The Solution (4 page)

“Okay,” she curtly said,
“did I do all right or what?”

“
Indeed. Have you heard of Inversion, Elizabeth?” Mr. Spires said.

“No.
I have no idea what that is.”

“It’s the bel
ief that some people draw energy from elsewhere. Rather, Inversion is the conversion of that energy from elsewhere into material form. The rationalization is simple, in that all life is symbiotic with the Ultimate Reality. The theory is that some people have more of it, whatever
it
exactly is. We call it the Ultimate Reality, those of us that . . . want to understand.”

“I don’t quite.”

“
You will, but for now you’ll need to shower. We’re going to go for a ride.”

“
Where?”

“To the City,
” Mr. Spires said.

“The City?
Now?”

“Yes.”

Before Elizabeth got out of bed, she thought of her mother, and she silently mourned her as best she knew how. She wanted to cry, thinking that it might be the right thing to do, but she couldn’t—a shower would be wet and warm enough. Her chest tightened, she massaged, hoping she would not have a heart attack on the spot.

Chapter Four

The All

Welcome to
the All, Dr. Temple thought as the air became stained with historical scenes playing like a 3-D movie. These were moments recorded in time, and the act was made possible because the doctor shared a relationship with the All system—he implemented the All to tap into aspects of the Ultimate Reality, to learn what the universe, physical or incorporeal, had to offer. Dr. Temple’s latest pleasure was studying a Greek woman disrobing at an altar of Aphrodite. Libations of wine, from the men watching, poured onto the earth around her. Suddenly the floating images morphed into a different group of women and men being tortured during the Spanish Inquisition. A woman was chained to a splintered table, and had her belly cut wide open. A man's head was lopped off with a dull blade, so it took the headsman three good whacks.

The
n history evaporated into thin air within seconds. The doctor’s interests were not of the past but of the present. He was reminded of this when a transmission sounded and an image appeared on a screen in his mind. It was a member of the Solution Prime Council, a man called Glenn Wiseman.

“Do you know
how this happened with Mr. Markins?” Glenn Wiseman had a steady voice.

“No.”
Dr. Temple stood in a black suit and pale face, black clean-cut hair. He was a slender man with not much muscular tone, and wore a thick, heavy silver ring on his right index finger. There was a sense of something working in the man below the surface, like unseen engines.

Dr. Temple
was in a control room that was rather bland with the exception of the All’s manifold circuitry surrounding him on the walls. He was head of the entire All program; he was the operator commissioned by the Solution Prime Council—primarily by a member that no longer lived and who was considered a mystery and co-founder of the Solution itself. It had taken the doctor years of psychological preparation and neurological modifications to set at the hull of such an operation—Dr. Temple’s brain had been reconstructed and turned into a biomechanical marvel tuned directly into the All’s system.

Glenn Wiseman said, “You
experience the mind of the City, and you practically are the will of the City, Dr. Temple. What’s the problem?”

T
he doctor did experience the mind of the City, and soon the All’s primary function would be nationwide Molecular Surveillance, meaning Dr. Temple would possess the capability to monitor the public through dust particles, oxygen, and anything with matter, even from within the public’s physical bodies. Dr. Temple would know everyone on the most intimate level.

“
Take a look,” Glenn Wiseman said.

The doctor felt
something of a pain and changed a channel in his mind to where he had monitored Randal Markins sitting in the alleyway last night. He had watched and listened from the time of the cerebral interference in Randal’s apartment to where Tetrax had almost killed and swallowed him whole in the alleyway. The corner of the doctor’s lips curved to a frown. It had been unfortunate he was forced to send Tetrax, one of actuality’s dirty little secrets, in the first place.

What bothered
Dr. Temple was the interruption of communications and how Randal escaped, obviously with help—more than likely of a man called Alex Treaty, who was the first person ever to vanish from the All’s scrutiny within the City’s limits. But that was at the beginning when the program was still primitive. And how is Randal Markins significant to anything whatsoever? There was nothing special about him, the doctor knew, until last night, when Randal’s mind sent out violent pulses into the All then blanked out like a burnt light bulb. Dr. Temple pondered further on Randal’s image. Then he willed the All to search for him and Treaty through a grid of the city, but could find no trace, no pulses of life or any heat signatures that would suggest Treaty could still be alive, or Randal for that matter—but they still live, the doctor believed.

Glenn Wiseman said, “
They have to be collected and studied in order to discern how Treaty bypassed the All’s network and hacked into Randal’s head, which was supposed to be impossible by now. Apparently it’s not. They don’t know what they’re doing, Dr. Temple. They can harm many people. Send the RMS if need be.”

“I understand,” the doctor said.

Glenn Wiseman faded out and s
uddenly the image in the doctor’s mind shifted to that of Elizabeth, Mr. Spires, and the two Solution operatives in a vehicle idling at the city gates awaiting access.

“Interesting,” Dr. Temple said.

***

The auxiliary power of the facility purred as it turned on, and an electric whine was followed by a door flying open and Randal landing headfirst on the floor. A few clumps of congealed blood clung to his nostrils, and when he attempted to stand he fell. Still, he tried to gather his whereabouts. The navy blue carpet was torn in patches and wood
en flooring showed under it in random areas. He looked at the wall which was covered with red and gold paisley wallpaper. He saw a ceiling fan and light that appeared to be from 1950s in the corner of his eyes, and an old cot beside an oak desk.

Footsteps came from behind him, a sou
nd he’d recently learned to be wary of. He was tired of the sound of approaching footsteps. Footsteps were too sneaky. Randal slowly rolled onto his back, tasting his own coppery blood, seeing two silhouettes standing in the doorway. His body was going haywire with pain as he said, “What did I do? What am I guilty of?”

One silhouette said,
“Guilty? Who knows? Probably by some people’s standards you are, but not by mine, man. My name’s Alex Treaty. This is Christopher M. And in case you’re wondering, I am the voice inside your head,” Alex said calmly.

Both silhouettes stepped forward and Randal could see them
better. He blinked at Alex then looked to Christopher M, who was a stocky man. He wore a navy blue jacket with white stripes running down the sleeve and had on jeans and sneakers. Alex wore an old, viridian knitted sweater, gray corduroys, and a white collared shirt. His graying hair fell close to his shoulders. He had a beard and bright blue eyes with crow’s feet under them. He appeared to be a frail man and reminded Randal of someone immersed in academia and wealth. An elite brain, some would say.

“Where are my manners?
” Alex said, “Christopher M, pick him up and place him on the cot. Give him pain killers.”

Christopher
M cut his eyes. He was the one who had accidently, he’d say, pushed Randal through the doorway.

“Sorry,” Christopher
M said. Then he lifted Randal up onto the cot, but at the moment Randal didn’t care where he’d end up laying. Everything hurt. Everywhere. It wasn’t only the pain from the attacks he endured; his body yearned for something terribly, though he couldn’t place what.

A
fter Christopher M situated Randal he revealed a syringe and injected him with a pain killer, which brought immediate alleviation. When he backed away, Randal moved his lips. At first no sound came out until he sighed and managed to say, “I have no idea what this is.”

Alex said, “
Hmm, I’ll make it simple. It wasn’t only me you’ve been hearing in your head, you see, because the Solution was in there, too. They were there first. We hacked the All’s network and we got lucky and found you, man. It’s a pretty Zen thing. We found you because you dreamed of someone. A girl with green eyes. Do you know her?”

Randal closed his eyes.
He recalled the dream. Apparently this dream started it all—this whole downward spiral. She did seem familiar to Randal, though. She looked like his first kiss. Elizabeth Reznick.

“I don’t know,” Randal
said.

“
Are you aware of what the All is?” Alex said, scratching his nose.

“No
t really. But I’ve heard rumors at work.”

“
I imagine, man. I imagine. But they’re more than rumors. I’ll cut to the chase and give you the skinny. You’ve been streaming the All, and you’ll be going through some pretty intense detoxification soon. Like a hard drug, man, except worse. See, you’ve been dependent on the All and you didn’t even know it. No one in the City knows it. We’ll provide you with medication and sustenance and hope you live. I have to be honest with you though, it’s going to hurt and it’s going to be strange.”

The pain killer was
already knocking him out and Randal started to slip under. Maybe he would find the oblivion he’d been looking for, after all. Moments later it was like Randal watched life on an old movie projector, but the film burned and pealed the pictures into black blooms before him. He was left with indistinct sketches of Alex and Christopher M, which soon faded to nothing.

There was
solace, for a while.

***

The withdrawal symptoms were indeed both strange and agonizing. It was like an integral part of Randal’s body was being torn from his guts.

The door griped when it closed, or opened
, and Randal had no idea who had just left the room or if someone entered. More than likely it had been one of his saviors, or captors—who knew at this point.

Time passed
quickly, breaking into hazy and distorted segments.

He opened
his eyes again, rather, eyes within eyes. Because, each time he shut one eye another seemed to open. One moment lights stared down at him. Then so did darkness and pain’s smile. When he got back to sleep another figurative lens opened to show him nightmares—nightmares he could not quite rationalize or form into coherent images as they played out in front of him. Randal saw shimmering shapes and each was drawn in such a geometrical fashion that he could not understand their structures, as if they had come from somewhere else beyond comprehension and were too large for his mind. Suddenly these shapes morphed into warm blankets, embracing him paternally. The comfort was disturbing because comfort itself had become a contrast to his life lately, but he would take it, though knowing it would soon flee.

Then
Randal watched Alex Treaty look down on him with curious blue eyes. He was unsure if Alex was a phantasm as Alex’s lips began to make funny motions. He was trying to speak, Randal gathered.

Alex said
, “You’re living. It may seem like you’re in Hades, but you’re alive, man. This is splendid stuff, you understand.”

“Get … away from … me.”

“Nice,” Alex said wittily. “You’ll be fine. You have to be. There’s an overabundance of stuff to learn.”

Not even coming close to
striking anything, Randal threw a wild punch into the air. He missed Alex by a foot. It was the first time, even since he was a child, that he’d ever done such a thing. The Dysfunctions Anger and Rage stormed inside him. Nodding and grinning, Alex left the room as silently as he had arrived.

Shortly
after Alex’s exit Randal daydreamed about driving a car into the side of a building and smashing his skull in. Randal laughed at the absurdity, then the laugh grew into a guffaw, and the guffaw turned into a roar. Then, eventually, the roar silenced and Randal fell asleep.

Time slipped away
rapidly. Randal wasn’t sure how much had gone by the next moment he woke, but it was like a slow, meditative moment when he did. He looked at the paisley wallpaper, then lights, then the blue carpet. They were all there. Vividly. He was lucid, at least more so than he’d been in a while. It could have been a week or maybe three that slipped by. He couldn’t be sure, but there was no yearning for that drug. Did Alex tell him he was withdrawing from the All? Nevertheless, everything was as close to proper as proper could be considering the circumstances.

Randal
’s body and mind moved and processed better, but he’d bet he looked a lot worse than he ever had before. He tossed the white sheets off and stood up, seeing he had healed well when he scanned his body. The bruises were fading, cuts on his chest were cleaned, and his neck or his head didn’t ache. His stomach growled like a monster. He looked at his wrist, noticing a scar where there once was not. He examined, and guided his index finger over the scar, discovering his tracer chip had been surgically removed.