E.N.D.A.Y.S. (2 page)

The length of that explanation is why Jump Division is fond of acronyms.

“What do you want
me
doing, kitten?” Hayes asked, to another burst of static rippling across his brain.

'Shut the fuck up whilst the grown-ups do their jobs.'
Kali instructed.

“Could y'at least send me some sexy pics to tide me over?”

'Fine...'
she sighed.

Eighteen seconds later, Hayes regretted the request, and was wishing he was blind. His lens had become populated with image upon image, close-up after close-up of the skin conditions of hundreds of obese naked men and women.

“God, make it fucking stop!” he begged, clawing at his eyes whilst the other two agents ignored him.

§

“Mister Hayes, is this
entirely
relevant?” Judge Phillips asked.

“You wanted context...” Hayes said, with a shrug.

“
Mission-relevant
context.” Philips said angrily, the words grating through gritted teeth.

“Yeah... I'm getting there.” Hayes said with a sigh, genuinely convinced that all these elements of the story were
critical
to his defence.

§

Shay used the global positioning data that was sent to her lens to guide them from the jump point to the SOME; Scene Of Mission Event.

Making her way through the mundane streets of 0455, Shay strutted ahead of Hayes and McCall. The latter was following protocol, using his lens to observe surroundings with pinpoint accuracy, assign personality profiles to mannerisms, facial characteristics and gaits of all those around. Hayes was mostly staring at Shay's behind, as she marched ahead of him with a confident pace. He was so entranced by her bottom that he didn't notice her stop, turn at the waist, and throw a fist into his face.

“Stop staring at my ass, you fucking pig.” she said, turning back into her stride, long hair swinging behind her gracefully in time to her steps, like a squirrel's tail.

Some might think that a punch from a woman might not be as destructive as that of a man, but those people obviously have never met a woman like Shay. At just over six feet tall, she was around a hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle, and unlike McCall's nano-enhanced flesh, it was all her own.

In the world Shay came from, they measured every citizen's dimensions and mass to officially determine whether they were overweight or underweight, and restricted or increased diet accordingly. At the age of thirty-two, Shay was told that based on the calculations of her height and weight, by official government health standards, she was overweight, and her diet was to be restricted. When the doctor recovered from the concussion imbued by Shay's rock hard fist impacting with his soft malleable face, he apologised to her profusely. She suggested he join a collective of doctors she had visited over the years who had experienced similar impacts, to formally petition the government to stop being such dicks about issuing sustenance. The government did not take kindly to Shay punching their physicians, and reduced the rations of her friends and family. Shay in turn did not take kindly to the government being even bigger dicks, and took down two thirds of the Prime Minister's security staff single-handedly, before a Jump Division agent intervened and offered her a job. In exchange, they ensured her loved ones would get their full rations. She agreed, knowing it was the only way to help them, and it didn't hurt that she was going to be paid to hit people who deserved it.

Hayes was, as far as Shay was concerned, entirely deserving of the broken nose she had gifted him. Fortunately for Hayes, his nanos were more than used to repairing damage to his face.

“Na-nose.” he chuckled, as they took apart the broken cartridge at the cellular level, recycling it into a new dorsal bridge that looked exactly like it did before it was smashed into pieces.

As they arrived at the Presidential residence, his face was fully repaired.

'Credentials are waiting for you in your pockets.'

The agents reached to their hips, where a metal clip was attached to their belts. A thin sliver of metal four inches long descended down their thigh, where a barely visible spiral circle of micromesh lay, flat against their legs. Each of them slid their hands down past the clip on the holster, thumb meeting a biometric sensor, which activated a shimmering blur at the threshold where their fingers entered. This was not a physical pocket on their clothing, but a pocket dimension, a holster in which additional tactical gear could be accessed. All three retrieved the invitation and ID waiting for them in their pocket dimensions, presenting them to the security staff. The guards on duty perked up, and were suddenly reverential when they read the name of the department the agents purported to work for. The International Security Services Council was the highest echelon of the security services. It was where every protectorate agent, from law enforcement down to security guard dreamed of working one day. Travelling the world; committing exciting acts of espionage; bedding all the women; killing the bad guys; saving the day.

There had been a movie released every year for the past five decades celebrating and lauding the actions of the ISSC. The agency was held up as an ideal of what one should be willing to do for the government, but their agents were never mentioned by name, their faces never seen. This was why reverence was the reaction from three ISSC agents standing right in front of the guards. Each hoped that if they showed the correct amount of respect and dedication to their job, perhaps they might be cherry-picked for induction. Of course, there was no chance of that happening, but that didn't mean Hayes wouldn't fuck with them whilst they scanned the barcode on the invitation.

“Nice scan y'did there.” he told the guard, with a smile. “Nice technique. Y'ever think of applying?”

The guard didn't know how to react. His hand started quivering, invitation flapping, fanning Hayes. He slowly brought his eyes up to meet those of the imposter ISSC agent's. “I've… always dreamed of it, sir...”

“Well, y'should come by the office tomorrow, we'll see about training you up, getting you field-rated maybe?” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Really sir? You'd to that for me?”

“I'm never wrong 'bout these things. Can read a person like a book.”

“A book, sir?” the guard said. “What's a book?”

Hayes took a moment, half-remembering something in the briefing about this mundane world never having perfected the binding process. Books had never been produced, let alone mass-produced. Stories were printed on scrolls, held vertically and rolled from bottom to top, like a town crier might read news of the day to the people of a village.

“I've said too much.” Hayes said, in a hushed tone, his eyes wide, scanning back and forth at the people around. “Come to me tomorrow, and all will be revealed...” he trailed off as he took his invitation and ID back from the confused guard, and followed Shay and McCall into the grand entrance of the building.

The President's residence was built as though the title was akin to 'emperor' or 'king'. Even in realities that knew such rulers, the décor and architecture would still be viewed as excessive for what essentially boiled down to an elected position. In most realities that allowed voting, the highest official had no need for a quarter-mile of corridor with a mosaic floor handmade from the most precious stones in the realm. Nor would they have ceilings fifty foot tall, cross vaulted arches every twenty feet held aloft by giant marble pillars that looked to Hayes as though they were the average circumference of a citizen of 1141 (which he insisted on calling 'the fatty fat fat world of the fattiest fat fatties').

After five minutes traversing the corridor, they came to the grand ballroom, which was named so because it was both a ballroom and grand. The residents of this reality were well known for their literal naming. The capital city of the largest continent has a park at its centre, which was named Central Park. In that park is a large ornate fountain designed by a man named Trevor, known by all as Trevor's Fountain. There is a large lizard in 0455 that is mass-reared entirely for its delicious flesh, it is called a meatasaurus.

The three agents spread out across the ballroom, maintaining communication with one another and Kali, on the lookout for anything suspicious. Whether there was any actual threat was another matter entirely. The protectoral agreement dictated that the government were able to ask for Division assistance when they believed an inter-dimensional incident might occur. The President believed that this entitled him to Division agents whenever he had the whim for an extra layer of security.

Shay climbed a spiral staircase to a balcony that looked out over the room, beginning a full visual sweep for hostile mannerisms. McCall inspected the passes and identification of each of the security staff on hand. They were the only ones present with weapons, and as some of the lowest paid people in the square mile of the Presidential estate, were also the most corruptible. Hayes' first inclination was to go straight to the buffet to investigate for potential contamination, but en route he decided that a glass of champagne was more suspicious. He sipped at it to confirm it wasn't poisoned, then took another sip, and another, firmly believing that you can never be too sure with these things. After the flute was empty, he reached for a fresh one from a different server, in case
they
might be the potential threat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Shay asked over the comm, as she spotted Hayes downing his third glass.

“Just making sure these ain't poisoned.” he said, loud enough for guests around him to hear. He smiled politely and reached across them for a fourth glass.

“God, have you even
activated
toxin scrubbing?” she spat back at him.

“Yeah...” he lied. “Sure I have.”

In his lens, he pulled up the nano controls and asked them nicely to run through his digestive tract, to identify and then dispose of any potentially harmful chemicals.

“So
fucking
dumb...” she said, heading back down the stairs. “I don't see anything up here. Looks like a waste of our time.”

'Probably is,'
said Kali.
'But we've got orders. Hayes, get on viewpoint analysis. Shay, take over from Dumbshit on the catering?
'

“Dumbshit? Is McCall on catering too?” Hayes asked, not aware that he had been codenamed 'Dumbshit' by all of the Division's operators.

After shaking off a further squeal of feedback bouncing back and forth on the underside of his skull, he made his way to the window and activated a lens survey of the buildings with direct line of sight to the podium. McCall had been through all the security staff, running their IDs against a facial recog database the government provided for them. He also had unfettered access to each of the staff's banking records, which were checked for unusual payments. They were all clean, and he started making a sweep of the catering staff, passing Shay, who was in the midst of a deeper analysis of refreshments than Hayes's alcohol-focused investigation. The buffet was clear, and she sipped at a white wine, washing it around her mouth as nanos crawled out of oral crevices to inspect for toxins. There were none present, but as she swallowed, the texture left on her tongue didn't feel right.

“Hayes, did you pick up on the after taste?”

He didn't reply. Whilst scanning the windows, he had come across a yoga studio in which lithe, young women were stretching and contorting their bodies into elegant knots.

“Hayes!” she said again, sternly. “Bitter twang and sludge left coating your tongue, did you notice it?”

“Yeah...” he said, absent-mindedly, watching the skinny, large-breasted yoga instructor bending over, his lens zooming into her deep cleavage.

A jolt of static reverberated through his skull. Kali had caught sight of his lens feed, and was also enjoying the view, until she remembered it was compromising the mission.

“Fuck Ow! No I didn't notice it.” he said, once again loud enough for the guests around him to think he was talking to them.

'Speak softer.'
Kali instructed. '
Maybe get a dictionary sometime and look up the meaning of the word
covert
.'

“This is the cheap shit.” Shay said. “The President wouldn't be seen dead drinking it. He'll have his own private stash...” she started looking around for where that might be.

“In his chambers, I reckon.” McCall said, handing an ID back to a waiter and moving to the next server.

“En route.” Shay said, shifting through the crowd towards the podium. There was a door to the right, behind it, from which the President was due to emerge.

“Yeah... I'll be right with you.” Hayes said, his eyes searching the buildings, trying to find the yoga studio again.

'Now.'
Kali instructed, digging into his nano controls with the gesture unit.

Hayes felt a rumble in his stomach. He zoomed the lens out and glanced down to his belly. Gas was building. His bowels were becoming heavy, full.