Dream Drive Ch. 06

"Go ahead."

"In my office," Miller said. "This is extremely sensitive." Miller moved down the balcony, sliding his hand along the railing.

Mivra's face was blank - its default position. "I am not that old, Mr. Ransfeld, but I have never seen Mr. Miller hesitate to discuss anything out here in the command center."

"Me neither," Charles said.

"What could be so sensitive that he requests the privacy of his office?"

"I don't know," Charles said, "but I have the distinct feeling that I am not going to like it."

He charged after Miller. Mivra kept at his side effortlessly. "Then how can you still smile?"

"How could I not?" Charles said.

If Charles had looked back, he would have seen Mivra make the frown she wore when she was honestly confused. But her expression quickly settled to neutral.

****

Miller's office looked like something from the turn of the millennium. The man actually had papers - dead trees - scattered around the room, most scrawled with messy notes. He maintained a handwritten roll of contacts and an off-grid communications array with its own battery backup. Every agent in Ransfeld security carried an old-fashioned radio that was tuned in to this switchboard.

They weren't alone. None other than John Steinson - the security guard responsible for discovering Rachel's unused medication stuffed into her mattress - was standing near Miller's desk. The massive guard had his arms folded. He looked uncomfortable, and not because of the entrance of his employer.

There was a sheen of distaste on Mirvra's features as she scanned the room - or maybe Charles was just imagining it. But her tone left no question as to opinion. "This is barbaric."

"Keep your efficiency to yourselves," Miller said. His voice sounded like a frog chewing on rocks. "Chaotic preparation is needed for chaotic situations."

Charles pushed aside a stack of books with his shoe and waded through the tangle of wires up to Miller's desk. "Let's get to the point. Steinson, while I commend your earlier actions, I think you'd better head outside for the time being."

Miller shook his head. "It's a little late for that. Steinson made the discovery. He already knows all the relevant information."

Charles tilted his head. "I see."

"Alright, kid," Miller grunted. Take it away."

Steinson coughed into a balled fist. He clenched a small black clicker in his other hand. "Well. The first thing you need to know is that we missed almost the entirety of what he was doing, because we only just caught him at the end."

"Why was that?" Charles asked.

"Vedalt has some serious equipment," Steinson said. "He was wearing a band that rendered our facial recognition totally useless. That made it very difficult to pinpoint him."

"What the kid doesn't want to say is that we got lucky," Miller said. "I knew this was a priority, so I was visually checking the footage of the apartment from time to time." The old man gave Mivra a critical look. "Technology can be fooled, you understand. But the eyes don't lie."

"Then it wasn't luck," Charles said. "Good work."

Steinson hit the button on the clicker. A projection shone up on the only wall of the office that wasn't covered in news clippings and photographs.

The image showed Jackson exiting a pawn shop near a pizza parlor. A bright blue duffle bag was over one shoulder. He was wearing a thick hoodie drawn tight over his head. Charles was doubly impressed with Miller - even he would have had a hard time realizing that was Jackson at a glance.

Mivra's smooth, feminine voice turned adjusted and artificial. "Is that a bulb projector?"

"Uh...I think so?" Steinson said.

"Yes," Miller said. "Now be a good bot and shut up." He glanced at Charles. "You really ought to have my team tweak that thing. It's incessant."

"I find her rather entertaining." Charles looked at Steinson. "I assume there's a good part to this little story. Keep telling it."

"Yes, sir." Steinson pointed at the image. "This was taken early this morning. Vedalt had apparently finished whatever he was doing, because he went straight back to his apartment from here. We followed him manually, skipping from camera to camera."

A sequence of shots traced as Jackson made his way through a grim concrete neighborhood on the other side of the river. The dull, uniform buildings were a product of the financial collapse that heralded the current political situation. Hard economic times led to a city-wide renovations bill called the Boston Reconstruction Project. Only a few original structures, like that restaurant, were still standing.

One of the photos showed the edge of Jackson's headband protruding from the hoodie as he adjusted his clothes. Mivra pointed at it. "I do not recognize that model."

"That's because it's a custom job," Miller said. "Charles, who the hell is Vedalt, exactly?"

"He built this," Charles said, tapping his prosthetic leg against the floor. "Continue, Mr. Steinson."

"We launched a Gnat into the apartment," Steinson said. "His room was sealed, but there was a weakness in the vent system. The new model we got last month can cut through HEPA filters."

Steinson stopped there. He turned the clicker over in his hand and looked at his immediate superior. Miller cleared his throat.

"What is it?" Charles asked.

"What happens next is...odd," Steinson said.

Charles gave Steinson a very big smile. "Mr. Steinson, I would like you to play the video. Now."

"Yes, sir."

Steinson hit the clicker. The projector turned to the next slide; a video started automatically. It was the view from the front of the Gnat, a miniscule flying camera no bigger than its namesake.

The video showed the swimming green-black of night vision. There was a mechanical click as the Gnat wormed holes through the wafer-like layers of Jackson's air filtration system. The hum from the vent's pump droned in the background.

Charles smiled, but to himself, rather than the world. He remembered when that room didn't have filters.

Streaks of white light flooded the camera. It switched to normal visible wavelengths, and the image resolved as the slits of a metal vent at the end of the filters. The camera jolted somewhat as the Gnat took off. As it approached the slits, the picture grew grainy, spotted. A rush of static drowned out the sound.

"Why is the quality like this?" Charles asked.

"That is magnetic interference," Mivra said.

Steinson nodded in deference to the android. "This Vedalt guy is pretty good. If the Gnat wasn't from the military's latest production line, we wouldn't have gotten any video at all. You can hear the sound yourself, it's totally gone."

The video feed showed Jackson's room. It was like Charles expected - utilitarian. Computer components and assorted tools were strewn along a bench that wrapped most of the wall. The only other decoration was a bookshelf, and Jackson's bed. The walls were bare. A few steel drawers under the workbench hinted at shovelfuls of spare parts and half-finished devices.

They waited for a moment; the Gnat had beat Jackson home. Miller cleared his throat. His voice still came out as croaking as ever. "You were saying, about Vedalt. He constructed your leg?"

"He was a friend of mine. We had a falling out. Now we aren't friends."

Miller turned his creased, leathery face toward Charles. Charles smiled back.

What Miller wanted to say - but was unwilling to vocalize - was that Charles had no friends. Charles wouldn't have been offended; he accepted that as a fact of life. He didn't really have time for friends, and he didn't really want to bother with them.

Jackson was as close to a friend as Charles had ever had. He just had one too many compunctions. He was unwilling to accept the dirty underbelly of the world. He considered Charles a traitor.

Jackson was the real traitor. He couldn't handle being tested; he would rather do nothing than stain his hands in the course of accomplishment. And so he'd run away with his tail between his legs.

"Why hasn't he been dealt with before?" Miller said. "I should have known about this."

"It wasn't worth your time," Charles said. "And he wasn't worth the effort."

"But now...?"

"He's changed," Charles said. "Something changed. I could hear it in his voice. The fire is back in him."

"Here he comes," Steinson said. "Mr. Ransfeld...I have the feeling that you're about to find out why your old friend is getting full of himself."

They all looked at the flickering video feed. Jackson was in the room. The spotty picture was good enough to track him about without problems. He kicked off his shoes and sat back on his bed. After arranging his duffle bag behind him, still over his shoulder, he reached for his Dream Drive.

Charles snorted as Jackson fitted the helmet over his head. "He's become an addict. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"Watch," Miller said.

Charles folded his arms and watched. The pneumatic pistons clamped the red plastic to Jackson's head. Jackson's body slumped slightly as his consciousness stopped directing his muscles and started directing the software.

Something flashed. A light, centered on the helmet. It was a five-pointed star, drawn within a circle - a pentagram. An identical shape, though twisted and scarred, burned to life on Jackson's hand.

And then he started to vanish. His head went first, melting away into nothingness. He was rubbed away one bit at a time until he and his duffle bag were gone.

The video ended there, showing an empty room.

"Alright. He built himself some fancy camouflage. Wonderful." Charles looked between Steinson and Miller. "Let's skip to the part about Rachel."

"No," Mivra said. "I should be able to detect a distortion in the air."

"The quality more than explains that," Charles said.

"Mr. Ransfeld," Steinson said, "there is no distortion because it isn't camouflage. We flew the Gnat around that space. There was nothing there. We took the liberty of entering the apartment after checking that Jackson's mother wasn't in the residence. He's gone. He disappeared."

"That's ridiculous," Charles said.

"It's true," Miller said. "Mr. Ransfeld, I wouldn't waste your time. I went down to the apartment myself. Jackson Vedalt vanished into thin air."

"Teleportation on that scale is still theoretical," Charles said. "How the hell could he have done it? And where would he..."

The other shoe dropped.

"...go," Charles muttered.

"We've been trying to figure this out all morning," Miller said. "Did you think of something?"

"Mivra," Charles said, "bring up that new game. Crux Software. The one Rachel received in the mail. Iso, or -"

"Isis," Mivra said. "Chief Designer: Emil Mohammed, Crux Software's CEO and controlling stakeholder." Mivra shifted her arm. A projection screen with definition ten times better than Miller's old bulb projector flared out onto the wall.

Emil Mohammed was shown standing next to the cover of the game - the same image Charles had seen in the news a few days ago. He had a grey beard, and long black hair that reached his shoulders; the picture of an underground video game artist that had hit it big. On the cover art of the software container was the silhouette of a tree. Imprinted in the center of the tree was an inverted white pentagram.

"...what the fuck?" Steinson said.

Miller growled a sigh. "Steinson, please, keep your composure."

"This time, I'll let it slide," Charles mumbled. "Rachel. She got this game. This is what happened. She vanished." Charles looked at his chief of security and intelligence. His face grasped for a lifeline. "Miller. What's happening?"

Miller slowly shook his head. "...this is beyond me."

"Mivra?" Charles asked. "Ideas?"

Mivra made a mechanical shrug. "I do not know. The connection is clear. The technological basis for such an event is a mystery."

Charles mentally flicked through several options.

"Mivra." Charles pointed at the screen. "It says the date for the full beta release is five days from now. Why do Jackson and Rachel have copies? Look for promotions, some sort of giveaway. Rachel would jump on that sort of thing."

Mivra closed her eyes for a moment. "The Crux Top Gamer Competition. All the finalists received a copy by mail for free almost two weeks before other beta testers. Rachel and Jackson qualified."

"Miller," Charles said.

"I'm on it," Miller said. He turned to his computer and started jabbing at the keys. He already knew what he was looking for - the personal information of everyone else that would have received a copy of the game. The orders would be out on the control room floor in a moment.

"Can I help, sir?" Steinson said.

"The best way for you to help at the moment is to stay quiet but remain immediately available," Charles said. "Mivra, I want a line to Crux Software."

"A moment. I will navigate their phone automation." Mivra stood silently, then extended her wrist. A small microphone slid out on a thin rod and up to Charles's mouth.

A cheery secretary's voice sounded from the speaker. "Good evening, and thanks for calling Crux Software's public relations department. My name is Sherry. How may I direct your call?"

"Sherry, my name is Charles Ransfeld," Charles said. "CEO of Ransfeld International."

"...oh. Oh my goodness. Um, would you mind if I confirmed that?"

Charles nodded to Mivra to make his personal certificate available. "Please do."

There was the sound of typed keys on the other end of the line. Intake of breath. Mivra rolled her eyes at him. Charles just smiled.

"Mr. Ransfeld!" Sherry practically squeaked. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to talk to Mr. Emil Mohammed," Charles said. "I realize this is sudden, as I haven't contacted you prior to this, but I'd like to speak with him regarding a particular business proposition I have in mind. It's a bit sensitive, so I don't want to get into the details."

"Yes, of course, I understand!" Sherry said. "Let me transfer you to someone that can arrange that. Hold on just a moment for me."

The line switched to electronic pop music. Charles sighed. Steinson bobbed his head slightly. When he noticed Charles's raised eyebrow, the security man shrugged, grinned, and kept bobbing.

"Hello," said a voice that was significantly more mature than Sherry. "I understand that this is Mr. Charles Ransfeld?"

"It is."

"My name is Julia Fredrick," she said. "I'm Emil's personal secretary. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to arrange a meeting with Mr. Mohammed as soon as possible. It concerns a business proposition between my company and Crux Software. I want it to hit his ears first."

"...I see. Well...normally, that wouldn't be a problem."

"I take it there's a problem," Charles said.

"Emil is on an extended vacation," Julia said. "He's a...shall we say, an idealist."

"I would consider it a personal favor if you could get in touch with him," Charles said. "This is more important than a vacation. I guarantee it. I'll pay for his travel expenses, as well as any other inconvenience it incurs."

"Actually, that's the problem. He's off the grid. He tends to get creative when he leaves the studio. With Isis done, he just wanted to...disconnect, for a while. I'm sure you understand."

"I do," Charles said through clenched teeth. "How soon do you think you'd be able to reach him?"

"It would take a minimum of a week," she said.

"...a week."

"Yes." Julia sensed the frustration oozing over the phone. "He's backpacking in Bloc territories. Communication is extremely difficult in the first place, and he told me that he...ah...was absolutely determined to get lost in the mountains. To be perfectly honest, a week is a very optimistic timeframe."

Charles looked at Mivra. Her projection, still on the adjacent wall, changed to a short paragraph. Voice modulation analysis denotes an 86% chance that she is lying about his absence. There is a 97% chance that she is lying about his current location.

"I see," Charles said into the microphone. "If he's that determined, it'll have to wait."

"I'll have someone on it right away," Julia said.

"No, it's time sensitive," Charles said. "A week is too long. I'll make another call myself in a month. He'll be back by then?"

"If not then, not long after," Julia said.

Not a single straight answer from this woman. "Thank you for your time, Julia. I appreciate you taking the call."

"Of course, Mr. Ransfeld. If anything else comes up, or anything that we wouldn't necessarily need Emil for, please don't hesitate to contact me. I'll send your system my direct extension."

"Very appreciated. Take care."

"You too."

Mivra cut the call and dropped her hand. Steinson was watching Mivra's projection. "So," he said, "they're full of crap, huh?"

"Buckets of it," Charles said, his smile turning into a grin. "Miller, you stay focused on isolating everyone that already has a copy," Charles said. "I want surveillance on all of them. If one of them is a drifter, pick them up for questioning."

"Will do."

"Mivra, where is Crux located?" Charles asked.

"They have branch in Silicon Valley, but their main headquarters is in Delaware."

"Delaware?" Steinson asked.

"Lax incorporation laws," Charles said. "We'd do the same, but Ransfeld has longstanding ties to Boston."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"By the way, Steinson," Charles said, "it's your turn."

"Fantastic." He rubbed his oversized palms together. "What do you need, sir?"

"I want you to begin analyzing the physical and virtual security of Crux Software," Charles said. "Specifically, I want you to focus on their upcoming deliveries - I want to know how those beta testers are getting their copies."

"Yes sir."

"Crux is privately held?" Charles asked, looking at Mivra. She nodded her confirmation. "Then we'll have to do this the ugly way. Miller, begin composing a criminal case against Crux. Call in every favor at the Bureau."

"Every favor?"

"Every last scrap of anyone that ever owed us anything," Charles said. "Let me have you two on the same page. There is no priority higher than Rachel's health and safety. Crux Software has become a major obstacle to that end, and I'm throwing in Jackson Vedalt by association. I want answers, and I want them by any means necessary."

"Yes, sir," Miller said.

"Steinson," Charles said, "Miller promoted you?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Get whoever you need to work on Crux's security. You'll be leading the assault team. You can have whatever you think is necessary. All the toys."

"Assault?" Steinson said. "On a software company?"

"When I'm finished with them, we'll be heralded as heroes," Miller said.

Steinson had done a good job riding the wave of his recent successes, but now he was starting to see what he was really in for. Charles waited patiently as the man's face turned contemplative. This was the moment that would decide his future career path.

"This is getting good," Steinson said. "What sorts of toys did you have in mind, sir?"

"VTOLs and full combat chassis," Charles said. "Make sure there's one for me."

"Sir, with all due respect, I think you should leave the heavy lifting to us. It's what you pay us for."

"I appreciate the advice," Charles said. He widened his smile. "Make sure there's a chassis for me."

"Are you sure?"

Miller sighed. "Steinson. Stop second-guessing Mr. Ransfeld and follow your orders."

"Sorry, sir. And sir."

"It's fine," Charles said. "Don't be so hard on him, Miller. I rather enjoy his carefree attitude."

"You don't have to listen to him all day."

"I'm missing something." Steinson let the statement hang there.

"Mr. Ransfeld designed the combat simulations you train with every day," Mivra said. "I programmed them."