldn’t have let me go just to track me through a homeless guy.
“On second thought, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.”

The man grinned his toothless grin again.
Easy money.
“Where do you want to go?”

“Good question.” Chris took out the card for Little Paris. “Can you bring me to a hotel near this place?”

His guide peered at the card and handed it back to Chris. “Well … the thing is, I don’t see so good. I, uh …”

“The Address is sixteen fifty-five north Cherry Lane.” Chris felt embarrassed for the guy. “It’s called the Little Paris Coffee Shop.”

“Aw, hell, I know where that is, but there ain’t no hotels near there. It’s in a mall, about five miles south of here. But don’t worry, it ain’t getting into the combat zone for about another twelve miles.”

Chris sighed “Just my luck. We’ll have to opt for second-best. Can you take me to the nearest hotel, then?”

“Nearest to here or there, Boss?”

“Nearest to the coffee shop,” Chris carefully explained, “if you know of one that’s a straight shot down a street from the shop so that I don’t get lost trying to find my way there.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Here,” Chris handed him the second fifty. “And let’s stop on the way for food. I’ll buy you lunch, besides—I haven’t eaten in a very, very long time.”

“Lunch it is. It’ll be about a thirty minute walk till we get anywhere that’ll let me into their place.” The old man laughed, doubled over in a fit of vicious coughing, spit on the ground, and said, “I always love a man that pays in advance. I’m going to enjoy working for you.”

They walked in silence for a while. At first Chris was wary of the man and kept an eye on the shadows, half-suspecting a trap. But as time ticked by to the steady rhythm of their footfalls and the steady rain, he allowed his guard to drop. The man would only grin when Chris looked at him, and nod his head to indicate a change of course.

“What’s your name?” Chris asked as they walked under a huge purple neon arch into what looked like some sort of shopping center. The décor may have been nice once, but steady traffic from the city’s destitute had turned it into a den of dirty stalls and shouting shopkeepers, each trying to attract notice to the shoddy wares that they were displaying.

“Clive is what my name is, but most people call me Rat. How about you?” Rat asked as they turned once again and left their shortcut through the mall.

There were people now, and the streets were no longer shrouded in shadow. All around them people bustled, bathed in multi-colored neon light, some hurrying through the rain in search of shelter, but most moved about unconcerned. Wet trash smell filled the air, but a more pungent, flowery smell was pushing the offending odor away. Chris had no clue where it was coming from. There were PolCorp officers milling with the crowd, carrying riot shields and assault rifles like the one the guard at the hospital had. They eyed the milling throng with arrogance, but ignored Chris and Rat who were sticking to the shadows on the sides of the street.

“I’m Chris. Chris Nost.” He looked around. “What is this place? Why are there people all around when everywhere else has been deserted at ground level?”

Rat moved on, a gleam in his eyes. “You ever want any action, this is the place to come. Heh.” He trailed off into another coughing fit. “This is a Ped Mall. Special parts of the city are turned into these places and patrolled by PolCorp so that the upper levels can come down and slum.”

Chris stopped for a second, taken aback at seeing Rat’s eyes, then picked his pace back up. Now that they were in decent light he could see that Rat’s eyes were yellow. “I see. Action. Do you mean prostitution?”

“You got it, boss. Of course, there’s plenty of action in South, but there’s plenty of the wrong kind of action down there, too, if you know what I mean.”

“So I’ve heard,” he smiled at Rat. “I was warned that PolCorp doesn’t even patrol down there anymore.”

“It ain’t PolCorp not patrolling that’s bad. In my opinion that’s actually a plus.”

Chris eyed the crowed with curiosity, filing away the tidbit about PolCorp, but focused on the streets around them. There were no obvious sex shops or hookers or girls behind glass. “So where’s the action you were talking about? I don’t see anything.”

“Oh, well officially GeoCorp has outlawed all that, but trust me, you can get some ass in almost any one of these places. Shit, man, they can make more of a profit on it if it’s illegal. Then when shop keepers don’t pay the squeeze, they fine the piss out of them.”

Chris saw mostly clothing boutiques, but there were also a few clubs advertising that they were open ‘twenty-four-seven’, and two gun stores. “What about the gun stores? They seem kind of out of place.”

“Shit, man, trust me—they got the finest ass on the block. All the weapons they carry are a front for having really high-end security to protect the image of the Corpies that don’t want their faces seen. They still sell, of course, but this way there’s a good reason for them to be loaded up on the firepower.”

“Interesting. Do they let just anyone buy a gun?”

Rat stopped walking and looked Chris in the eye. “For fuck’s sake, man, where the hell you been? Yeah, anyone can buy a gun. As long as you got your papers. Shit, you want one; we can go right now.…”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary. My apologies. I … I’ve been in a coma for quite some time. I just got released from the hospital and I’m having to learn everything as we go along. Please be patient with my questions.”

Rat looked at Chris again, laughed, and shook his head. “Shit, boss. Are you serious? Sorry about that. You look pretty good for a guy who just got out of a coma. Hey, it’s time to eat—follow me.” He led Chris into an unmarked door in the side of a building, where a few derelicts like Rat sat around bowls of steaming, unidentifiable gruel.

“I told you not to come in here, Rat,” the lady behind the bar said as she reached for something under the counter.

“It’s okay, Roberta,” Rat croaked. “I got cash today. Meet my new friend, Chris.” He gestured toward his guest.

“Yeah?” Roberta reached for a different spot under the counter and pulled out two bowls, ladling some of the stew from a hot pot behind her. “Looks like he’s got cash. Where did you pick him up?”

“The hospital,” Rat smirked. “He just got out of a coma.”

“Yeah, whatever. It’ll be a hundred bucks, high roller.”

Chris paid. “What is this stuff, anyway?” he asked her, eyeing it suspiciously. It was gray and chunky, and he couldn’t smell any discernable odor. He ladled up a spoonful. The taste surprised him. Everything in this future seemed like it was faded and broken, lifeless. But the stew exploded over his tongue. It was slightly spicy with rich flavors twining together. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

She leaned close to him, over the bar. “Between you and me, honey, you don’t want to know what’s in it.”

Rat and Chris ate in silence after that.

As they left the restaurant, Rat took a side street out of the market and led Chris through a maze of garbage and rubble. Occasionally they had to step over small groups of sleeping people, huddled together for the shared body warmth. Massive pipes ran up the sides of the buildings, turning the rain to steam with a sizzle where it fell on them.

“We’re almost there,” he said to Chris over his shoulder as he climbed a pile of greasy cardboard made soft by the rain, which had diminished into a fine drizzle. He slipped and tumbled down the far side, out of Chris’s view. Chris heard a string of cursing through the rattling, wet cough. He clambered up and over the pile in time to see Rat climb sluggishly to his feet and make a feeble attempt at brushing the mud from his plastic garbage bag.

“Here you are, boss!” Rat did a little dance, like a pageant queen presenting a prize on a game show, as he gestured down the street he had tumbled into.

Halfway down the block Chris saw it, “The Rangley Hotel.” The buildings were lower here, and Chris saw a few people milling around. They had a distinctly different look to them than the ‘Ped Mall’ crowd. These people were less glitzy and glamorous. The way they kept their heads down spoke of locals trying to get on with their business, rather than flashy kids out looking for a good time.

There were even a few trees growing on the corners of the intersections on either side, though only sparse brown leaves still clung to the stunted branches. Another thing that spoke of the urban instead of the high-rise corporate world was that there were no abandoned cars in the street. Though the few cars parked on the street did not look like they were in particularly good repair, they did look operational.