Those the future left be.., p.6
Those the Future Left Behind, page 6
ComCom: Send: “Thanks, Orbit” EndCom
“I’ve just sent information to your data pad about a place to which you and Kate should apply. Do it while I am still here since you won’t be getting any business,” I tossed a portable beacon that emits the Bureau’s flipping coin hologo used to warn people of a Collection in progress over by the door at this point, “for the rest of the day anyway. I have a connection there. Can you tell me your first and last and Kate’s last name?”
“Huh. Will do … I’m Mara Andersson and Kate’s last name is Elsinger. I’ll go get that gate for you now … and thanks, I guess?” She said, looking back over her shoulder as she ducked behind the curtain.
I decided to take another look through the foyer as I made my way to the gate, because a tenth of this Mikail Zilnich’s fortune must have gone into the attention to the detail paid to its construction. The ceiling and upper walls of the area were composed of a single molded LCD on which a harvest moon illuminated a sky teeming with stars and gnats. A few clouds could be seen rolling by now and again and the sounds of cicadas and the crackling of torches lulled people further into the illusion. Since I had arrived, the sun had set, and the pink and orange skies of the country with them. I walked along the pathway made of pounded dirt in between what must have been the furrows of a cart that were traced indelibly along the winding way. They were too precise to cause me to worry about the possibility of impeding merchants who might be bringing goods to the castle in the background, though I did wonder if someone would eventually come and whisk away my footprints. The scent of cherry blossom permeated the air with a tinge of decaying leaves, which disappointed me slightly as a research oversight. The weeping willows, Japanese maples, and katsura that were interspersed according to a pattern of Feng Shui were petrified at the peak brilliance of their fall senescence. The cherry blossoms that were more numerous around the bridges were displaying their pink and white petals, some of which were actually programmed to fall, fluttering to the ground below. The overall contrast between the two was impossibly brilliant. I strolled over to a katsura to admire the bark, and I was able to smell a hint of caramel emanating from the ridges cut into the wood. At least he nailed that part. Realizing I had no estimate of what it cost to make one of these fake trees, I tried to commit the question to memory so I might ask it in conversation later. Then, I strolled back out of fall and into spring without ever feeling the bite of the winter chill in order to run my hand along the banister of one of the footbridges.
The wooden footbridges were painted red, and they must have been finished with a hand brush in order to fit the environment. The flaking of the paint here and there was a charming touch as well. The thunk sounds of my footsteps gave way to the trickle of the stream and the sharper thok of a shishi-odoshi as I leaned over one of the banisters to scrutinize the koi swimming below. Their colors ranged from white to black to orange, speckled and splotched, and a few solid gold. Their swimming pattern was irregular enough to warrant further testing, so I leaned down and stretched my left arm through the railings and extended my index finger into the water. No change. I began to trace around in an infinite pattern. Still nothing. Growing dissatisfied, I immersed my arm, past the data pad, and began splashing it around vigorously. I had never felt so ignored. There was only one more test I could conduct. I walked over to one of the stands that provided complimentary, traditional festival foods and asked for some dango, with the sauce, as they had no other option. I crested the bridge once more, pinched off a piece of one of the dumplings, surveyed my surroundings to make sure no one but the cameras would be watching, and lofted it into the largest aggregation of the creatures, hoping to witness the long–awaited melee of motion, but, alas, to no avail. I had never seen koi turn down food, or bits of paper masquerading as food, or dirt. They are gluttonous creatures, almost as much as the clientele that were keeping their distance from my childish attempts at science. A silver lining in all this came by way of an abbreviated laugh I thought I detected coming from behind the gate to the castle, which would have been a welcomed demonstration of mirth from the rather demure Mara Andersson.
The last sight I beheld on my trek through the Kyoto mountainside was the castle. It was a stunning edifice built almost entirely of wood, after the traditional fashion. A quick scan from my data pad revealed that it was modeled after the main keep of Matsumoto Castle, which resided in what was historic Nagano Prefecture as opposed to Kyoto Prefecture. Comparing the dimensions revealed that the scale was approximately 1:5, which was decently impressive, all things considered, but that ratio only held true for the exterior.
Walking up to the recently unlocked gate in the stone wall preceding the castle, I wrestled with whether or not I appreciated the collection of inconsistencies present in this depiction of a “historically accurate” red light district and about whether or not the typical patron noticed or cared. I felt a tinge of sadness at the fact that most of the people present on a regular basis might only appreciate the attempted dedication once in a fleeting state of awareness before their senses would be overloaded with the less-subtle locales of the anticipated VR experience. There was a bitter sense of longing about the design that forced me to recall my experiences with my first Collection, and I could tell, before ever meeting Mr. Zilnich, that he wished to leave the world above ground behind.
Incoming transmission from D, receive?
ComCom: receive last
“Heya, I saw you were on–mission, but I was wondering if we were still on for tonight?”
ComCom: Send: “I heard you were in the area as well, so I ordered dinner, pick up twenty-five minutes or so from now. I could drone over fifteen minutes later?” PendCom
“Don’t worry about it. I finished early. I’m on the Shinkansen to get away from the collar for a bit, headed to you.”
ComCom: Send: “I’ll send you an address to a nice rooftop place of which I know. Meet there?” PendCom
“So, by order, I bet you won’t be treating me to steak, huh?”
ComCom: Send: “Regretfully, no. However, I’ll try to expose you to more of the cultural cuisine of the area. Kyoto is lovely this time of year, and you’d be missing out if we had American everywhere.” PendCom
“Mmmmmhm. They do drinks there?”
ComCom: Send: “They do. It’s most of what they do, so they’re amenable to outside food.” PendCom
“Sounds like a good time! See ya’!”
ComCom: Send: “Until then” EndCom
I tossed an imisphere over the wall, activated it, scrolled it around the perimeter and saw nothing worrisome on my data pad. Checking the area for electrical current higher than background turned up nothing as well. I nudged the gate open slowly, peered around it, hand on my EinIn, proceeded through, closed the gate, and recovered my imisphere, reanchoring it on a polarity pad on my left thigh. Following Mara’s instructions, I walked around back to see the proposed entry stairway. Ascending the wooden stairs while attempting not to make them creak as much as possible, out of habit, I noticed that this part of the castle was not kept up nearly as well as the rest of it. Gouges in the wall had gone unrepaired and a blemish from the residue of some kind of orange fluid had yet to be covered up. I took the skewer from the dango I had eaten and threw it into the combustible waste receptacle, the only one I had seen in the area, near the padlocked door, next to which were a number of carelessly mislaid candy wrappers. Punching in the entry code, I marveled at how juvenile this man must have been at age thirty–six. Still, I was looking forward to the conversation we would have, as ever.
Inside, I noticed three pairs of shoes in a container by the door. I repressed an inkling to follow the custom and remove my own. Regulation deemed that inappropriate as “even a Collector’s boots contain proprietary technology that should, under no circumstances, fall into the hands of the civilian.” I suppose a terrain analysis suite, perspiration wicking, stun contacts, magnetic anchorings, and hot drop repulsers warrant the advised security. The shoes of the three others were less kitted but arguably more stylish. The floor of the hallway looked as though it had been recently waxed and not a drop of moisture could be found on its surface. I doubt the staff was running up and down on all fours to clean it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Zilnich required this for thematic resonance.
At the end of the hallway was a sliding door through which emanated the soft glow of more paper lanterns. I could hear clicking sounds every so often as I prepared to breach, if necessary, though it would be a shame to destroy the door. Scanning for active terminals revealed four in use and more on standby.
ComCom: Send: Orbit 3–9: “Prepped for Collection. Initiating post–transmission. Request for authentication to nearest active ComCom terminals to avoid collateral loss of life.” PendCom
“Good to have you back. Working request … Authentication codes sent to your data pad prepped for one-touch transmission ordered in increasing distance from your current terminal location. Good hunting.”
ComCom: Send: “Thanks. Commencing Collection. Await CC Ping.” EndCom
I readied my HUD for targeting, pulled up an app for flash-bang activation in the corner of my data pad, switched the safety of my EinIn from off to three-shot burst but left it anchored to the polarity pad on my right thigh, slid the door open, and introduced myself.
“Good evening, all, or konbanwa, as they used to say. I’m here for Mr. Zilnich on behalf of the BoF.”
Before me stood one burly man, one equally burly woman, and, though not technically standing, as he was reclining in a VR–compatible interface chair further in back, one lanky, bearded man wearing a hooded, pink sweatshirt, white boxers, and sandals. Having seen enough to make an educated guess, I activated the two closest proximity authentication codes.
ComCom: Send: Nearest cleared ComCom terminals: “Halt! This is a Bureau–sanctioned Collection. Should you desire not to be collected as collateral, follow these instructions. The Collector before you is the one contacting you via ComCom. I will gesture upwards to confirm. If you wish to comply, mimic the gesture.” PendCom
I gently shook my right fist in the air twice. Both of the attendants followed suit.
ComCom: Send: “Thank you for agreeing to comply. I will now ask you to submit to individual inspections in order to relieve you of threats. Gesture to comply.” PendCom
Both gestured.
ComCom: Send: “Please kneel, with your hands together above your head. Respond to the following interrogative: Can the Collectee hear us right now?” PendCom
“No.” The woman said. The man shook his head as well.
EndCom
“I figured as much based on the complexity of his interface, but I decided to be careful. I apologize for the curtness of my process, and I don’t mean to alarm you. Thank you for agreeing to comply, and we should have you both out of here as soon as possible, pending Mr. Zilnich’s interactions. I’ll now remove any weaponry from you as a precaution. Then, I will have you act as your typical roles when I converse with Mr. Zilnich. The only difference is that I would like you to ignore any commands he may give you that might be considered offensive and or hostile and defer to me.”
“Why don’t you just shoot him right now?” The man asked.
“I suppose that’s primarily for my own selfish reasons, though, partially, it’s because I would hate to die in my sleep without seeing it coming and that extends to his current … state.”
“I would too.” The woman chirped, her voice struggling to return to its normal register due to the stressful scenario.
“I don’t know if he’d mind much.” The man continued.
I walked over behind the man, keeping an eye on the woman’s hands all the while.
“May I?” I asked, trying to calm the mood.
“Pistol on the left hip, safety is on, two clips on the right hip.”
I removed the declared items and patted him down for good measure, pleased to find he was an honest young man of around twenty-four years. I then overly quietly back stepped to a table that was just behind, below, and to the right of my clueless Collectee’s peripheral range and placed them there, ejecting the loaded clip, unchambering the first round and sliding it back into the clip.
“Don’t worry! I was just unloading your partner’s gun,” I said in response to a wince from the older woman.
“Thank god.” She sighed in relief.
“This is some archaic weaponry you all possess here.” I probed. “Your employer must not have expected you to use it.”
“Fifteen years and we’ve only ever had to fire a couple of warning shots, right, Bob?”
“S’right. Plus, not everyone can fork over the GCs for Einherjars. What’s so good about them anyway? My gun shoots, your gun shoots a little better?”
“Well, if you want the side-by-side. My EinIn has a 36 + 0 shot capacity per clip. Your Berretta has a 15 + 1. Muzzle velocity is higher on the Berretta, but only slightly. My EinIn will never jam under normal firing use. Its grip biometrically locks the trigger to my and up to three other users’ handprints. Its profile can be synced with my HUD to track bullet count and other data. However, the trademark difference would be the auto–corrective firing setting. When you first sync with an EinIn model, you have to practice firing with it for about ninety minutes in a couple of different sessions in order to calibrate the ACF. Most of this is trying to make sure that you hold the ergonomic grip the same way every time when firing, even under stress. Once the calibration is finished, the ACF ensures that recoil from each separate bullet on the three-shot burst is directionally counterbalanced by the expulsion of the gas used to fire them. It’s a lovely application of the Law of Conservation of Momentum that produces a spread between the three bullets of no more than 1.5 cm from a distance of twelve meters or less.”
“So you like guns a lot?” The woman quavered.
“I appreciate precision.”
The hair on the back of the woman’s neck was still standing up slightly as I walked behind her.
“Your turn now, if I may?” I asked.
“Go right ahead! I’m fitted with the same archaic setup just opposite hip.” She emitted a nervous laugh.
I repeated the previous process, without expounding further on my weaponry. Then, I walked back out in front of them.
“Thanks again, you two. It’s rare to see those hired in your business relinquish their arms so readily and, though practiced, I don’t relish firefights. Might I have your names?”
“I’m Carmen.” The woman replied, rising to her feet in response to my gesture to do so, her face relaxing as her breathing slowed.
“Bob. And let me add that it’s kind of embarrassing to be taken down to my knees by a kid your age. How old are you anyway?”
“Ah. I do get that one a lot. Nineteen. And you?”
“Twenty-eight and half. Half-birthday was just yesterday,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
I frowned at the inaccuracy of my guess. “Well, you don’t look a day older than twenty-four. So how deep is he in? Full dive? His ComCom is off.” I gestured with a thumb over towards Zilnich.
“He does this fourteen-hours a day scheduled around mealtimes and basic hygiene, so he gets up to eat and shit and he usually just sleeps in the same chair, but occasionally goes to bed upstairs,” Bob said, with a perplexed look.
“Are either of you related to him or is this just a job like with the ladies outside?”
“Just a job for me,” Carmen replied. “Until someone like you shows up, I get to read or stream, sometimes we play games, right, Bob?”
“Yeah. It’s a leisurely lifestyle that pays the bills.” He said, smirking at Carmen “But it’s over now.”
They both hung their heads a bit at this.
“Did he inform you that he was a Blank?” I asked, reading the answer from their faces before they gave words to it.
“Nah,” Carmen said, after clearing her throat a bit. “We barely ever talked other than his typical requests. I guess I never really wondered how he did all this, either.”
“Well, I’m sorry this had to affect you in this fashion. After this, I’ll talk to the Bureau about whether or not we can revise the clause associated with informing employees paid on fortune earnings about Blank status, but I can’t promise anything will change.”
“We’d appreciate you tryin’,” Bob said, sobering up a bit more.
“You both seem capable, so I think you’ll be able to find employment after this. There’s always another rich person to protect. We’ll seize any remainder of his fortune, but you both will be paid through the end of the month, and it’s only the third today. We can get this show on the road here in a bit so you can get back home a little early. Any questions before we proceed?”
“Nope.”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Two things. Please, I implore you, do not make any sudden movements near the guns and remember to defer to me, but act like you are still his. Go ahead and bring him out in your typical fashion.”
Bob went over to Zilnich’s left side, stood behind him, and firmly tapped his shoulder twice.
“What?!” My Collectee bellowed. “My real–time says it’s only 9:17! I’m gonna stay in longer!”
“This is pretty important,” Bob asserted. “You’re going to want to pull all the way out for this.”
Zilnich shifted in his chair, grunting in dissatisfaction all the while, tapped the release on the right side of his interface, paused his R, flipped up the visual and audio peripherals, and rubbed his eyes. He opened them slightly to accommodate for the lighting change, then opened them fully. I dug into my pack as he was doing this to pull out the bottle of tainted plum wine I had brought for the occasion. I set it down on another table that had a couple of spare parts for his setup and some data pads on it.
“Who the hell are you?” Zilnich groaned. “We don’t cater to fantasies in The Keep. You need to keep all of that in the room with your assigned caretakers. Get out of here.”
