Insequor (13 page)

“About this church.”

“What about it?”

“I’ll need to do some preparation and speak to some of them.”

He idly checked his email messages and waved at Jones. “Do whatever you have to. Ask for whatever you need.”

“Okay,” said Jones, getting up. “Well, take care and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He was only faintly aware of the door closing as Jones made his way out. On his phone he searched through the internet, twitter, Instagram…everywhere. There he was. There HE was.

The comments where almost too much to take in. Love. Admiration. Hatred. Bile. Disgust. Fear. Everyone had a judgment. What would he think if it was someone else? Would he post a comment? ‘Like’ an offensive picture?

People had photo-shopped Daniel’s head onto the robots. Dollars coming out of his pockets. There were jokes and insinuations. There were weird sexual images. Someone had even made a porn movie with a guy who frankly looked nothing like Daniel and some poor wannabe starlet in a latex robot costume.

This was never going away so he had to accept it. But maybe it was time he put some distance between himself and the world.

In the split second he had to look Pastor Johan up and down, Daniel pretty much learned everything he needed to. The shoes were safe and comfortable, clean and ever so softly worn. The trousers neat and pressed, a shiny black that suggested money but a lack of fashion sense. The white minister’s robe came down from the chest to just above the knee. It was silky and bright with various mystical shapes and symbols stretching downwards like cosmic traffic. The face offered warmth but sought reassurance. The soft white hair crossing gently over baldness, the skin wrinkled but friendly and the jawline firm but at the same time yielding.

But it was the eyes that troubled him. The eyes stared back from beyond the face as if the man’s mind was somewhere else. Daniel wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a pleasant place or not, but the distance and detachment within them was something that made his chest tighten.

The Interstellar Church of Truth and Fate had only just been completed. Funded entirely by donations it stood a full six stories, the main entrance a curious arrangement of pyramids, moons and a star encrusted archway. Additionally, white marble columns had been slotted in place to give the narthex hall a truly cathedrallike feel.

Inside, several hundred members of Pastor Johan’s ‘flock’ were stood around as Daniel posed for the pre-arranged photo opportunity. They too were dressed in robes and gowns, some with images of the robot tastefully woven in, others with various symbols and icons he had never seen before. A lot of them had copies of a book,
The Teachings of the Robot
, either in their hands or clutched to their chest. He had been given a copy of it but had not had the time or inclination to read. It was some nonsense speculating where the robot originated from; a world call
Karr,
without any evidence to back it up other than Pastor Johan’s ramblings. It was the cornerstone of the church.

The Pastor was shaking his hand so much now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. Both physically and mentally.

“It’s an absolute honour,” said Johan, through his smile. The accent was southern, but gentrified. He had a habit of making the words snake around once they had left his mouth. “We believe the robot’s teachings will change mankind as a whole.”

He nodded and turned to the wall of photographers, the flashes making his skin false and electric white. Teachings? What had the robot taught anyone? All it did was follow him. Relentlessly.

A Dictaphone was shoved in front of him, shortly followed by a hand and an arm.

“Mr Loman, how do you feel about being deified?”

His head shot back instinctively. Where was his PR officer? “Well, I don’t know about that…”

More Dictaphones and microphones flocked, like flies smelling a turd. He made sure he had their attention; he couldn’t get this one wrong.

“I think what we have here today is a group of people setting up an institution to progress mankind and continue the search for truth that lies within us all. I’m glad to offer my support.”

They were starting to squash him now and a few at the rear were shoving. He got shunted backward and had to lean forward to steady himself. Somewhere near the back he spotted Jones forcefully cutting through the crowd.

Another reporter, this time with a TV camera behind her perfectly blow dried blonde hair, spoke up. “What do
you
think the robot can teach us?”

“I’m not sure,” said Daniel, “but we have to try and learn. We know it holds many secrets and it our duty to try and discover what they are. All I pray for is that he offers humanity some kind of hope.”

“What do you think would happen if the robot ever caught you?”

This one again, he didn’t know how many times he had answered. Here came Jones. “I don’t know and I don’t want to find out.”

Jones put his arm across his chest and gently walked him backward to the main door where a security team had been setup to provide an exit. The crowd was following though; people were shouting out questions. Reporters started yelling at him from less than a foot away and cameras flashed again. The TV crews were worse with their spotlights’ dazzling him without respite. He couldn’t see and couldn’t hear anything. He panicked and shouted for Jones.

“I’m right here,” said Jones, from his side. “Turn around head toward the exit.” He felt a familiar hand around his elbow.

The sweat of the crowd was now in his nostrils, the noise barely recognisable as human voices. People were being barged now and he thought he saw one man disappear onto the floor. More shouts, more shoving. A camera on top of a man’s shoulders was turned and hit someone on the head. A fist was swung.

But still Jones continued the firm walk to the back exit. Stoically he waded through the crowd; his old but still very strong arms pushing people like a beach beating back waves.

“This way,” he said “We have a backup plan.” Jones was pointing at two new members of the team stood near a roped off arrivals area through a side door where there was a car waiting.

As they approached the two security men stepped forward to block the doorway and the mob couldn’t follow anymore.

“Quite a crowd,” said Daniel, adjusting his jacket and looking over his shoulder. The two guards were linking arms and the doorway was completely impassable. That didn’t stop a few photographers trying to poke their cameras through.

“Makes me nervous,” said Jones, looking around. “Did you know your previous security team didn’t sweep areas beforehand?”

“Something, I trust, you’ve corrected,” said Daniel. Straightening his cuffs, he finally seemed happy and waved over at the car. A driver stepped out and made his way to the back door of the limo to open it.

“You bet,” said Jones, “The area’s clean but I couldn’t get hold of a guest list. I didn’t know there was going to be this many people. Why didn’t you tell me they hadn’t organized their own security here?”

“Is that an issue?”

“Security is a joint operation in a situation like this. There’s not even a cop here; nobody told the local police.”

The two made their way across a red carpet to the car, the driver turning to stand by the open car door.

“Hey, it’s a new religion. How can you predict attendances?”

But Jones wasn’t listening. He was looking straight past him. Something was wrong. Daniel turned, and there in front of them holding a gun was the driver. Except it wasn’t their driver.

“You’re not Jesus!” he said. The gun was shaking violently in his hand. Sweat was trickling from underneath the ill-fitting chauffeur’s hat down past a strip of greasy hair.

Daniel was suddenly aware that he was stood alone. There was space all around him. His throat dried and he couldn’t speak.

The man waved the gun again. “You’re not Jesus!”

He tried to shake his head, but his neck was stiff. It creaked and cracked but wouldn’t shift. He mouthed words but no noise came out.

Then there was a gunshot. Loud, close, unmistakeable. Both he and the driver started. They looked at each other, both helpless and frightened. Two more shots. Then the man gave a curious whimper, his head tilted and he looked at Daniel, not with anger, but for help.

The gun rattled as it hit the floor and he crumpled to his knees. His hand went to his chest, bright red blood already blotting through the blue shirt.

Daniel finally managed to get his breath out. “Please,” he said, his voice a croak. After a moment he could hear shouting. He looked and saw Jones standing ten feet to his side. Down on one knee, his long face sad and his grey hair looking almost white in the sun. The gun was still smoking in his hand, a steely look of distaste on his face. For a few moments the sights trailed the fall of the chauffeur slowly until they were pointing down at the floor. Jones stood up and made his way forward, blanking Daniel and keeping his gun trained on the body.

The man was dead, but Jones wasn’t taking any chances. “Daniel, there’s two men in another car just around the corner. I want you to follow me now, don’t look back.”

But he was frozen. He couldn’t turn his head from the man on the floor. Jones grabbed him, his eyes wide. “Keep looking at me.”

They walked, slowly at first, Daniel’s feet seeming to catch on the floor. Then, he felt Jones’s arm around him; first supporting, then pulling him onward. They reached a corner, the tarmac extending uninterrupted in all directions, a glass brick of an office stretching high above.

The sun reflected off everything making a haze in front of his eyes. Before he knew it there was a car in front, two men leaping out. They exchanged concerned glances with Jones, Daniel didn’t recognise them. As the three talked, their gazes kept flicking up above at windows, balconies and rooftops then back down to sidewalks.

After a brief discussion, throughout which Daniel remained frozen, they checked phones and guns. Eventually, Jones signalled for him to get in the car. He did so; it was soft inside and quiet. Jones leaned in, one hand on the roof.

“We’re going to head back to the plane. Two more cars will join up in about a mile. You good?”

The other two men sat down in front, both giving him a nod.

“What happened?” said Daniel.

“I shot him.”

“Who was he?”

Jones pulled himself inside and Daniel budged up. The car started to move and crowds spilled out of the Church of Interstellar Truth and fate; but people didn’t notice them slip past.

“Left here,” said Jones, to the driver. “It doesn’t matter who he was Daniel, my job was to protect you.”

“I never thought anyone would want to hurt me.”

“That’s no longer the case.”

He sat back in the seat and held his sleeves tightly in both hands. Now that the adrenalin had left his system he felt weak, tired. Part of him wanted to cry. Jones maintained his steady gaze on the road, barking directions over the driver’s shoulder. Daniel just watched the streets and people blur past.

It wasn’t long before they arrived outside the airport where security waved them through as Jones had called ahead. They drove around the side, past the wagons of fuel and those vehicles that were essentially a set of stairs; out onto the runway which was strangely quiet. A lone freight plane grumbled at them as they sped past toward Daniel’s private jet.

In the airplane he downed a drink and then settled back to try and sleep. The pilot said it would take two hours to get to their destination. But in his mind, he had already gone there.

Jones stayed awake. Occasionally he looked over at Daniel, but mostly he stared at the window. The orange sun was setting below the clouds and the windows started to mist. The one-time detective sipped at his drink but didn’t speak. Never once did he look at the gun in his holster on the seat next to him. It was the first time he had fired it as far as Daniel knew. What he couldn’t have known was that Jones prayed it would be the last.

In the months after the shooting Daniel found himself more and more wary of people and situations. He turned down as many interviews and promotions as he could. Money was lost, but his business interests were now rocketing anyway.

The movie had mushroomed into a trilogy. He got a cut of all the accompanying media and merchandise too. Without lifting a finger, he saw his net worth head into the hundreds of millions. The sheer amount of money he had was hard for him to comprehend. He could have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. But when the accompanying boredom turned into isolation, and when he felt depression creeping in he decided it was time to act.

At first he thought he just needed to busy himself with a new project. So he contacted a few charities and got involved. Donations were made, dinners held and awards distributed. But there was still something missing and pretty soon he got an inkling of what it was. Something the old Daniel would have failed to resolve; but not him.

It was late afternoon when he arrived at the house. He pressed the buzzer; something he’d often fantasized about but never done. He’d barely had time to look down the leafy street when, within seconds, the door opened and she was there.

When he looked into Veronica’s eyes golden islands in seas of blackness stared back. Her soft, slender face seemed to shimmer with a white radiance. The shadows of her cheekbones drew the eye to her mouth. Pale, pink lips broke into a smile and immediately he felt a tingle rush over him. This was the stuff.

“Daniel?”

He held out his arms in what he hoped was friendly affection as opposed to a crushing desire for human warmth.

“Veronica.”

As they hugged, his eyes went past her head into the house. He could see her living room. Modest, but modern. Some clothes on the couch, a big screen TV and an exercise bike near the kitchen. He guessed she was still single; a pizza box on the table next to an empty glass of wine.

“This is a surprise. How are you? Everybody’s been talking about you here,” she said, bouncing a little and tapping her hands together.

He nodded, “I’m good. Life is…. different, but I manage. What about you? It’s been, how long now?”

“About three years since the day it arrived. Remember, there was that fire alarm at work?” She unconsciously twirled her hair. It was magnificent.

“You still there?”

“Yes. We moved offices, obviously. Uptown. But I got promoted, I’m Team Leader now. The bad part is I work for Tom, you remember him, right?”

“Was he the guy that got caught with the intern?”

“Yep.”

They both shared a laugh. She looked so happy. Was he being selfish, coming here? What could he offer her except disruption?

“I thought you might like to get a coffee?” Gone was the awkwardness in his voice. Daniel had no time for it. She seemed surprised; was she, inside her mind, running through all manner of eventualities? Perhaps, even, some of the same ones as him.

“That would be great. I’ll get my purse.” She disappeared around the corner, perhaps two or three steps, and then re-appeared.

“Shall I drive?”

He turned and looked at the limo parked down the street. Two security men and a chauffeur, all armed discreetly, were stood next to it. It occurred to him to run off, but then he through better of it.

“It’s probably easier if we take my car.”

She took his hand without asking and led him. Surprised, but relieved, he followed her to the limo, waving the chauffeur back so he could help her in. As they set off with a smooth hum from the engine, they both eased back into their seats. He realised they were still holding hands. Veronica noticed too, and she slid hers back onto her lap, making it look like a natural movement as she flattened her dress.

As they drove into town he scanned the buildings and people. Some were familiar, some were new. The folks all seemed happy enough, still pottering around the same small streets. From behind the mirrored window of the car he took in their faces and thoughts. Ever since he became famous most people tended to stare so it was refreshing to enjoy privacy in so public a place.

The car cruised along Main Street finally pulling up at ‘Jackie’s Ice Cream Parlour’ where they got out, Daniel swiftly putting on some sunglasses. He held his hand up at the security team to let them know he wanted to be left alone and followed Veronica inside.

It was as it had always been since about 1955; turquoise blue counters with bold red edging running above a chrome façade just like an old Cadillac. On the walls were pictures of Elvis, Buddy Holly and Marilyn Monroe. But this wasn’t some kitsch modern take – the pictures were really about fifty years old. Upon closer inspection you could see yellowing around the edges, the gilt frames starting to peel and the neon lights blinking intermittently. They grabbed a table and he automatically started browsing the juke box that was perched on the wall.

A nickel down, Little Richard started to blare out over the speakers; loud enough to raise a few cheery smiles, but not so loud as to drown out conversation.

“I love this song,” said Veronica and, as ‘Lucille’ blared out, she too looked around taking it all in as if with fresh eyes. “I never thought I’d see
you
here again.”

“It’s a place I’ve wanted to come to for a while now. But it’s been hard.”

She nodded and the two let their heads return to their idle observing. A waitress came up, pink cotton tabard with a white cap, and cast a second glance at Daniel before Veronica caught her gaze. She ordered a couple of coffees and the waitress left, a quizzical look in her eyes.

“This thing that’s following you, what is it?”

“Everybody asks me that question.” He adjusted the cuff of his shirt, his palm idly wiping a smudge. “I wish I knew the answer. Nowadays I’ve gotten so used to it I think of it as a part of me; my shadow.”

Veronica’s eyes slumped in understanding; if she’d been hoping for the big reveal now was the moment she understood she wasn’t going to get it. The waitress placed two cups on the table and then went over to an old couple who had just walked in.

“And where is your shadow today?” she said, over the top of her coffee.

He pulled out his phone and flicked to a screen. He placed it on the table and spun it around slowly so she could see a map with a blinking red dot.

“He’s in the Atlantic, about five thousand feet below sea level.”

“So I don’t need to rush my coffee?”

They laughed. A simple laugh, a polite laugh almost, but it felt good. He felt his spine sink back into the plastic chair. At any other time, he would have been uncomfortable, but not today. Not here, not right now.

“So how have you been?” he said.

“Busy,” she replied, “the whole department has upsized. We could have done with you!”

“I never thought I was that important?”

“Everybody liked you, Daniel.”

“Did you?”

She looked down at her coffee, her cheeks suddenly red.

“We never did make that bike ride,” he said. “I’m here for a few days. How about it?”

“Yes, that would be…very fine.”

A sadness crossed her face, just for a split second. She recovered but he’d seen it. “I tried to call, you know? Message you. I could never get through. A couple of times I got one of your assistants but I think they just thought I was another crazy.”

“It’s been a crazy time. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve been placed in the strangest situation.”

“That’s what the Vice-President said to me.”

“Friends in high places, huh?” She smiled, “What do
they
think it is? Really.”

“
They
don’t know, either.”

“But there must be a theory, right? Everybody has one.”

“Do they?”

“Oh, sure. It’s an alien or it’s from another dimension seem to be the most popular ones, but I’m not convinced.”

“Oh,” he said, and a grin escaped. “So where do
you
think he’s from?”

Veronica bit her lip. “Not where,
when
. I think he’s from the future. Maybe one of your descendants does something bad and he’s been sent here to stop you procreating!” She paused for a second, and then smiled before breaking into a giggle.

“That’s quite a theory,” he said, scratching his chin. “Sent to stop me having kids? You think he has some kind of infertility ray gun?”

“The sperminator!” she said, spluttering coffee down her top. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t joke. I saw you on TV; that godawful actress. I hate her films.”

“Well, it’s a theory and not one of the strangest. The problem is I don’t have any kids.”

“Not yet you don’t,” she said, with not a trace of sarcasm.