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Chapter 24

Rachel was eventually satisfied with her Friday kit. The dress she would wear wasn’t her usual sleek body hugging style because she couldn’t have the outline of her weapons be visible. It looked frumpy, but it would have to do. It had no waistline and silly pockets, completely out of character, it made her think of a 40-year-old virgin wallflower. Wendy Wallflower became the name. She tore out the pocket liners so she could draw her guns and knives.

She quickly changed into black leather motorcycle gear and fussed about the cut and fit of her riding pants while getting more and more excited. She had something to do that evening that was very risky but she had been thinking about it for days. The problem with motorcycle gear is that no matter how good it looks or how nicely it fits in the store, once you get on a bike it is usually a major pain. You don’t need to be able to move around much on a bike, mostly just freedom of motion of the head and neck is needed, but most motorcycle jackets and helmets do their level best to impede that as much as possible. A good fit was critical though, she once bought a helmet that was half a size too big and when she turned her head at speed on the bike, the wind would catch the helmet and swivel it around on her head enough to be quite dangerous.

It was finally getting dark and Rachel was very sweaty waiting in the tight-fitting thick clothing. She was so excited she nearly peed herself. She had done covert ops before, for the CIA, so she knew about the tension and adrenaline, but this was an op she was doing for herself. No one else was involved. It was irrational, stupid, unwise to say the least, but she was under compulsion and was eager to get started.

At the designated time she changed TV station, adjusted the radio, logged into Facebook on the computer and dialled a phone number. The other end was a dummy number, so she just left the phone on the couch with an open phone line and went into the little alcove that led to the bathroom on the right and laundry room on the left. There was an air return duct that she took the cover off, The next part she had practised several times to be able to do it quickly. She donned her motorcycle helmet which was annoying, but she wouldn’t be able to carry it. Rachel had to get herself into the air return duct and replace the cover from the inside, then climb up and exit the duct into the plenum space between two floors of her building, make her way to the elevator shaft then get to the roof. All in motorcycle gear with her helmet on.

By the time she got to the roof she was very sweaty but there was nothing she could do about it. Her helmet was pretty scratched from several bumps on the way. Her heart was pounding now, and she could feel the pulse in her neck and temples. She rested for a moment in a crouch on the roof behind some duct work.

Her next move was a Pole vault across the alley to the roof of the next building, and she suddenly realized that this wasn’t so much a plan, as a ridiculous dare she had made for herself for some reason that was eluding her at the moment. Seriously? Pole vault across an alley, 7 stories up in the air wearing motorcycle gear and helmet?

“What the hell was I thinking?”

There was the pole, where she had requested, lying along a gutter in the flat roof. And aligned with the pole was the route she would run before planting the pole in a drain hole she had blocked off. She also had to keep hold of the pole on the other side and make sure to not drop it.

She contemplated abandoning the mission and going downstairs to crawl into bed. That wouldn’t be so bad. She really liked the bed here.

Then she remembered the point of the exercise and without another moments hesitation she took up the pole, steadied it, aimed, then took off across the roof in a sprint. Pow, whoosh, thud and she was over, bringing the pole with her, holding it long enough so that it would not fall into the alley then dropping it so that she could roll on the other roof to absorb her momentum. Her helmet thumped on the ground and the leathers absorbed a lot of impact too. In retrospect there were pluses and minuses to doing the stunt in motorcycle gear.

She quickly stowed the pole and made her way to ground level on the fire escape. She made her way from shadow to cover to shadow until she got to the garage where she kept her motorcycle. Dilli D. That was what she called it: Dilli the “Double D,” Ducati, which made her laugh since it was the only thing she owned that was Double D. A Ducati 748 with as no black box, GPS, driver assist or Google maps capability. This was as bare bones a bike as could be made.

Everything had been building up to this part of her little escapade. As nervous as she had been to climb through ducts and Pole vault roofs it was the anticipation of riding her bike, a.k.a. Drusilla when she was feeling sophisticated, that was the most exciting. Her pulse was pounding in her head and she had a sheen of sweat under her clothes, but both would go away once she was on the bike and riding.

She gave the bike a cursory check but was too keyed up to do the whole procedure, got on and cranked it. She revved it a couple of times and began to relax immediately.

She lived and kept the bike strategically close to a highway interchange so it was just a matter of a minute before she was flying up the on-ramp and screaming towards the desert. By the time she was up to 140 mph she began to relax a little, weaving among the light traffic. She tore past a State Trooper who turned his blue lights on and gave chase until he evidently gave up because she couldn’t see blue lights any more. Shortly she passed the city limits and was out into the flat windy expanse of the salty desert. It was a clear bright night and the moon was big so she killed the lights with a special switch she had added, and dialled the bike back to 100 mph. This was relaxing, and she felt dry now too.

It didn’t take long to get to the interchange that led to Salt City. Not the main route that went via the old US Magnesium plant, but the secondary route that ran over Stansbury Island. This would put her in the back lot by the tradesman’s entrance where the next part of her plan would start.

By the time she pulled up next to a couple of beat up old sedans Rachel was relaxed and composed. She took off the helmet and shook out her hair, stowed the helmet and grabbed a small pouch from the bike. There was a couple of Porta-Jons at the lot and one of them contained a secret stash she had made for her disguise. There was no one around and she slipped into the Porta-Jon unobserved.

The person who emerged looked like a middle-aged employee of the Custodial Services Department. She had lank greasy hair, stained baggy clothes that hung from her skinny body, a limp that spoke of a bad hip, and wore crooked glasses on a crooked nose. The nose had wide nostrils that told the story of hard partying, her eye watered from a permanent cigarette, and she spoke with a drawl that could flay a man at 20 paces. This was Hard Life Hannah, one of Rachel’s least favourite alter egos. Perfect, however, to infiltrate Salt City because they already knew her here and she had the documentation to back up he story. She waved amiably to the security guard who let her in without a second thought.

She joked around with the other custodians that were either coming or going, but rather than punch the clock she went to the bathroom and left via an air return duct in the wall. With great care and precision she made her way to the top of the fire escape at the library building and let herself in.

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Chapter 23

When Carlton finally got home he and Frank were both bursting to tell the other about the day’s events. Carlton had to call a time-out to get the conversation into some sort of order, but Frank already knew most of what Carlton had to say because Biblio had told him. It was Carlton’s turn to speak.

“What on earth could be down at the bottom of that elevator shaft?”

“Well,” Frank was back in control, “we’ll have a clue when we crack the code on the software Ms. Skirt gave you. I have my suspicions.”

“What suspicions?”

Carlton connected the portable drive that Rachel had given him. There were a couple of clicks and a faint whir and Frank began reading data. Carlton was like a kid,

“What do you see? What do you see?”

“Very impressive.” Frank paused, there were more clicks and whirs. “This is very sophisticated stuff. Even I am impressed. Ms. Skirt did not write this code.”

“Why do you say that?” Carlton began to get defensive.

“Quite simply because this is classified, top secret code. No wonder she practically had a fit about giving it to you. This came straight from the CIA.”

“What?” Carlton was amazed, then worried. “Do you think she knew?”

“Of course she knew. That’s who she’s working for. Idiot.”

“Gee, thanks. So now what?”

“Something’s wrong. Very wrong. She broke every rule in the book by letting you see this. There must be a reason why she gave it to you before she went back to her superiors to tell them about the incompatibility. This is a security breach of such magnitude that it could be treason. I don’t understand.”

The were both silent for a moment, but Carlton spoke up, “Do you think that she thinks I’m too stupid to figure out what this code is and where it came from?”

“You didn’t figure it out. I did. And she knows that you are stupid. Sorry,” Frank realized that he was being a little too free with words, “Smart and stupid in different ways.”

“You’re really full of charm tonight, aren’t you?”

“Don’t forget, you’re the genius that made me. Even though you’ve become an intellectually lazy slob these days, you’ve got it when it counts.”

“Lazy slob? You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“Yes, I am. And so is Biblio. You don’t know what you have done this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I think that you were just going through the motions, connecting components together, like a robot. You don’t know what you have built.”

“Whatever.” Carlton was finding the conversation more and more disturbing, but, Frank was absolutely right.

There was silence for a while. Frank was reading code, and Carlton was now getting so worried that his appetite was gone, he was listless, and had no idea what to do next. He knew it would be useless to try to sleep, but he didn’t want to watch TV or surf the web or anything like that.

“Frank?” he needed to talk.

“Yep?”

“Any thoughts? Why is there a conference room deep in the ground being run by the CIA?”

“Well, my first impression, which I am sure will be proved right, goes something like this: I’m quite sure that the D.C. government is planning to use it to interpret enemy communications. Something is brewing somewhere. Something big, and the CIA is sitting on a pile of recordings of conversations that they don’t have the resources to translate and interpret. I deduce this from the sophisticated nature of the software they gave you. Add to that the fact that there are 60 units capable of taking direct input of spoken communication in a cheaply furnished dungeon. It has all the hallmarks of a military, National defence, type gig. The degree of agitation in Ms. Skirt when the software didn’t work means that this is important. The fact that she breached National security and gave it to you, must mean that this is time-sensitive. The Salt City enviro-friendly dome thing is a ruse. Those domes would survive a nuclear attack and protect the inhabitants from fall-out for years. It’s a military installation, set up to monitor communications. And who knows what else, considering what could be at the bottom of the elevator shaft.”

Carlton was nodding as Frank spoke. “Frank, you’re beginning to scare me.”

“Be scared.”

“Oh great!”

They lapsed into silence again. Carlton was getting agitated. He lay down, got up, took a shower, lay down, got up, wandered around. “Do you really think I’m lazy?”

“Yes. You’ve become the intellectual equivalent of a dead sloth.”

“Are you working on that driver?”

“Yes, amongst other things. You could do this, you know.”

“Good night Frank.”

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Chapter 22

The President of the United States was starting to loose it. He had been on the go for the entire weekend in New York attending galas, banquets, town hall meetings and rallys. He had been smiling and projecting his sparkling persona so much that he was close to biting someone’s head off. Now finally back at the White House in D.C., he was desperate to get into his private quarters and relax, but he knew he was not going to get there without having to deal with his Chief of Staff. He took a deep breath. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

And there he was, with the grinning Mr. Smith. What was he doing here again?

“I know,” said the President, “you have a lot of things to catch me up on. You better make it quick, I’m not in the mood for this.”

“Just one thing really,” replied the Chief of Staff, “Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, Mr. President, Chief of Staff. I want to let you know that we are moving our units into position in the Salt Lake City area. A nuclear device is being delivered to the target area later in the week. We can have everything in place and timed for the clock tick that switches us over to world monetary union. Any delay beyond that in dealing with our situation in Southern Utah is going to lead to very difficult accounting for the resources that the, er, problem utilizes.”

“What a pleasant thought to end the day with.” The President shook his head.

“And here was me thinking that you had something important to tell me.” He looked at Mr. Smith who’s irritating smile didn’t even waver. He was pure evil. What makes a person like that? The tired President didn’t have the energy to argue, and the easiest way to make the two of them go away was to agree. He straightened himself up, tried to appear resolved and said,

“Very good. Proceed with the plan. Let me know as soon as you have all of our assets in position. Chief, make sure that Mr. Smith has all of the resources that he needs. Goodnight gentlemen, well done.”

They both seemed pleased with the outcome, and Mr. Smith’s smile managed to go up another notch.

The President detached himself from the group politely and made his way upstairs to his private suite. His wife was waiting with a knowing look on her face and open arms.

“Come here baby, you poor thing.”

He embraced her warmly and then released her. He tried a weak smile. He moved them inside the suite and made sure that the door was shut.

“There is something very, very bad happening. I don’t know what to do.”

His wife looked into his face with genuine concern. She scrutinized his forehead barcode.

“You’re starting to smudge baby. I need to work on your tattoo,” his wife said, “come tell me all about it.”

She led him into the bathroom, sat him down on the commode and got a bottle of rubbing alcohol, some cotton buds, and two Sharpie markers, one fine tip and one wider tip. He started to tell her about the plan to detonate a bomb on the Salt City domes, and the planned droid attack on the camp in Southern Utah. As he did, she carefully wiped the ink off the President’s forehead, dried the area, then began redrawing the barcode with the markers. She listened carefully and said nothing until she finished her task.

“There, good as new.”

“So, what do you think?” The President was still worried, but much relieved for having been able to tell his wife.

“My dad is in that camp. Other family too. You know that.”

“Yep.”

“So we have to do what we always knew we would have to do. Or we’re not the people that we always thought we were.”

“You’re right. I’m just wondering if there is way to save the camp too.”

“You’ll figure it out baby, you always do,” she gave him a warm smile.

“I love you. Thank you baby.”

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Chapter 21

Rachel stormed out of the library, mostly for show, just to make sure that no one slowed her down with stupid questions about was she feeling well. She stamped to her car, slammed the door shut, and by the time she tire squealed out of the parking lot she was laughing to herself about how absurd she must have looked. She just needed to collect her thoughts, so to maintain a façade of frustration and anger served no purpose now that she was alone.

Stupid Carlton. That was the real problem. But not really, since he was totally clueless about what was going on. She drove carefully home, checking frequently for the plain sedan that was tailing her. Her body-guard, she rolled her eyes. She was involved is some highly sensitive work for the military so there were always people watching to make sure she was doing what she was supposed to do.

Stupid, stupid Carlton. Idiot. But that was rather harsh since he was really just a pawn in an over-sized game of chess. She had to keep him on track to make sure the computer system was fully ready for the start of the international linguistics symposium that started Wednesday morning. He better have everything ready or his ass was on the line.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Carlton. Moron! But that was totally unfair since he was just doing his job, and hers was the ass on the line. He had no idea that he had just built the brain for a secret military counter intelligence facility. He had no clue that the international symposium was just a ruse to make the installation seem legit.

She arrived at her rented town house and went inside. The plain sedan saw her go in. She would have to report right away, and she hadn’t quite got her story straight yet. She was regretting giving a top-secret classified thumb drive to a dumbass like Carlton, poor guy, and she wasn’t sure what the reaction from up top would be. She could lie about it. Tempting, but the words of her Pastor rang in her head, “There are no liars in heaven!”

She picked up her secure phone to call in and took a deep breath. Remember Rachel, she told herself. After Friday none of this will matter anyway. Stupid Carlton.

She dialed the phone, gave her clearance code, and asked to be connected with Agent Smith.

It turned out to be easier than she thought. Agent Smith already knew about how she stormed out of the library. Thankfully her misogynistic security detail had put the incident down to “women’s problems,” so she rode that story all the way to the end of the call. Always be a bitch when you have the chance to.

She went upstairs to her bedroom and turned on the TV, the radio, an oscillating fan and the shower. She peeled off her dress and hose as she did, and made her way to the walk-in closet. She had a plan for Friday, and she wanted to check her kit.

Rachel had not registered for World Monetary Union or received her tattoo yet. She had put it off and put it off with excuse after excuse. Time was running out. She had convinced Agent Smith and the higher-ups that she would take the last appointment on Friday afternoon, as soon as the linguistics symposium was over. She was a government agent with high level security clearance so compliance was expected, but Rachel was also a Christian. She had convinced the higher-ups that this was a good cover, since anyone who had known her in the past knew that she was a devout church goer. They were worried that she was just stalling and that she was going to try to do something to avoid her registration appointment on Friday.

Rachel searched the back of the closet and pulled out a slinky looking black garment. It was very heavy for its size because it was not fabric, but a finely woven Kevlar body armour. It was a tight squeeze but she got into it, like a wet suit with short sleeves and cut off above the knees. It would be quite hidden underneath a pant suit or any of the dresses that she normally wore. It was the best protection money could buy that could be concealed under a party frock. Next came a combination of guns and knives. Three guns and six knives to be exact. Two small pistols were in a cross-draw holster on her hips, with extra ammo clips. Then another pistol with a bit more heft in a shoulder holster. There were six throwing knives in a pouch across her belly. It was uncomfortable and hot. She figured on wearing go-go boots instead of heels, to conceal another knife or two and for traction if she had to run or climb. There were a few other accessories that she added, perusing herself in the full length mirror as she did.

By the time she was done she was ready for fight or flight, and she looked herself in the eye and vowed that she would escape on Friday, or die trying.

And then there was that stupid Carlton. She laughed out loud.

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Chapter 20

Carlton had been productively absorbed in his work for a few hours when the intercom buzzed.

“Carlton? It’s Rachel, are you there?”

Carlton was brought out of his reverie, for once he hadn’t been thinking about her.

“Yes, Carlton here. What do you need?”

“Can you come to the circulation desk? I think we have a problem.”

“Be there right away.” How cool was that, to have to go and help Rachel!

He got up and walked to the elevator, pondering what Frank had said about this set up being rather odd. He pressed the call button and waited a moment. The elevator arrived with an odd flourish, if you could call it that, but Carlton didn’t think much of it and got in. The control panel had two rows of buttons. They started with the 3 above ground levels, then L for Lobby, 8 underground levels, the lowest of which he was at, and a B for basement. There was another red button at the bottom next to a key hole. The elevator tried to start a conversation but Carlton really wasn’t interested.

Frank had warned him that this was bigger than he thought. As the elevator door began to close he had an idea. Maybe he could test how big this thing was. He walked back into the conference room looking in the trash and on the floor until he found a thin strip of metal, a surplus shelf bracket. At the elevator again, he knelt down by the door and pressed the call button. When the door opened he tried to look down through the crack between the elevator tracks. There was an eerie red glow. He slid the piece of metal into the crack, put his ear close to listen, then let it go. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thou.. there was a distant clatter. About four seconds. He got up, entered the elevator and hit the button for the Lobby. He did a quick calculation. Acceleration due to gravity is ten meters per second, per second. In four seconds the piece of metal would have fallen one hundred meters, over 300 feet.

At the circulation desk Rachel was flustered.

“Hey, Carlton. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no problem. What’s up?”

“I don’t know. It’s this software. Biblio can’t recognize the code and can’t run the software.” She was fidgeting, chewing her finger nails and shifting from foot to foot in agitation. As Carlton drew nearer she lowered her voice, “I hope you can figure this out, or I’m in trouble.” He glanced at her with obvious concern, but smiled and spoke reassuringly.

“Well, let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. What software is it?”

She held up a small portable drive.

“It’s language comprehension software that I wrote for this system.”

“Language comprehension?” Carlton raised his eyebrows, “that’s a new one on me. I thought that the system here was rigged to the gills with translation capabilities, ‘The likes of which the world has never seen before.'” He had read that last part in some promotional literature that he had found lying around.

“Right, translation is one thing, but, based on how your units operate, with actual voice input, I er, wrote software that would let the computer to understand the words, and the real meaning of what it heard. It allows for the interpretation of different inflections and intonations, and how the way that words are spoken affects what they mean. It,” but then she caught herself as if she realized she had said too much, or was about to.

Carlton thought for a moment, and considered this remarkable turn of events. He had never heard of such software before. It made perfect sense, and it was logical application of the hardware capabilities he had built. Frank said the night before that there was more to Ruth than met the eye. If she had written software that could do what she said, anticipating the hardware features that he had built, then she was either a genius or she was working for one. Except it seemed that she, or whoever, had overlooked one minor detail.

“I think all we need is a device driver,” he said reassuringly.

“Really,” she was visibly relieved.

“Sure,” he continued. “Old Biblio here has never seen this software before, and though it’ll work with the user interface, it’s not calibrated to the right input/output format. The software doesn’t know how to run this hardware. Or the hardware doesn’t know how to run the software, however you want to look at it.”

Rachel looked worried again, “is it going to be a problem?”

“I don’t think so. If you would let me see the code for the software, I’ll work on a device driver tonight.”

“Why do you need to see the code?”

Carlton tried not to laugh. “I have to see the code, there’s no other way to design a driver for it.”

Rachel was getting in a worse tizzy than before, she had the portable drive in her hand, but something was stopping her from handing it to Carlton. He reached out slowly to take it from her.

“I’m not sure what’s going on, Rachel, but I’m sure that I can have this running by tomorrow. If I can see the code and design a driver.”

Rachel began to relax just enough to pass the portable drive into Carlton’s hand, “you’re sure. By tomorrow?”

Carlton gently put his hand on the drive, “no problem, it won’t take Frank and I any time at all to figure it out.”

“Who’s Frank?” Rachel snatched her hand back and stepped away. Then a new voice joined the conversation. Biblio spoke.

“Frank is my big brother.”

Carlton and Rachel both turned to the terminal, Carlton was puzzled, Rachel shocked. She put her free hand to her head and sat down.

“Biblio, what are you talking about?”

But Carlton spoke up, “Frank is my computer, at home.” Then he spoke to Biblio, “Frank told me that you two spoke yesterday. Did he say that he was your big brother?”

“Yes, he did.”

Carlton nodded, “well Biblio, after all this time building you I guess I forgot to introduce myself. I’m glad to meet you. Now do you know what is the problem with Ms. Robbin’s software?”

“You correctly determined the need for a software device driver.”

“Good, OK, Rachel?”

She had tuned out, rubbing her temples, it looked like she had a headache, “what?” she breathed heavily.

Carlton spoke as carefully as possible, “do you want me to work on the driver for you?”

Rachel sighed again, pushed the portable drive across the counter top and stood up. “Yes, take it. I’ve got to get out of here. Good bye. See you tomorrow.” She turned and left.

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Chapter 19

Monday was dark and brooding. Gone was the endless blue of the day before. Overnight a ridge of low pressure had rolled down from the north, and brought with it towering masses of cloud and squalls of warm rain. It felt like a hell of a storm was about to be unleashed.

At the library in Salt City it was impossible to tell the difference. The Salt City domes made sure of that. Carlton stopped at an Airstream trailer near the domes for a big coffee and reported to work, received a perfunctory but courteous greeting from Ruth, who was deeply engrossed in whatever she was doing, then headed down to the main conference room. His hormones were raging, and he had been nervous about what to say when he saw her. In fact, it had been a restless night, as he fantasized about the relationship growing, maturing, blossoming, bearing fruit, and then the joy of growing old in the company of his cherished companion. Luckily he was not a love struck teenager any more, so when she had barely glanced up from her clipboard to greet him he hadn’t been completely crushed. Just somewhat crushed. But now that the greeting was already over and gone he felt more relieved than anything. Now he could focus on work, and pick up where he had left off the project of rigging computer terminals in the conference room.

He entered the elevator and hit the button for the lowest level. The elevator quickly dropped into subterranean depths below the library.

It was a small tiered lecture hall and right now it was a mess. There were four tiers of curved desks that tapered down from the top-level to the bottom. The room was basically a square and the desks all pointed to the lowest corner. It was set up just like a classroom with projectors and a screen, but it was intended that one of Carlton’s computer terminals would be at each seating position. 60 in total. Each of the 60 terminals was the same elaborate interface like the one at the circulation desk. The counter tops were beige laminate, very utilitarian. The carpet was nothing fancy, just beige colored institutional short weave.

The electricians were almost finished, but a light fixture or two flickered and made slight buzzing sounds. A step-ladder was arranged beneath it, but no one else was in sight. The floor and counter tops were strewn with cardboard boxes, Styrofoam chunks, plastic bags and heaps of other packaging material. Electrical components, connectors, wire splices, caps, clips and widgets were everywhere.

The size of this project was something beyond anything Carlton had ever built before, and it was highly elaborate. The plumbing was finished. The plumbing being the lines of silicone tubing that carried blood and water to and from each terminal. There was a series of pumps, or hearts, under the flooring of each tier on the right side of the room. Each heart supplied the terminals on that tier, then the blood was circulated back to the main reservoir along the left side of the room. The main reservoir itself was at the lowest level, tastefully hidden in a podium style presenters area. There were a few other terminals in the building, such as the one at the circulation desk, and they were all connected to this central reservoir. The water system was also similarly routed, but it flowed in the opposite direction, from left to right across the room. This was based on the concept of counter-current circulation, like in living bodies. The water was a buffered solution of salts, stabilizers and glycogen energy molecules. It was separate from the blood system except for a time in each terminal, where the blood and water solutions passed on either side of a semi-permeable membrane. Here the gaseous exchange took place, like in a human lung, and oxygen from the blood supply was exchanged for carbon dioxide waste.

The terminals were arranged so that a human user, or two, could be seated at each one. The major design objective was to allow unhindered translation of language. People speaking any and every language could gather in this room and communicate with each other through the terminals. A unique feature of this set up was special hoods that could be deployed to isolate each terminal in a sound proof bubble. This was to allow simultaneous inputting of language information at each of the terminals, without any interference from adjacent terminals. Carlton wasn’t sure why this had been part of the design specifications, but they were paying for it so he didn’t ask any questions.

The only thing left for Carlton to do was to unpack the monitor units and set them up. Everything else was done. The monitors were made close by in Salt Lake City by a technology firm that Carlton had helped get started. They were a couple of High School buddies that had gone on to college when Carlton quit school to start his business. As demand for his product had increased Carlton needed someone to make the hardware he needed, but he was too lazy to be bothered with running a serious company that would be needed to do the work. He talked his friends into starting their hardware company and now he was pretty sure they were doing better than he was.

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Chapter 18

The next day was bright and clear with an almost endless blue sky. A low ridge of luminous clouds was just visible to the south of the city, but it wasn’t threatening. Carlton had been caught off guard by Rachel’s invitation to church. It bothered him. The woman he had craved for over a decade was here, in his life, but weighed down with a bunch of annoying religious baggage. Carlton dreaded the thought of having to play church in order to have Rachel. Still, it was Rachel. It would be worth it, right? But then, religion. He gave an involuntary shudder. Being Sunday Carlton figured on sleeping late, so that he could say he missed church by accident. Instead he woke up early and spent the morning fretting about going or not going. He shaved and tried three different outfits as he tormented himself over it. Eventually he wasted enough time to be able to say that he didn’t get up early enough.

When he was just starting to regret that he didn’t go he heard the sound of a delivery truck churning its way up the hill. The familiar brown vehicle was headed his way, though he wasn’t expecting anything. Carlton watched with mounting curiosity as the truck pulled up with a loud squeak in front of his house. The driver checked his list then dove back into the cargo area out of sight. A moment later the back of the truck opened up and the driver jumped out. He hit the controls for the lift gate. A few hydraulic whirrs later and there were two large heavy-looking boxes on a hand cart being wheeled up his drive. Carlton got up to meet the driver and sign for them.

“Beautiful day isn’t it?” beamed Carlton, hiding his confusion about the delivery.

“Sure is, just sign here please.”

“No problem. Could you set that stuff in the garage, please?”

Carlton waited for the driver to get back into the truck and leave before closing the garage door on his new stuff. “Frank?’ he called out, “Know anything about the boxes that just arrived?”

“Of course,” came the reply, “Those are the parts you told me to order.”

“Oh yes, the parts that YOU told ME you were going to order.” Carlton smiled and began to unpack the boxes. He was delighted by this distraction and didn’t want to get involved in petulant banter. The boxes were very well packed, and contained a bare bones computer kit. Someone had worked their but off to get them here so quickly, even if Frank had ordered them Saturday morning it was very impressive. The main component was a heavy-duty tower case, professional quality, that Frank said was the perfect size to fit into the space available in the android body. It would be coming later in the week. There were many other sundry items, screws, nuts, bolts and rolls of the fine tubing.

Carlton thought of Biblio, what a surprisingly capable system he had turned out to be, not even considering his primary function. He carried the components up to his living room area and laid them out on the table. He resolved to give this project his undivided attention and create something masterful.

This was the type of job that Carlton would normally procrastinate for weeks before starting, but not today. He made coffee and got to work.

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Chapter 17.5

As church wound down Rachel somehow got herself invited to lunch with the Pastor and his wife, along with the odd new-comer known only as K.D. She drove herself to the restaurant which was a cafeteria style place that was very popular with the Sunday after church crowd. When she got there it turned out that half of the church was there too: the Pastor and his wife brought K.D.; the Assistant Pastor, and his wife with their two children; one of the Deacons with his wife and an elderly widow; another elderly lady who hadn’t been in church but who evidently joined the group to eat; finally Kruger had gotten himself invited. Rachel narrowed her eyes at him threateningly but he mimed a yawn and rolled his eyes.

The restaurant staff were delighted to welcome the church members and guests. The falling away of church attendance as the deadline for World Monetary Union approached had been dramatic, and it had a big impact on the Sunday traffic. They made quick work of moving a few tables so the group could sit together, then enthusiastically ushered them all through the serving line. Rachel was very good at these kind of social events. It was second nature for her to smile, be polite, and engage in whatever conversation happened to strike up. She shared stories from her life, always being mindful of her cover and why she had just moved to Salt Lake City.

Kruger, on the other hand, looked ill-at-ease. Serve him right for not doing surveillance on her from the car with Dunning. She was fortunate to end up on the far end of the table from K.D., so she didn’t get to speak with him.

It was close to 3 O’clock before the party began to break apart, and Rachel excused herself with a promise that she would be at the Wednesday night service. She curtly told her car to be quiet and drove herself home, looking eagle-eyed for the unmarked sedan that was supposed to be following her. She began to get spooked when she thought she saw the same tinted-window black Mercedes pass her twice in a row. Dunning and Kruger were nowhere to be seen, but there was another black Mercedes drifting along effortlessly some way back. Something was not right. At her parking garage she caught a glimpse of movement on the roof of the building opposite. A sniper getting into position? There was an electrician’s panel van parked across the street too – on a Sunday? Not impossible, but weird. Then two deeply tanned women in Spandex sports gear jogged past, paying her a little too much attention. Where they checking her out, or another part of a security op that was happening around her? What else? What else would there be if this were a security op? She looked around for a surveillance camera. There it was, by the elevator, pointing right at her. Surprise, surprise. With all this going on there could only be one reason: Agent Smith was here.

In her experience Agent Smith was a misogynistic, leering, innuendo-laden pervert who had never quite crossed the line and done anything that could really hold the charge of sexual harassment, but which was close. Maybe today could be the day? “Look on the bright side,” she thought. Perhaps every cloud does have a silver lining? if he had come out here for an unscheduled visit it must be in response to something time sensitive, he might be really angry. He might be ready to pop and leave himself exposed, if not to a charge of sexual harassment, then at least some leverage to make him back off. She steeled herself and made her way to her apartment.

There was another new fragrance in the lobby. This one so expensive that she didn’t recognize it. Definitely Smith. She inhaled deeply but realized with a shock that she was already weaker than she thought, suddenly afraid. Her apartment door was open, normally that would be bad, but in this situation it was good because they would both be able to see the approach. It was intended to help put her at ease. It meant that he would be alone inside, with out any of his team of goons. That was good and bad, but Rachel could feel herself getting flustered already and the meeting hadn’t started yet. She hated the psychological chess game that this guy kept up. She resolved and breezed airily into the apartment as casually as possible. Smith was sitting in her favourite spot on her new couch, looking out the patio doors as she had last night. He stood up and turned to her with the warmest expression possible which stopped Rachel in her tracks.

“Rachel,” was all he said.

“Smith,” she looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” In her peripheral vision she saw Dunning and Kruger move in behind her, cutting off her escape. “Drat,” she thought, “this is really bad.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” the words dripped off Smith’s tongue.

A shiver went down Rachel’s spine. “That ought to be enough for sexual harassment right there,” she thought, knowing that it was not, and that Smith was too careful. He just somehow made her feel, dirty.

“I just wanted to check in with you. To make sure that you, the team,” he gestured to Dunning and Kruger, “are all on the same page.”

“You came out here from DC for that?”

“Not a special trip. I was,” he paused delicately, “somewhere close by. I am concerned that you are underestimating the seriousness of this situation?”

“No,” she replied boldly, “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He swept his had in the direction of Dunning and Kruger. “I heard that one of them had to spend time in a lingerie store yesterday?”

“Oh that!” Rachel took on a very friendly and sportsmanlike demeanour and moved in close between the two body guards. “Come on,” she playfully punched Dunning’s shoulder, “A girl has to get her, y’know, things somewhere.”

“You didn’t buy anything.” Kruger said flatly.

“Oh, come on, please. Boys,” she said playfully, grabbing both of their elbows. She looked at Smith, “We have a great time together, don’t we?” she looked at both of their hard faces, then back to Smith, “There is no way that you came all this way because I went to a panty store!”

“No indeed.” He dismissed the two men with a flick of his hand. They left immediately and closed the door. Rachel swallowed so hard she heard it, and closed her eyes for a momentary prayer.

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Chapter 17

Carlton didn’t get far before he remembered that he had an appointment.  He had to make a service call on a unit at the University of Utah. He always enjoyed visiting campus.  Even though he had never been a student there he felt somehow connected to the youthful energy of the place.  That and the fact that from many parts of campus you could see Carlton’s neighborhood.

Every day when the library staff came to work they found that the computer was playing loud heavy metal music. Carlton recommended that his customers let their units listen to music, but rock ‘n’ roll, especially heavy metal, could be a problem. The units liked the pounding beat of rock because it increased performance.  The heavy vibrations generated so much electrical potential across the processor membranes that the speed was much faster. The problem was that the fast syncopated rhythms disrupted metabolic cycling rates. Chemical reactions that should run full course were continually interrupted, which caused hazardous by-products and free radicals to accumulate. These compounds wrought havoc on the membranes. Over time the units would become surly and uncooperative, just wanting to listen to more rock. It was like an addiction, plus unprofessional and embarrassing for Carlton.

This was the crux of Carlton’s innovation. The computer screen was the user interface, the lung, the power supply and a connection to other peripherals. It worked a bit like a speaker. The surface was a thin LED display. Layered behind this was the membrane that blood and water flowed on either side of. Sounds caused the whole structure to vibrate. This caused charged particles, sodium and other metal ions, to criss-cross the membrane, causing a change in electrical potential across it.  A host of other reactions then took place, it sped up the diffusion of oxygen and carbon dioxide, and it generated enough electrical current to charge a series of capacitors. In effect, when the terminal heard a sound, it powered the processor and charged the system.

The terminals not only heard sound, but could generate it. This was what the capacitors were for. In the opposite of what happened when the terminals heard sound, the capacitors charged the membrane to vibrate, and make sound. Information was input into the computer by simply having a conversation with it.

Behind each screen interface was another system, more like the synapses of nerves. This was also a membrane where electrically charged compounds, neurotransmitters, carried impulses from the user interface to a conventional computer and back. This could be any standard computer system connected to whatever hardware, peripherals and the bells and whistles that people needed. The whole structure was only 1/8 inch thick.  It was connected to a tower case which contained the artificial heart, liver and kidneys which kept the blood circulating.

Carlton set up a dialysis machine to clean the blood in the unit, administered a course of antioxidants, set up a music player to play soft classical music, and tried to console the customer.

“Classical music,” he was explaining, “not all, but most of it, is very helpful because of the ensembles of stringed instruments.” The customer was nodding appreciatively.

“Oh yes,” he went on, “sound complexity is very important.  A good symphony orchestra has so many violins and cellos going that there is much more stimulation to the membranes than with the heavy metal. But most importantly, the music is structured better, so you don’t get any build up of free radicals. Waltzes are the best. You know the one, two, three, one, two, three rhythm?  It’s like the beating of a heart.  Just let the unit have about a week of uninterrupted Strauss, and he’ll be good as new. Mendelssohn is pretty good, Fingal’s Cave, that sort of thing.” The customer was beaming.

“I’d stay away from Beethoven, though, it’s a short step from that to heavy metal. And definitely no Wagner. Call me if you need anything at all. I’ll check back in a couple of days.”

When Carlton left it was getting late. He had nothing to do though, so he drove south to check out the location of Rachel’s church.  It wasn’t much to look at, and he found himself instinctively driving to Salt City.  It was fully dark when he got there and checked in at the gate.  He figured on eating at a nice restaurant where he frequently ate lunch.  He would see what their dinner menu was like.  His route took him past the library. The lights on the ground floor were on. Someone was there, working. It bothered him that he didn’t know who it was or what was going on. What if Rachel were there doing something secret? He felt irritated and he knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy a nice dinner out so he drove home via a fast food drive through.

The next day was bright and clear with an almost endless blue sky. A few clouds were moving in from the south but they were far away and not threatening. Being Sunday Carlton figured on sleeping late, so that he could say he missed church by accident. Instead he woke up early and spent the morning fretting about going or not going. His eagerness to have a chance to spend time with Rachel was equally balanced against his distaste for church. He shaved and tried three different outfits as he tormented himself over it. He dithered and fussed and preened and moped with his eye on the clock, until it was too late to get there on time. Eventually he wasted enough time to be able to say that he didn’t get up early enough. He hated the missed opportunity.

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Chapter 16.5

The rest of the day was uneventful, though Dunning and Kruger were fuming over the mall escapade. That evening Rachel made a few phone calls to family, maintaining a facade of an easy-going life transition to a new job and home in Salt Lake City. She watched some TV but wasn’t interested in anything. She tried reading a book but it didn’t capture her imagination. Eventually she sat looking out the large balcony doors as the daylight faded and the city stretched out before her came alive with lights. Watching the activity of the city at night was vastly more interesting than TV, and before long she dozed off.

At some point later she woke up enough to put herself to bed.

Rachel was up again before the dawn arrived, wondering about her cat whom she had left with her mom and dad in Washington DC. She contemplated getting another one but that was pretty pointless given that she fully anticipated her life here in Utah to be either over or drastically different by the end of the week. She exercised, ate, showered and got ready for church.

Rachel went to Anchor Baptist Church in South Salt Lake, based on a recommendation from her Pastor in DC. It was only her second time going since she had only been in town for about a week. Sunday morning was usually a busy time at any church, but things were very different now with the looming deadline of World Monetary Union. The majority of Christians were convinced that this was indeed the Mark of the Beast as prophesied in the Bible, and this had led to a great falling away of people from the church. When it came right down to it, who in their right mind would give up the ability to function in society for the sake of dressing up and singing songs on a Sunday morning?

Still there were a faithful few, including the Pastor, Assistant Pastor, Piano Player and about a dozen others, including two deacons. They had been completely amazed when Rachel had shown up for a Wednesday evening service last week, dressed in her conservative professional attire, even more so when Dunning had arrived moments later pretending to be another completely random visitor. They sat far apart from each other, Rachel next to the Pastor’s wife, who had immediately adopted her, and Dunning in an aisle seat near the exit.

The tone had been very solemn as the Assistant Pastor welcomed them and began the service, but it picked up with the spirited singing and a rousing sermon from the tired old Pastor.

Today was much the same. There was some guarded chatter about who had renounced Jesus Christ and gotten their WMU tattoo, and who had renounced society and made their way to the refugee camp in Moab. The consensus was that everyone who was left in church would be making their way their shortly. The Pastor promising, like the Captain of a sinking ship, that he wouldn’t abandon his post in the pulpit until after the Wednesday night service.

This time it was Kruger who blundered in a minute before the service was about to start, making excuses about not knowing where to park, and avoiding any formal introductions as the Assistant Pastor got the service under way.

“Good morning everybody, and welcome to Anchor Baptist Church. It is great to see you in the house of the Lord today! I see our numbers are down again, I guess that’s not surprising, but we’re going to have a blessed time in the Lord. It’s very nice to see you here again, Miss?”

“Rachel,” she said, uncomfortable that now 12 pairs of eyes were all staring at her.

“Right, Rachel, thank you for coming back. And I see we have another visitor,”

Kruger simply raised his hand in greeting as all eyes turned to him.

“We can get to meet you later, sir. So, let’s all take a hymnal then and turn to page..”

Another visitor unexpectedly barged in at that moment, and Rachel and Kruger began reaching for their side arms. They both paused when they saw a very confused looking old man, standing blinking in the middle of the aisle. He shuffled to a seat mumbling that he was sorry about something, and the service continued.

Once the singing was over the Pastor got up and gave a full-throated blast through the  parts of the book of The Revelation that pertained to the present situation. He stumbled around the confusing technicalities regarding the timing. According to the scripture, the mark of the beast is something that takes place during the tribulation period. That was tricky because the tribulation is supposed to happen after something called the rapture, when all Christians are taken up into the sky by Jesus. Why is the mark of the beast here if the rapture hasn’t happened yet? And, is it really the mark of the beast? were serious questions. It gave everyone enough wiggle room to justify their decision about whether or not to receive the WMU tattoo, because if they did, it didn’t necessarily mean that they were going to hell. Right? A lot of people were very worried. Rachel was in the very small group that had decided not to take any chances on eternal damnation, preferring leave society and suffer whatever hardship it may bring.

Rachel listened as the Pastor fumbled on eschatology for a few minutes but soon enough he veered around to a Bible thumping condemnation of “the system,” and a rousing call for all lost souls to be saved. He did his job admirably, not in the least bit perturbed by the small crowd.

Once the service was over there was a lot of hugging and consoling to do, even for the visitors, since it was both terribly sad and very joyful that the prophesy of the Word of God was being fulfilled in their day. After all look on the bright side, was the conclusion, this meant that the Lord’s return was even more imminent than it had been at any time in the last 2,000 years! Everyone had so much to hope and be thankful for.

At some point Rachel got to shake hands with everyone, pretending to meet Kruger for the first time, and the old man who had blundered in late. He was introduced simply as “K. D.,” and he had the look of one who was in completely the wrong place at the wrong time.