Drift pattern, p.40
Drift Pattern, page 40
There’s a mournful half-minute pause. Though it’s different from what Ley says to lament, Luci reflects on the fate of Benold Jesper and Shar Ryson’s sacrifice for her. She runs the tips of her fingers over the etched plastic in her pocket and sighs, wondering how she can convince Beaumont to take her to Shar when this is over. She’ll even be willing to risk another bnanti ride if that’s what it takes.
The silence concludes with Ley lifting both arms upward again. “Just know that in a few hours, each of us will have a new life in a pre-Hi no Kawa world, and we will establish a memorial for our fallen.”
A smattering of applause erupts and catches like wildfire with manic shouts of, “For a new and better path.”
Something about it all feels off, but the prospect of Ish safe with her even in seventeenth-century Ireland is enough to appease Luci for now. “One step at a time,” she tells herself.
Totti steps forward and, speaking loud enough to be heard over the noise of the crowd, informs Ley, “It won’t have sound since the audio is for virtual view on the splash forum.”
“That’s fine. We all know the narration. Go ahead and start it up.”
This hovering disc is considerably larger than the one from Macer’s office with the statue hologram, and though it’s Luci’s third time to witness this technology, she’s still astounded by the sight.
Yuma instructs Totti by pointing at the hovering device. “When you get it hooked into the mainframe, you’ll press this, then this, and here. The upload to the splash forum will send out notifications to everyone in the city and, a minute or so later, copy over to the TmR server receivers at the Grange.” Pride seeps into his voice. “I’ve got it configured to where system administrators shouldn’t be able to track the transmission origin back for at least three minutes—five if we’re lucky—so get out of there once you see this little light flashing.”
Ley nods to Totti, saying, “Give the ones on the extraction team thirty minutes after you get there before manually activating the holo vid at the nexus.” Ley turns to Beaumont and sandwiches his hand between both of hers. “I’ll see you shortly, Noah.”
He acknowledges with a slight bow. “For a new and better path.”
She releases Beaumont from her grip with a nod. “Please relay what’s happening on Totti’s video to . . .” her eyes shift to Luci, “our guest.”
The crowd’s anxious clamoring dies down as Ley traipses over to the skip barge bearing the trunk with the ESTA device. She lifts a lever on the lectern-like control panel; there’s a brief atmospheric pop, and she and the transport vanish a second later.
Luci turns to Beaumont beside her. “It’s like a longchair?”
“Yes. Same leap skip technology but designed as cargo movers used by the Grange for larger loads.” There’s a pause before he adds, “Except in this case, the cargo will be all of us going to Antarctica.”
She’s still astounded that a leap skip can be performed from a place that isn’t a natural chronal node and makes a promise to herself to learn how such a thing can be when Ish is safely rescued.
The holo vid begins. Totti has set the hologram parameters to display the image a meter or so above their heads and as long as a sports car. UNIFON letters appear under the image of the city’s chancellor: “Waleen Macer.” Luci is amazed by the likeness to his son, Enos. They share the same big nose and bushy eyebrows feature. “So, that’s what Waleen looked like? I saw the resemblance in the statue of him, but he and Enos could be twins.”
Beaumont’s deadpan response is off-putting. “No, they’re both Waleen.”
She scoffs at his joke in bad taste. Forcing her eyes from the image to Beaumont, she asks, “What did you say?”
He faces forward like an unblinking mannequin. “They’re both him . . . they’re both Waleen”
With her mouth agape, Luci looks down at her still-damp shoes. Like a battering ram splintering the fortress of her mind, the concept finally smashes through. “No,” she begins as one of her Jardon headaches creep in. “How can he be—”
“There is no Enos Macer, only Waleen,” he says, turning to gauge her shock.
She barely registers him looking at her, her mind running through the implications of what this means if it’s true. Luci replays every interaction she’s had with him all the way back to the conversation inside the limo on that rainy night in Baltimore.
She remembers him lying to her about identity convergence writing over a future self. Then she recalls Royse telling her how Macer’s mother died of something called Fichtner’s Disease when he was very young, leaving Enos to be raised by his father, Waleen—all lies! None of it was true. He must have thought her an imbecile when she suggested the possibility of Waleen being Cyphor Gicul. She flashes back to the conversation with him about the “66” and “99” number thing for the doll for her mother. He had explained how identity convergence occurs and U-curve overlays. It was a lie—it was all a lie. Her heartrate’s up, and the words come sluggishly from her dry mouth, “But . . . but that would have to mean—”
Beaumont nods and points at the changing image, but it’s Yuma who interrupts. “It gets worse. Watch.”
Younger Waleen and the chancellor morph into a third and final face. It’s still Macer, but he wears an intricate headdress of deep red. It’s not as tall as the papal tiara that the Pope wears, but it’s easily as tall as a top hat from her time.
Luci’s legs feel weak, as if all the blood has raced from them into her pounding heart. She moves to shift her weight in hopes of balancing. Totti places her arm around her shoulder to steady her.
The image of this Macer pulls back as the camera does a reverse zoom. He’s clad in an ornately stitched red robe. His mouth is moving, and though it’s obvious he’s passionately speaking, there’s no sound.
“What’s he saying, Totti?” Luci asks. “What’s going on in this part?”
She shakes her head somberly. “He’s declaring himself a god to the people below.”
Luci looks to the left at Beaumont and Yuma for confirmation.
The older of the two answer, “It’s true. At some point, Waleen discovered that by visiting specific skip point junctures that he knew he would find himself at, he could bring another version of himself back.”
“This is bad,” Luci says to no one in particular.
Still shaking her head, Totti says, “We’re still not sure if this was something he discovered by accident or if he deliberately sought out to extract ‘shadows’ of himself out of his linear timeline.” She pauses and gently turns Luci to face her. “But what we do know is that Waleen was able to reinsert them . . . himself . . . into the future.”
Yuma peeks around Beaumont at Luci to add, “No one even knows how many shadows Waleen has made of himself.”
Luci asks, “Shadows are what you call copies of him . . . copies of Macer?”
Her self-consciousness sets in that only the four of them have been speaking. All the other members of L’inversione remain reverently still as if at a funeral.
The “camera” image gradually pulls back from Macer behind a golden lectern. There’s an enormous crowd, easily over ten thousand docile spectators in attendance.
Beaumont offers in a hushed tone, “Malom said this was an address that Macer, here calling himself ‘Relicus the Great,’ gave in our future. He said it was some sort of religious indoctrination ceremony.”
By now, the figure on the stage is too small to see, but massive video screens as tall as five-story buildings hovering on opposite sides of the stage clearly display Macer’s contorted shouting mouth.
Luci recognizes the building. He’s standing in front of the Spike, and it’s adorned with flags that bear a pictogram of Macer’s face in an intense expression of determination.
“Malom did the leap skip three centuries into the city’s future,” Totti says, withdrawing her arm from around Luci to gesture to the massive hologram. “This is 328 years from now.”
Luci tries to swallow, but her throat feels like sandpaper on the inside.
Beaumont informs her, “Malom told me that he believes that Macer reinserts himself periodically every so often on these religious holy days.”
“So Macer never dies,” she says, remembering Malom’s rant back at Carcerium. “And since Macer barely ages between visits to them, the people can believe the lie that he truly is a god.”
“All time travel in the future will be abolished by him,” Beaumont says. “Technical information destroyed when he ascends to power, and to even suggest the possibility of leap-skip time travel will be considered blasphemous heresy against the god, Relicus the Great.”
Any doubts as to which side was the good one in this battle between L’inversione and Macer are squelched in Luci’s mind. While she’s still unable to reconcile why Gicul is sending a deployment to retrieve Ish and that whole matter of murdering her other self still lingers, she decides to trust these people, even that snooty Ley.
The image does a sweep pan over the crowd. Posted at various points stand stocky figures with modified churkas. Their facial features are identical and stoic.
Luci points at the reflective red armor bearing a large “R” insignia on the chest plate. “Who are they?”
Beaumont shrugs. “Malom wasn’t certain, but we believe those are a variation of the cybos that we have today.”
“But they all look the same,” Luci observes.
“I don’t know,” he answers. “Maybe Macer . . . or ‘Relicus the Great’ has figured out a way to shadow them as well. We can’t be certain, but Malom said that they’re definitely Macer’s militia.” He pauses as if he’s waiting to add something.
Yuma breaks the silence. “They’re the advanced cybos of the future that captured Malom as he was making this video.”
The comment triggers Beaumont to continue. “Knowing he’d be apprehended, Malom programed the video drone to leap skip back here to Relicus City the moment he was captured and connection to the device was lost.”
“Here it comes,” Totti says with a voice that makes the hairs on the nape of Luci’s neck prickle.
The image abruptly switches from the mass outdoor ceremony to a wobbly handheld shot of Malom in a poorly lit low-ceiling area. She feels odd about seeing the face of the man whom she despised just a few hours ago, believing him to be the murderer of her future self.
Luci senses a shift in the room. While completely still and quiet, everyone collectively tenses up in unison as if bracing for something. She wonders what could be more horrible than the oppressive rule of Macer as an undying deity. Managing to choke out a question slightly louder than a whisper, she asks, “What’s Malom saying in this part?”
Totti answers, “He’s saying that he’s taking the drone into the vortex of the Spike, the one on the Relicus City side.”
Luci recognizes the area from her visit earlier in the week. “What’s wrong with it? Why have all of the machines stopped? None of the crates are moving. They’re all bunched up like boxcars from a derailed train.” The aftereffects of her Jardon incident make her head pound. “I don’t understand.”
Then something chills Luci to the core. The drone image pans across the slain body of a dark-skinned older woman on the ground. Only the upper torso is visible beneath one of the massive food crates. While the woman’s dying expression is one of agony, that’s not what makes Luci gasp and call out, “Totti, back it up, please! Back the video up a few frames or whatever.”
When she doesn’t immediately respond, Luci pleads with Beaumont. “I have to see something. Have her back it up . . . please.”
He shrugs and then nods to Totti.
The image pauses before playing in reverse for a few seconds.
“There! Stop it there!”
“On the crushed worker?” Totti asks in disbelief.
Luci nods emphatically, her eyes never leaving the image. “Yes, please.”
Beaumont says, “It’s one of the workers from the Grange side of the vortex. Somehow, they came through with the crates into the Relicus juncture.”
She feels sick as the image freezes on the old woman under the container. The fallen Grange worker wears an unmistakable bright yellow jumpsuit—it’s Director Bru Mandal, or at least it was a long time ago. Luci wants to die, but she can’t look away from the expression of anguish on the grandmotherly woman’s face.
“I know her,” Luci says in an unsteady voice. “She gave me a tour of the Grange when I first arrived here.” The only consolation that she can make to placate her emotions is that this hasn’t occurred yet. This is a shot from a future event. Bru is alive somewhere—probably at the Grange, in fact.
She wipes her eyes as she wonders if Bru was attempting to escape something on the Grange side or if she came through to the Spike processing area to warn the people of this juncture about something. She sniffs, saying, “You can start it up again, Totti.”
After a few chimes from the projector, the video resumes.
Luci says, “I don’t understand why Macer . . . ‘Relicus the Great’ or whatever would intentionally destroy the city’s access to their food source.”
“Control,” Totti says. “Cutting off the vortex channel to the Grange gives him complete control over the protein supply in the city, which, in turn, grants him absolute control over its people.”
Luci shakes her head. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If he—”
Yuma takes a rigid step forward and says stoically, “There are other sources of protein.”
Luci spins to Totti. “What does that mean?” Her stomach knots up as she addresses Beaumont. “What does he mean? I was told that nothing could be grown here.” There’s an answer gathering in her mind. It’s like an unending shrill behind a door about to collapse on its rusted hinges.
Many of the occupants of the warehouse look away and to the floor as glistening images of wet meat being processed display.
Beaumont confirms what Luci is piecing together but rejecting at the same time. “One thing grows here . . . the one thing that has always grown here.”
“No . . .” Her lip trembles. “No.”
Yuma clarifies as if the footage leaves any doubt, “The flesh is harvested . . . human flesh.” He points as the holo vid shifts to a wide shot of rows of foggy, cocoon-like compartments, each containing someone unconscious.
Luci collapses to her knees. She forcefully wipes the tears from her eyes in order to take in all the footage.
Beaumont comes to her side, gently lowering his hand to her shoulder. “That’s enough, Totti.”
The image freezes in place again, this time on one of Macer’s modified cybo centurions’ shiny red armor.
Totti is the first to speak. “As Noah mentioned, we have reason to believe that Waleen Macer imprisoned or murdered anyone with knowledge of leap-skip technology. The obvious result would allow him to be the only one with the ability in the future to move through time.”
Luci instantly thinks of Ish and the crew in the longchair station in the Spike. She thinks of how Macer did this exact thing to Benold Jesper just a few days ago when the tech questioned his comings and goings. “He has to be stopped. I don’t care about the cost. This cannot be allowed to happen. I can’t let this happen.”
Beaumont helps her to her feet.
Shaking her head, she addresses the warehouse in a defiant voice, “This . . . this cannot be the future of humanity, here or anywhere . . . at any time.” Luci pauses, attempting to recall the phrase. She turns to Totti. The dark woman’s determined expression looks as if it were chiseled into stone. Luci turns back to the members of L’inversione. Their faces look equally set. “I will help you . . . I and Technician Moyta will help you achieve your goal for a new and better path.”
Luci isn’t surprised that the mantra is repeated back to her several times. The tone is less jubilant and more mournful as if the words carry the burden of the charge within each syllable.
In a low voice that only she can hear, Luci proclaims, “We’re coming to get you, Ish. Just hang on a little longer, my love.”
~ Four ~
The room swiftly splits into two groups. The majority pair up with Totti to upload Malom’s edited drone video footage to the splash forum while the remaining half dozen fall in under Beaumont’s command.
Luci is pleased the tall man named Jonn strolls up from the back to join the team to rescue Ish. She imagines that strength is always a valuable asset when heading into a potential fight, and she suspects it will be needed, despite Yuma’s overconfidence in the cybo controller. She’s less impressed that busybody Yuma remains by Beaumont’s side instead of prancing off to bother the splash forum video group. She’s about to say something about him when Beaumont hands the onyx cybo controller to the teen. He passes Yuma another item, a black device that resembles an office stapler, though she knows that would be ridiculous.
“What’s that do?” she asks.
Yuma slides the thin onyx controller into the opening of the device with a click. “Well, to put it simply, it will do what a Viatorio does when the time comes.”
It’s difficult for Luci to tell if he’s boasting or being condescending to her—probably both.
He informs her, “You may have noticed that none of us have Viatorios anymore. I invented this to mimic V-commands to the security minister’s controller.”
She looks around at the other four members that have assembled in the group and then back to Yuma. “And you know for sure that it works?”
He confronts her skepticism without hesitation. “Without a doubt, Dr. Gaudiano. Don’t worry.”
“I am worried. Everything depends on that thing nullifying the cybos guarding Ish. Judging by what was said earlier, you haven’t tested that on an actual cybo yet, so there’s no way to know for certain that—”
“Luci,” Beaumont interjects. “It’s alright.” He grips her shoulders and gently turns her to face him. “Yuma knows his tech; I trust him. If he says it will work and stop cybos, then I am confident that it will suspend them long enough to free your friend.”
