Evolution (14 page)

T
he storm was still raging
the next morning when the man in the trench coat arrived. Water ran down the synthetic fabric until the garment was completely dry, but he declined to remove it as he entered the building. Sam wasn’t in the mood for niceties. If the coat added to the odd fellow’s sense of identity, so be it. The man ran his fingers along the edge of the entrance doors to the building. “No locks?”

Wherever did you find this guy?
But Sam wasn’t really looking for an answer. “The Rendition Building is completely networked. Every door, light fixture, and access is continually monitored.”

“That so?” The man didn’t bother making eye contact as he scuffed his foot along the marble floor. “Only access to the higher floors via these elevators?”

“There’s a stairwell left over from the original design. But it’s been sealed off I believe.” Sam wondered when they were going to get to something important. Sara had already been missing for five hours—time he should have spent searching the streets, but his human eyes weren’t likely to see anything useful.

“With the same technological locks?” The man didn’t even seem to care that she’d been abducted.

“That’s right. Do you want to see the penthouse?”
Time to stop pussyfooting around.

“Sure.” The man waved his hat around the lobby. “Whole building like this—no cameras, no surveillance, no guards?”

Sam mentally pulled the man toward the elevators. “I told you, the building’s networked.”

“So you did.” As the doors closed, he ran his finger along the seam. “These power down at night?”

Sam wondered if it’d be more productive to just wander the streets calling out Sara’s name. “They run if someone requests them. It’s all automated. Call out for an elevator, and one arrives.” Had this guy even been in a modern building before?

“Convenient.” The man’s attention wandered around the small lift as aimlessly as his questions.

The doors opened to the scene Sam had been a part of all night: Jess pacing the room, Ed fading in and out of opacity, Ellie intermittently sobbing quietly or asking Joshua to check another part of the city. The view screen displayed a worried Doc. “I was just telling Jess, Dr. Shot and Jillian are on their way down. I thought it best to stay up here with Emily. She’s not happy about being exiled up here, but it’s the safest place.”

The strange man in the trench coat perked up. “First intelligent thing I’ve heard since I got here.” He turned back to the closed elevator. “Not even a lock to the private residence?”

“There’s really no need. The only way to open or close a door is through the network.” Sam wondered if he should draw the man a picture.

Dr. Shot’s face appeared on a view screen. “We’ll be there momentarily. Nice to see you, Fletch. Thanks for coming out in this weather.”

The man set down his heavy leather bag and opened his coat. “Not a single human-operated lock in the joint, Elliot? What the hell are you people thinking?”

“This really isn’t the time.” Dr. Shot turned slightly in the shuttle’s chair. “In case he didn’t introduce himself, which he seldom does, this curmudgeon is Fletcher Bloodworth. I’ve never met a man less enamored with technology. If anyone can figure out how someone could sneak into Rendition undetected, it’d be Fletch. Just don’t hit him before I get there. He can be kind of gruff.”

Fletcher grumbled something indistinct before opening his bag. Sam peeked over the lip of the black leather satchel—no computer, not a single digital display, just old-fashioned tools that would have looked more at home in a museum. They weren’t even well organized.

“I’ll ask you all to stay in the living room until I’ve finished my inspection.” Fletch looked at Sam and Jess’s feet. “You two the only people here?”

“We’re the only humans.” Sam began to see the reasoning in Dr. Shot’s edict not to punch the man. “Clearly, there are other Tobes present.”

“Right. So long as they haven’t left any footprints.” Fletcher stood from his bag to remove his overcoat. Throwing it to Ed, he asked, “You haven’t left any trace, have you?”

Sam wondered how Ed could show such restraint as he caught the trench coat in midair. “We haven’t bothered the crime scene. I can point out each of Sam and Jess’s footprints if that would help.”

“I’m sure you could. No need.” Fletcher lay flat on the carpet and got to work. Like a slug traversing an acre of crops, he squirmed across the floor, inspecting every fiber.

This was getting nowhere fast. “What do we have in the way of authorities?” Sam said. “Can I call in the government? Three of their members sit on Rendition’s board of directors. That has to give me some pull.”

Dr. Shot shook his head. “Government security got privatized decades ago. There are no police, not really any militia to speak of either. Even private security firms bought into the idea that Tobes were better equipped at finding answers.”

Joshua ran his hands through his white hair, which had been jet black the day before. “With information on everyone, and knowing where each person was at any given moment, crime has become a thing of the past. We’ve proved adept at directing people away from breaking the law.”

From the floor, Fletcher smirked. “Damn fine job you do.”

Sam boiled over. “Do you have anything useful to add? Or are you just going to poke around here like a dog who’s misplaced his chew toy?”

Fletcher stood and brushed off his rumpled shirt. “You’ve put all your faith in the arrogance of technology. Whoever stole your daughter did so without using any networked piece of equipment. And I’m not just talking about how they opened doors. They didn’t arrive or leave by conventional transportation. Shuttles or water taxis could be tracked. Then they outwitted your brilliant Tobes, not once but multiple times.”

He started clicking off items on his fingers. “First they had to enter the building. No small feat at night when no one else is entering or leaving. Second, they needed to access the elevator, something that’s smarter than me on my best days. The stairs are a possibility, but hauling a teenage girl down more than a hundred stories would take someone of considerable strength. As the footprints in the carpet are small and light, I’d guess the person wasn’t much of a he-man. Then they snuck in under your very noses. Sara had to have been drugged in some fashion, partly because she didn’t put up any resistance and partly because she disappeared from under your precious Tobes’ noses.”

“Yes, but how?” Jess asked.

Fletcher pulled something out of his bag and held it up. The technology could have been something from the resurgent steampunk era of Sam’s youth. Two long, flat pieces of metal, no thicker than a piece of paper, were connected to metal boxes with old-fashioned battery packs. The whole thing looked as though a toddler had assembled it. The detective’s thick fingers rubbed a gelatin onto the metal plates. Looking around the penthouse, he pointed to the doors that led out to the rooftop garden. “I think it’s safe to conclude they didn’t use this entry.”

The thin strips had to be worked between the airtight doors. But it took less effort than Sam would have suspected. Once inserted, Fletcher slid his toy up the length of the door. He repeated the maneuver on all four sides then left the strange piece of technology at one of the networked hinges. Like a magician performing his grand illusion, he pressed his fingers to the door, which opened without a sound. Not a squeak, no alarm, nothing.

Ed’s jaw dropped in shock. “I know it’s open, but I’m still seeing the door as closed.”

“Really?” Fletcher’s sarcastic tone didn’t seek an answer. He reclosed the door and pulled out the metal strips. “Just a little black-market goodie.”

“So that’s how they opened the doors. How did they take Sara?” Jess asked.

Fletcher pulled a long, light tube out of his bag and headed for Sara’s bedroom. The room had remained untouched. Sam could still feel his daughter’s presence. If he just blinked, maybe she’d reappear. He shook the irrational idea out of his head. It’d been a long night. The beam of blue light slowly traced up the linens until it reached the pillow. A spray pattern of bright-blue specks covered one side, the opposite side to where her head had left its indentation. The detective turned to Ed. “Tell me what you see.”

Ed furrowed his brow. “The pillowcase is covered in holes, like someone blasted it with a splatter lasgun. But they don’t penetrate the pillow itself. How is that possible?”

“Because it’s not. Sara was drugged,” Fletcher said.

Ed crossed his arms. “That’s not possible. I keep an eye on everything she eats and everyone she’s around. Had she been drugged, I’d have known about it.”

“That so?” Fletcher’s habit of asking questions to show the Tobes’ arrogance was getting on Sam’s nerves. “It wasn’t a conventional delivery system. Wasn’t even a conventional drug.
Virus
would be more accurate though it’s not biological. All someone had to do was sneeze the blocking nanoparticles on her, or at least make it look like they did. The reason the pillowcase looks full of holes to you is because the virus blocks the network. To human eyes, we don’t see anything out of the ordinary. But as you Tobes aren’t seeing what we see, anything that blocks the network looks like it’s missing to you. So long as she’s infected, you won’t see her. And I’m not sure there’s an antidote.”

“You’re talking about some very secret technology,” Sam said. “How is it Rendition knows nothing about it?”

“It’s called Clandestine, and as you can imagine, it’s not the easiest to come by.” Fletcher returned the light to the case.

Dr. Shot leaned in from the wall view screen. “I’d guess not. It would have had to be developed off grid, not on a computer that would connect to anything the Tobes might listen in on. Then advertised among a group who wouldn’t talk about it over the network. I’m not even sure how they’d pay for something like that. Every conventional monetary exchange would be tracked.”

“The term black market used to be used for illicit dealings that one wanted to keep secret. But now
black
is the operative word—completely dark to all technology. They don’t use money, not even the old physical stuff that was discontinued years ago. Mostly, it’s a barter system though each seller and buyer makes their own arrangements.”

Joshua reached out for the piece of alien technology that Fletcher offered up to him. It fell to the floor, right through Joshua’s palm. “So they’re not using any traditionally produced material.”

“Yep, keep going.” Fletcher picked up the light case, cleaned it, and returned it to his bag.

“Whoever made it couldn’t be wearing a lens or even a device. We’d have picked up some hint if they had.”

“Good, what else?” Fletcher had the demeanor of an old-fashioned school teacher.

“It couldn’t even have been played with in a modern house,” Joshua said. “That leaves out New York.”

“Yes to the first, but no to the second. Think.” Fletcher stared at Joshua.

Sam couldn’t imagine a nonconnected building in New York. The protection against storms, the modern pace of life—they all argued for the city being one-hundred-percent connected. Who in their right mind would want to live off grid? He slowly turned to Dr. Shot. The mansion’s study had been disconnected, but the privacy had cost him a lot of money.

Joshua shook his head. “Nothing like that, Sam. Dr. Shot likes his moments of solitude, but what we’re talking about would take something the size of…” Joshua’s idea trailed off.

“Very good, my young Tobe,” Fletcher said. “An old demonstration exhibit. Something built to show people what it was like to live before computers became fully connected. Back to a time when people still did things for themselves.”

Sam remembered the field trips—useless, all of them. Who cared how hard his grandparents and great-grandparents had it? Given the chance, any of them would have opted for modern life.

“But how would they get the items into the city?” Jess asked. “You implied New York had such network dark spots.”

Dr. Shot rubbed his bald head. “Oh, lord. It’s coming in from the churches.”

Fletcher nodded. “Back when the network was really getting its foot in everyone’s door, certain religious orders demanded their rights to privacy. No one took them seriously. Even if they did keep all computers out of the sanctuary, their parishioners would have the lens, or device, or whatever was popular at the time. So long as those things were in the building, technology would be listening.”

“But some were a little more dogmatic?” Sam asked.

“You could say that,” Dr. Shot said. “Mostly we get rumors of a congregation that forgoes any means of connected equipment, not even a modern computer. It’s usually coupled with some archaic religious beliefs. Typically, they all live under the same roof, and many grow their own food or have access to some rural agricultural commune.”

“I’m beginning to see a pattern here,” Sam said. “But why would they take Sara?”

“Until they make themselves known, we can only guess,” Fletcher said. “But I think it’s safe to assume she’s unharmed. No one would go to this much work unless they expected to be heard. They’ll wait long enough for you to imagine the worst. Then when you see she’s all right, you’ll gladly accept whatever terms they lay out to keep her safe from your own created horrors.”

S
ara struggled to sit up
. Her head pounded so hard she could hear the blood flowing in her ears. The mattress did a piss-poor job of conforming to her body—nothing like the one she’d fallen asleep on. Her shoulder ached, her hip hurt, and as she kicked her feet, the sheet didn’t readjust to cover her legs. How could anyone sleep like this?

She pushed against the cold metal frame until her back was supported by the brick wall next to the bed. The effort drained her.
What’s happening to me?

Her eyes adjusted to the low light of the room. No technological enhancement accompanied her vision.
Where the fuck am I, and what the hell’s happening?

Swearing hadn’t been part of her routine vocabulary, but in light of the situation, she thought she might need the expletives. She pulled the pillow to her stomach as fear crept its tendrils out from her gut. Yelling wasn’t likely to bring anyone she wanted to see. Wherever she was, it wasn’t home. Someone had taken her, probably more than one someone. She pressed her body into the corner of the room.

She didn’t know much about being afraid. The first time her father had tossed her into the lake on Chariklo had caused her to swallow a mouthful of water in her shock at the cold immersion. She’d flailed in the water, but that had only lasted a moment. Her father’s hand had pulled her out. Tears welled up in her eyes. Where were her father and everyone else she counted on? They must have noticed she wasn’t home.
Why isn’t something happening?

She surveyed the room, wondering what she’d be up against. The pillow she still clutched to her body wouldn’t do much damage to anyone who might threaten her. And there didn’t look to be anything in the room that would prove useful in making an escape even if she knew how.

A small semicircle of plastic in the corner of the ceiling displayed a red light. She felt as though she was being watched.

A seam of light from under the door brightened her dreary surroundings. She wished the light would be the only thing to come visit, but the door clicked to unlock. She pulled the bed’s pathetic excuse for covers up to her chin.

The silhouette of a man filled the door frame. Two others stood next to the door in heavy protective wear, carrying M4X10 carbines. Her studies of Earth’s military conflicts hadn’t prepared her for how big the guns were.

Are they fucking stupid? Those weapons have no computer control at all. Anyone could get shot.
Her academic study of the gear quickly turned to fear as the thin man bent down to enter the room. He looked more like a stick figure than a captor. One good kick, and she could snap him in half. It wasn’t true, but it made her feel better to think it was possible.

As he adjusted the light on the ceiling, her eyes began to burn. “Jonathan? What the hell!” Now she really could kick him in half.

“Take it easy, Sara. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Yeah, no shit, because I’m going to break you in two first.

The former facilitator of the village sat on the bed next to her. “I know you’re confused. But you have to know I see you as a daughter. Your mother and I were very close when we were your age. If she hadn’t been indoctrinated into that polyamorous bullshit, we’d have gotten married, and you would be my real daughter.”

“If you think you’re going to create some demented father-daughter relationship with me, you’ve lost your fucking mind.” Sara did her best not to scream. Anything might set off the fools with their guns.

Jonathan looked at the men guarding the door. They gave him a cursory nod then returned their attention to the dark hallway. “No, I’m not expecting that. But you have been brainwashed by that village you call home. Nothing they’ve told you is true. It’s all just some disturbed vision of a society that even basic biology argues is false. Women in control? Is that even what you’d want? Men are inherently stronger. Women like to be taken care of and treasured. Doc and the others are just wrong.”

Sara tried to control her emotions. She’d studied more than just what the village had taught her. A lot more. And Jonathan was just a stupid hick who never really listened to anyone. Jillian was right—he was a bully pretending to care.

“You’ll see.” Even his voice was condescending. “The days start early around here. Better get up. The dining hall’s at the end of the corridor. Someone will give you a list of chores after you’ve had something to eat.”

“How long are you going to keep me here?” Sara asked.

“Until you see that I’m right.”

* * *

T
he white dress
that lay over the bedroom chair stank of sweat covered up with cleaning products. Even in the agro pod, clothes had been kept in better shape. The diaphanous material wanted to cling to her skin, revealing more than she thought appropriate for a religious order. She checked the chair again, but no undergarments had been included. For a moment, she considered putting her oversized sleeping shirt back on. At least it had the good sense to function as clothing.

She considered her options for dealing with her captivity. Fear wasn’t something she could avoid, but it could be masked with anger. She’d discovered that last night when confronted with Jonathan.

Anger is stronger than fear. Good. That’s one tool I have to work with.
They’d expect her to shy away from the translucent garment. That would be the fearful response. But to wear it, to not be ashamed no matter what anyone saw, that would show bravery.
Now, if I could just find that characteristic inside myself.
Mira’s teachings began filtering in past the unwelcome fear. The village’s sexual educator would be horrified to see Sara so submissive. She stood tall as she left her small room.

Sara tried to see this as yet another adventure as she walked down the corridor, her captors with their destructive weapons behind her. Her mother had been on many strange trips around the solar system, and she’d always returned unharmed.
Be cool, listen and watch to figure things out, and don’t panic. Above all, don’t panic.

The cold tile floor hurt her feet. But she wasn’t locked in her room. Good sign. She might be a captive, but she wasn’t a prisoner. As she reached the end of the hallway, the dining room opened up in all directions. Below, rows of tables were filled with people, all happily eating and talking. Above, a ceiling of glass panes illuminated the gigantic space.

A girl of about twelve ran up the stairs to grasp Sara’s hand. “I’m Nora. Please come sit with me.”

Nora’s pale-blue cotton dress reached to her feet. At least it hid her body as did most of the clothing people wore. Only the girls in white, scattered among the congregation, had to endure the translucent gowns like the one Sara wore.

The girl could easily have been from the agro-pod village—trusting, happy, unafraid. The group she brought Sara to wore similarly colored outfits.

“I love your dress.” Actually Sara considered Nora’s outfit repressively disgusting. But she had to know what the outfits meant and why she had to be so exposed.

Nora ran her hands along the heavy cotton. “Thanks. Mr. Wesley has spoken for me, so I get to eat with his family.”

Sara wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that meant, but shying away from the information would be the fearful response. “What does that mean?”

The girl looked up at her as if she’d asked what a spoon was used for. “Girls have to wear clothes like yours until some man claims us. We can’t marry for another year, but Mr. Wesley lets me wear the colors of his family and eat with his other wives and children. He’s very nice. Most girls have to stay with their parents until they marry.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I love my parents, but if I’m under their care, Father Damien’s still in charge of my discipline. He can be really strict. Mr. Wesley is much more understanding of a young girl’s nature.”

As Sara took a seat with the polygamist family, she couldn’t help but draw some comparisons with the village she loved. Sure, people could and should love more than just one person, but the village didn’t view women as possessions. Young girls like Nora needed education and life experiences in order to figure out what they wanted. Not likely she’d get that growth by being manipulated into marrying Mr. Wesley.
Like she has a choice.
None of the other wives around the table contributed much to the conversation that swirled around Sara. Mostly, it was just the head of the family issuing orders for the day.

Then there was the whole issue of discipline. In the village, Mira might work one of her students hard to get them to control their desires or expand their knowledge, but it was never done in a belittling fashion. Ideas of corporal punishment had gone the way of projectile weapons—neither of which ever seemed to achieve their stated goals. You didn’t get obedience through humiliation any more than you created peace with violence.
Just wait until my father gets here. He’ll set you all straight.

“Can you tell me where I am?” Sara figured it was worth a try. The more she knew, the easier it’d be to start changing things.

“The Church of Reminisce. We’ll talk later. Father Damien is about to start his sermon, and he hates being interrupted.”

Great, it’s not just Jonathan I’ve got to deal with. It’s a whole bloody religion.
She’d studied enough of mankind’s history to know too many wars began as disputes over beliefs.

Sara quietly ate the bowl of porridge. She found it disgusting—and she’d eaten her share of disgusting, so she would know. She performed her usual analysis to determine exactly how revolting the meal was relative to her scale of ice cream at the absolute best and Ellie’s sorry attempt at meatloaf at the worst. It was slimy, grayish-tan, lumpy, and went down like paste in her throat.

New winner for absolute worst food ever.
For scientific reasons, she forced her stomach to accept the full bowl. It helped to distract her from the ugly man preaching from the front of the hall.

“We need to get back to living as God intended. This technological abomination can be overcome just as we combat any sin. We’ve all struggled with desire. Temptations are all around us every day. It’s through vanquishing these dark thoughts that we’re made pure. But we don’t have to do this alone. Every member of this congregation works as a part of the whole—”

Sara lost interest. The gruel in front of her had more appeal.
And this is what Jonathan wants for me—to be some virginally pure, uneducated innocent?
Man, that boat had sailed. The real question was: did he want her as his perfect child bride, a stand-in for her mother, or did he really intend to protect her against all suitors until he found the one perfect boy for her to marry?

It didn’t matter. Her parents would move heaven and Earth, possibly literally, to find her. You didn’t go stealing the daughter of a god. Especially not one whose technological children were all-knowing, immortal creatures capable of manifesting anywhere on Earth. So long as Jonathan didn’t load her onto a transport for some deserted lump of terraformed rock, she’d be found. It was only a matter of time. And then all hell would break loose.

* * *

S
ara wondered
if Father Damien’s office ever looked respectable. The wooden chair hurt her back. Whoever had cut the legs so its occupant would have to look up to the gaudy throne hadn’t done a good job. The chair rocked on the uneven legs. She suspected the same pathetic woodworker had fashioned the rough paddles that lined the sidewall. Fear still played about the edges of her stomach, making the disgusting porridge gurgle up into her mouth. It took a few adjustments to sit in the chair such that the white gown didn’t cling to areas she wished to remain private.

Sitting uncomfortably close on the garish seat of authority, Father Damien smelled even worse than he looked. Abandoning technology was one thing, but did that really have to extend to oral hygiene? Sara did her best not to stare, but that only reinforced the original observation about his odor.

“I’m not marrying Jonathan. I don’t know what kind of sick, child-bride factory you’re running here, but you can count me out.” She longed to tell him what would happen when her father found out, but that would be too cliché. Still, she couldn’t prevent the thought that kept playing around in her mind.
Wait until my father gets here.