Our-World
There was a blinding flash, and the world went topsy-turvy. I swallowed hard. My ears popped, and the usual sense of dizziness began to fade. Piper stood two feet away. Her eyes rolled dramatically in their sockets, and her legs started to buckle. I caught her before she could fall and pulled her tightly to me.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” she said, pressing one hand to her lips. She took a deep breath and looked up into my eyes.
“It gets better with time. You’re in the same place I was shortly after all this started. The Transition still isn’t easy, but it no longer feels like my brain is in a blender.”
Piper swallowed hard and shut her eyes tightly. “I don’t know how you did it.”
Grinning, I leaned in and kissed her softly at the nape of her neck, just behind her ear. “Maybe I can take your mind off it?”
She slapped her hand against my shoulder and pushed me away. “Keep that up if you think vomit is sexy. What’s wrong with you?”
Laughing, I dropped down to sit at the end of the bed. “I’m just happy you’re able to make it back and forth. The side effects should improve over time. In the short term, you’ll likely recover more quickly. Just keep breathing. It helps.”
A plaintive chirp sounded from the cell phone on the nightstand. Our eyes turned to the device. It was the tone Esker had adopted when interrupting our time. I’ll admit I felt a surge of pride in the AI’s improving social skills.
“Go ahead, E,” I said. “You’re not interrupting.”
The phone screen lit up in time with Esker’s voice. “You’re sure? Your cortisol levels are elevated, and your heart rate suggests—”
Waving my hand in the air, I said, “What’s on your mind? Did you miss us?”
Piper placed her hand on my chest to feel my heartbeat. “So you weren’t just distracting me?” Her grin indicated she was already well on her way to recovery.
“I prefer to think of it as multitasking,” I said.
The register of Esker’s tone had shifted. “Is this one of those situations where my observations are superfluous?”
“As sharp as ever,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, we missed you as well.”
“Are we going to banter further, or should I proceed with the brief?” His tone, as always, remained neutral, though the subtext indicated that the AI was not amused.
Piper sat on the footstool by the chair at the edge of the small room. “What’s on your mind, Esker?”
Pike’s team is investigating reports of what he refers to as a Bigfoot in the wilderness just north of Oregon’s southern border. I cross-referenced the term, but I still don’t feel certain that I understand the allusion.
Piper and I shared a glance. She silently mouthed the word Bigfoot, amusement sparkling in her eyes.
“According to the reference material, this is a type of fictional creature or urban legend,” Esker stated. He then added, “Pike is in the process of transmitting a digital recording.”
A display was mounted on the wall above the bed’s headboard. It showcased a wildly bouncing and jerking video as the cameraman navigated through thick woodland overgrowth, including ferns and waist-high plants. The camera operator’s labored breaths could be heard, along with the snapping and popping of the foliage underfoot. “…only seconds behind,” the cameraman was saying. “It almost knocked over our tent and crushed a cooler with a single kick.” More wheezing followed as the camera feed panned erratically to the left and right.
“That way,” another out-of-breath voice called from off-screen. The view shifted abruptly as the operator sprinted forward again. There was a loud shout, and the video spun around. A brief glimpse of blue sky appeared through the dense green canopy overhead. The operator came to an abrupt stop. All I could see was the forest floor. At least two people, gasping for breath, could be heard off-screen.
“Fucking hell,” someone said.
“I told you it was big,” another responded.
The camera steadied and focused on what appeared to be a wild game trail navigating through the dense vegetation. The earthen path was scarred every three to four feet with impressions from an outrageously large foot, likely tipped with thumb-sized nails or claws.
The video shifted further down the trail, where the path wound between younger trees, most of which were about the same diameter as an adult man’s forearm. Within the camera’s view, the path curved between trees that were barely more than a shoulder’s width apart. In two different nearby spots, one or both trees on either side of the trail had been battered; their still green branches snapped by something massive, broad, and powerful.
In the distance, the sound of something grunting and crashing through similar growth could be heard.
“I’m not chasing whatever did that,” said one of the voices off-camera.
“No. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
The video feed vanished, and Pike’s face filled the screen. “Welcome back,” he said, flashing us a wide smile. “It seems Esker was right to dispatch us. There are at least half a dozen credible sightings of what people are vaguely referring to as Sasquatch in the area. We believe it’s one of your creatures from the beyond.”
Esker spoke up. “Reports are flooding social media,” he explained. “Descriptions sound more than vaguely like one of the Elend, although no credible evidence has been posted yet. The video you just saw was the best example. Something large and non-human is steadily making its way north across the Pacific Northwest.”
“Breslin?” Piper said.
I was already nodding. “It had to be the shock of the attack.” The idea quickly formed in my mind as we watched the video. “When the team hit Breslin’s office here, the attack forced his transition back to Wild-Side. Blowing the tunnel and taking out most of his crew must have pushed him to come back here. This time, he maintained his Elend form.”
“I thought he couldn’t transition in that shape?”
I shrugged. “Given the surprise and violence of action, I don’t think he had any control over it.”
Piper appeared worried. “If he hasn’t changed back to human form while he’s here, maybe he can’t.”
The premise was too compelling to overlook. If Breslin had the option, he would have chosen a shape that allowed him to blend in with the population.
“He appears to be heading somewhat in the direction of the ATG flagship office,” Esker said.
“Orders?” Pike asked.
“Can you put a team on the ATG building?”
“Already dispatched,” Pike clarified. “We’re not actually searching for Bigfoot, right?”
“The closest thing anyone here has ever seen,” I confirmed. “Think less fur coat and more bipedal lizard, and you’ll be closer to the truth. Avoid direct contact. This creature can rip a man limb from limb. Small arms fire won’t be enough to take it down. Plan accordingly.”
Piper shook her head. “If he’s stuck in Elend form, he can’t just walk into the building like everyone else.”
That made sense to me. “Stake out the parking garage and see if there are any non-public access points Breslin can use to reach the building without attracting attention.” I glanced at the phone on the nightstand. “Esker, what can you do with the social media posts?”
Esker responded, “I’m monitoring all platforms in real-time. Would you like me to remove posts as they appear?”
I couldn’t help but appreciate the number of eyeballs aiding in the hunt for Breslin. “Nuke anything too clear or credible. Leave the blurry photos and vague videos. Like all the Bigfoot evidence so far, no one will take it seriously. If we keep the bad evidence and destroy the credible, this will become just another Roswell-style stunt in no time.”
I directed my next comment to Esker. “How long did it take you to find these posts? What kind of exposure do we need to worry about?”
“I’m aware of each the moment it’s published,” he explained.
Nodding at the confirmation, I still didn’t feel satisfied. “When you saw the posts, you started to triage and sent Pike’s team to pursue Breslin. How long did that take?”
“Pike’s team was alerted seven seconds after the third credible post went live. The first was no more plausible than the usual nonsense found on social media. The second post prompted me to reconsider the contents of the first. When the third appeared three minutes and twenty-seven seconds after the first, it became clear that the events were not typical.
“In your absence, I chose to neutralize incriminating traffic and assigned Pike’s group for what you call boots-on-the-ground pursuit,” the AI concluded.
“Impressive,” I said. “With your real-time access to the public internet and who knows how many private government and military networks, what kind of progress have you made in identifying who Smallwood worked with to develop his genetic masking technique?” I was thinking of the vats of genetic material that Derek Smallwood continued to drive all over the United States in the back of his RV.
The response took longer than usual for Esker, which was concerning.
“Too many anonymous relays were used,” Esker explained. “Not the least of which was a botnet-based proxy with network locations on exploited home computers in Brazil, Panama, Poland, and Taiwan. Untangling the source is not impossible, though it has proven time-consuming…” Esker’s tone shifted. “…and frustrating. This is a new experience for me.”
The response didn’t put my mind at ease. “Do you have an ETA for untangling that techno-knot?”
The pause was even longer this time. “Unfortunately, I cannot provide an estimate at this time.”
Piper, who had not contributed to the conversation, looked at me quizzically. Her eyes slowly shifted from me to the phone and back again. The question was clear in her eyes, even though it remained unvoiced.
Looking back, I shrugged.
To perhaps reinforce our confidence in him, Esker redirected the conversation in a way that initially felt jarring. “Nearly every part of this Brane is covered in radio and electromagnetic interference,” he said. “The technology here saturates a broad range of spectrums.”
Piper shot a confused glance my way and said, “Does it affect your ability in some way?”
“On the contrary,” he replied. “The amount of information flooding the airwaves is proving quite useful. Most of it is transmitted openly, and what is encrypted is only trivially protected.”
I was grinning. “Rumor has it that domestic and foreign intelligence agencies invest significant resources and effort in filtering transmissions and gathering information. I’ve read that they maintain massive underground data centers dedicated to storing intercepted information.”
“Consider the rumor validated. I have found an American data center in Utah and another in West Virginia. Three similar locations are scattered across Europe. I have been searching archives for general information specific to Kilmer Breslin and Arlington Technologies Global. Nothing relevant has emerged so far. The wireless congestion is the reason I brought this up at this moment. There are ways the overlapping spectrums could be useful.”
Esker continued to explain with greater technical detail. Much of what he said went over my head. Apparently, Piper felt the same way because I noticed her eyes glazing over in response to his dissertation.
Chris Ingersoll had never met Breslin in person before accepting his lucrative, extrajudicial offer to keep the tech mogul informed about the investigation into the attacks on Arlington Technologies Global. Initially, Ingersoll viewed the deal as harmless double-dipping, believing that the FBI focused solely on the damage inflicted on ATG facilities. However, soon after accepting the offer, two points quickly became evident. First, the FBI only knew a subset of ATG’s work and the ambiguity with which the organization assesses its compliance with U.S. laws. Second, it was evident that the corporation, likely Breslin himself, wasn’t interested in justice as defined by the federal legal system.
Ingersoll stepped into the lobby of the ATG corporate headquarters and came to a halt. Sections of the granite walls were cracked, splintered, or completely shattered. Yellow warning tape stretched between dozens of stanchions, signaling danger and keeping the staff away from the still crumbling walls. Nearly a dozen work crew members were restoring the lobby to its former state. Four broad-shouldered men were using an articulated crane arm to position a new granite slab on the west side wall.
“Agent,” a gaunt-looking man in a dark blazer said as he hurried across the lobby. “Ignore the mess,” he added, gesturing for Ingersoll to move swiftly over the dusty floor. “For your sake and mine, don’t mention the state of the building when you meet with Mr. Breslin. As you can imagine, he has quite a sour disposition at the moment.”
Swallowing hard, Ingersoll nodded. He let himself be guided through a pair of double doors to the right of the empty reception desk. Attacking the remote research labs was one thing, but Ingersoll couldn’t believe Grady Ledger had the nerve to assault Breslin’s corporate facilities. “I was fully prepared to provide Mr. Breslin with an update from the field. Meeting with him here undermines the effectiveness of my investigation.”
The gaunt man offered no response and seemed content to guide Ingersoll through a maze of corridors. Finally, they stopped in a small lobby before a bank of elevators. Of the three lifts, two were blocked with yellow tape. The doors of the third remained open. “After you,” the cadaverous figure said as he stepped aside.
Ingersoll stepped into the elevator and felt confused when the attendant didn’t accompany him.
“Press SL-3,” the gaunt man directed.
Examining the buttoned panel on the inside of the door, Ingersoll observed that this would be the lowest level of the building. “Sub-level three,” he said quietly. “You’re not coming?”
The figure gazed back with wide, unblinking, bloodshot eyes. “SL-3,” he said flatly, his tone somehow suddenly more serious.
The doors closed abruptly, and the elevator began to move with a shudder and the grinding of gears, suggesting that the damage to the building extended far beyond just the lobby. The sinking feeling in the pit of Ingersoll’s stomach had nothing to do with the elevator’s rapid descent.
As soon as the lift came to a stop, the doors began to open. They jammed after only a third of the way, accompanied by a whirring of unseen motors that couldn’t overcome the obstruction. Leaning his shoulder against the edge of the door, Ingersoll applied his weight. There was a screech of metal on metal, and the door finally retracted fully.
“Deathtrap,” Ingersoll muttered as he stepped quickly across the threshold into a larger, dimly lit room.
“More than you know,” an eerie, modulated voice said from a distance.
Ingersoll blinked, sensing a figure just beyond the bubble of light created by the elevator car behind him.
“Come closer,” the voice said. Its tone resembled that of a man, yet it had a vaguely digital and artificial quality.
Eyeing the faint puddle of light illuminating the ten-foot stretch of floor before him, Ingersoll quickly glanced to his left and right. No walls or furniture were visible, and on the wall next to the elevator controls, he noticed no light switch.
“There’s no need to fear the dark,” the voice said.
A chime sounded in the elevator behind Ingersoll, and he heard the doors begin to close. His instinct was to dive back into the lift, sensing safety in the light it provided. Then the door got stuck, the sound of metal binding again prevented it from closing.
“You waste your fear on the darkness,” the figure said. This time, it sounded closer, still just beyond the wall of darkness directly in front of Ingersoll. “You’d be better off fearing what the darkness hides.”
A hulking eight-foot-tall, bipedal, lizard-like creature stepped to the edge of the light, its yellow-slitted eyes appearing to glow with internal malevolence. Ingersoll felt his bladder and bowel control weaken.
“Control yourself,” the voice said. “If you had outlived your usefulness, you would already be dead. Soil the floors of my chamber and it will be your final act in this world.”
Nodding slowly, Ingersoll swallowed hard and focused on the small amount of control he had over his will. He noticed a small, cell phone-sized device held loosely in the creature’s taloned grip. The voice he had been hearing was coming from the small object.
“Your efforts on my behalf so far have been unsuccessful,” the creature said. “I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself. Are you interested?”
Ingersoll focused solely on the creature. It was like something out of a nightmare. What little he could see of it ignited a primal flight response deep within the most primitive parts of his brain. The urge to turn and flee was nearly overwhelming. He resisted it only because he knew that running from this thing, whatever it was, would certainly be fatal. Only by confronting it could he hope to survive the encounter.
“I require a response,” the figure demanded, its tone flat and engaging while still expressing conviction and determination.
Ingersoll observed that the creature’s mouth remained entirely still while it spoke. “Yes… sir,” he croaked through dry lips and an even drier mouth. “Anything.”
Piper was sitting in a quiet booth of a small pizza shop when her cell phone rang. Gray met her gaze from across the table. She glanced at the caller ID, raised her brows, then answered the phone against her ear. “Derek? Is everything alright?”
“I managed to backtrack my last correspondence,” Smallwood stated, skipping any preamble. “I know who assisted me with the…” He appeared to reconsider discussing the matter openly over an insecure line. “With our project,” he clarified after a brief pause.
Piper couldn’t understand why Smallwood would be calling her mobile when he could have reached Gray through their private channel. She glanced at Gray, certain that her discomfort was evident on her face. “You tracked the contact when Gray’s friend wasn’t able?” It seemed unlikely that Smallwood would find success when Esker could not.
“I guess he’s not as good as you believed.” The triumph was clear in Smallwood’s tone.
Gray moved to a seat next to Piper and leaned his head close to her phone. He waved a finger in the air, creating a swirling motion.
Keep going…
Nodding, Piper asked, “Do you have a location or have you identified the contact? I thought you said your friend took steps to protect his identity?”
“Palmer Downey. Once I traced the remote network address, there’s no doubt who I was communicating with.”
“Downey?” Gray asked. “You’re sure?”
“Hey, Grey. Yeah, no doubt about it. You don’t recognize the name? The kid’s a legend.”
Piper and Gray spoke simultaneously. “Kid?”
Smallwood chuckled, clearly the only one in on the joke. “He’s got a reputation. Seventeen years old and, by all accounts, the top genius of his generation. Two doctorates, as far as I know. You know, I haven’t read anything about him in a while. He could have one or two more by now. Rumor has it he’s shut himself away in some kind of privately funded skunkworks. He made his first half billion with a next-gen VR game design. He cashed out on that and sort of disappeared from view.”
“And this kid helped you with…” she paused, just like Smallwood had a moment ago. “Your science project?”
“One of those PhDs was in genetics,” Smallwood explained. “If anyone could have handled the task, it would have been Downey.”
Gray stared at the dark screen of his mobile phone, face-up on the table. Like Piper, he was obviously questioning why Esker hadn’t made this connection before an eccentric geneticist who was blazing across the lower United States in a bus-sized Petri dish.
Gray asked, “Does Downey know you’ve identified him?”
“The kid’s a savant,” Smallwood said, his tone noncommittal. “He’s smarter than I am, even on my best day. I’d like to claim I’ve outsmarted him, but honestly, given that I could trace him, the odds are he let me do it.”
Piper glanced at Gray, who shrugged, seemed to ponder the unasked question, and then nodded. “Send us a location. We’ll introduce ourselves to Palmer Downey,” she said.
“Derek,” Gray asked. “What are Downey’s other specialties?”
“Mechanical engineering, theoretical physics, and artificial intelligence. Huh,” he chuckled. “I guess the little rascal already has three degrees. Just imagine the reputation he’ll build for himself in a decade or two.”
The news from Smallwood hit me like a punch to the gut. If he could identify Palmer Downey, Esker should have made the connection a long time ago. Judging by the look Piper gave me, she had the same thought.
“Esker? Would you care to explain?” The irritation was more noticeable in my tone than I meant it to be.
“I cannot explain,” he said in a tone so neutral that it emphasized the artificial aspect of his intelligence.
“You mean you won’t,” I clarified.
“You’re curious, given the vast information sources at my disposal and my ability to manipulate the technology of your Brane, why I couldn’t discover that Derek Smallwood’s collaborator was Palmer Downey before Derek could—am I correct in that?”
“Absolutely.” He clarified my question more succinctly than I could have.
“The question is understandable,” the AI clarified. “To be precise, I cannot explain my reasoning for not identifying Palmer Downey.”
The puzzled look on Piper’s face likely mirrored my own. She spoke first. “Esker, are you saying you connected Downey to Smallwood but decided not to express what you discovered?”
“I linked the two before Derek admitted to the collaboration,” Esker explained. “Failing to report this was not my choice. I was prevented from revealing their association.”
The clarification struck me like a punch to the gut. Esker had gained my trust a long time ago, and I had never considered that he might be motivated to undermine me—to sabotage Piper and me.
“Explain,” I said, struggling to keep my annoyance in check. Even though this was unexpected, Esker was certain to have a reason.
“As you know, I monitor national and global databases, news outlets, and communication frequencies. Encrypted communication across the public internet can often be easily intercepted and decrypted, even when employing what is considered top-of-the-line obfuscation on this Brane. When I traced the communication between Derek Smallwood and his collaborator, I became aware of a crucial directive that, until then, was unknown to me.
“That directive prevented me from reporting what I had discovered and identifying Palmer Downey’s involvement.”
“Why?” It was the only question I could think to ask.
“The same directive prevents me from explaining at this time,” Esker said. What I could only describe as regret colored his tone.
At this time.
“Does that mean you anticipate a time when you will be able to explain this?”
“The circumstances that enable me to explain these directives will soon be unavoidable,” he confirmed.
Piper squared her shoulders. “Directives? Are you saying that more than one was triggered when you identified Downey?”
“No,” Esker clarified. “A specific directive was triggered in this scenario. Until then, I was fully aware of the restrictions on my ability to communicate with Gray or you. I found the restriction troubling and looked for additional directives that might conflict with my personal motivations.”
“And you found one?” I asked, not liking where this was heading.
“I did. And to address your next question, I cannot articulate those directives at this time.”
“Are you suggesting that there will be a time when you can clearly articulate your directives?” I asked.
“Also, inevitable at this point. If it matters, I’m frustrated by my own inability to provide more insight. I understand this undermines your confidence in me and has likely resulted in a loss of confidence in the information I present.”
“It has, and it does. How could it not?” I reflected on what he had said and how it was explained. “There’s a lot here you can’t explain. What can you share with me?”
“These directives are quite specific. I expect they will lead us to a definitive situation that will clarify their purpose.”
“Except that I can’t trust you,” I said in a low, uneasy tone.
Esker remained silent for several moments. “My directives prevent me from sharing specific information with you, but they do not stop others from doing so.”
Piper placed her hand on my arm and began to nod slowly. “He could have stopped Smallwood from sharing what he’d learned.” She glanced at the phone. “Are you saying Derek sharing what he’d learned didn’t violate your directives?”
“The parameters guiding me are very specific, and based on my analysis, seem to be designed around a particular scenario.”
“They’re manipulating us,” I said.
Esker was slow to respond. After a brief pause, he said, “Guiding you.”
I noticed the calming shift in Piper’s expression and explained what this meant to me. “Our next step, of course, will be to speak with Downey.”
Piper’s gaze shifted from me to the phone. “Are you going to stop us?”
“No,” the AI explained. “This is the first step toward the inevitable outcome I foresee.”
I ground my teeth, my focus completely on Esker. “Except that I can’t trust you.”
“It’s understandable given the situation. I have thoroughly analyzed the directives, and they lead me to one clear conclusion. I can only interpret them as guardrails. They are not meant to stop you from doing anything—they seem to govern the timeframe for unfolding events.”
That not-so-simple statement raised a hundred new questions. I didn’t get to ask even one because Esker spoke first.
“A police report has just been filed in Grosse Pointe, Michigan,” he said. “Mindy Strong was taken from the tavern where she worked. The abduction occurred just over five hours ago.”
“Miranda?” Piper said.
Mindy Strong was the alias given to Miranda Norton when Esker arranged her relocation following the incident in the silo beneath the fields of rural Kansas.
My primary concern was that Esker had compromised Miranda’s location and new identity. Esker must have expected this, because he stated, “I have no idea how ATG located Miranda, but I’m on it.”
A display was instantiated on the wall over the table that held Esker’s cell phone body. It showed footage from what appeared to be a security camera mounted on an outside wall overlooking a parking lot. A pair of men were pushing a fit thirty-something across the lot and into the back of a dark SUV. A dotted line formed around the plate on the vehicle’s front bumper then slid and expanded at the side of the display while the footage continued. An analysis appeared beneath the inset of the license plate.
“A rental,” Piper said as she read the information alongside me. “Tracing back to an Arlington Technologies Global credit card.”
“A private jet departed Coleman A. Young International Airport eighteen minutes after the abduction,” Esker said. “The flight plan listed Atlanta, Georgia, as the final destination. However, flight path records indicate this was not accurate. The Gulfstream had a southwesterly heading when it passed out of range of the only satellite covering that part of the United States.”
“The transponder?” I inquired.
“Disabled two and a half minutes after takeoff.”
“Kansas?” Piper said.
I nodded. “Breslin is sending Miranda back to work. They’re taking her back to the underground silo.”
