Thirty Four Minutes DEAD (33 page)

The posters had been in production within an hour of Fray’s execution. Vance had been engulfed by flames just after 01:00 am, and yet by seven that same morning, several hundred prints decorated the Washington venue. Both the image and the warning scared Diana Fearston to a level that forced a cold sweat to break out on her brow. She knew that her fall-through discovery could easily be construed as a hidden agenda, and she had heard that some MC staff would shortly have their own mindsight read. Evidence of her discovery would be almost certainly locked in both her MC vaults and this caused the fear to grow within her. She decided that her only survival option involved her seeking a personal audience with Leif Denison - immediately!

The woman had to wait for a couple of hours as Denison was being briefed by Wheeler following Fray’s execution. The security head had acted rashly, without obeying the ‘green-light’ edict that the MC Project controller usually had to authorise for summary executions. Despite this disregard for protocol, Denison favoured both the killing and the poster bombardment. After initially castigating Wheeler to a level that left Jess temporarily fearing for the ‘gun hand’, Leif proceeded to congratulate his wayward security head for the climate of fear that he had intensified in the Designation. As far as Denison was concerned, fear aligned his workforce, breeding passive conformity and ostracising maverick tendencies. As Wheeler made to leave Denison’s control-room, the project leader summarised his message with a near perfect hookline.

“You’re our security king at twenty-nine, Jess - tow my line but don’t dull your razor!”

Fearston eventually received her desired audience with Denison, and she launched straight into her membrane fall-through confession. Like Wheeler before her, she was fearful of the retribution outcomes that may get fired in her direction. She shook with trepidation.

Denison surveyed her intently, as she blurted out her story. When she had finished her account of the fall-through discovery, the project leader made her sweat for a minute of ‘pregnant’ silence before commencing his inquisition.

“Subject 22 was the only person who exhibited fall-through symptoms in your research sample?”

“Yes sir”.

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“Yes Mr Denison, all my other explorations went to form”.

“Good, so why tell me now, Miss Fearston?”

“I was petrified that you would see evidence of my research in my MC vaults, sir. I believe that we are going to be explored via neurological probing, as we have explored others in the past”.

“You won’t be in the first test-phase, if at all. We don’t see you as a main-line threat. A few blemishes have occurred, but essentially we admire your loyalty”.

“Why was I on the Rochaux list then, sir?”

“Greg’s a good man but too many people were catching his fire. You as his understudy naturally caught his flame”.

Denison’s words had so far calmed Fearston to a level, but his line of inquiry persisted nonetheless.

“You and who else carried out the fall-through research?”

“No one, Mr Denison. The work was a continuation of the
déjà-vu
project that I commenced at the Sorbonne”.

“So no one else knows about your findings, then?”

“Just Gregory sir, but he has kept silent. I trust him totally and have the utmost respect for him”.

A wry smile crept across Leif Denison’s face before he continued.

“Oh yes. Gregory has kept your silence, hasn’t he?”

“He’s a good man sir. You said so yourself. He was only trying to protect me”.

Denison went silent again and after gaining more confidence, Fearston took the verbal lead.

“Is Greg amongst the first MC Project test batch? Can you tell me when it commences?”

“Getting braver. That’s good, it shows spirit, Diana. Affirmative with regard to your first question and ‘tomorrow’ with regard to your secondary line of enquiry. Six MC Project staff will wear the mobile exploration headgear. We will activate from these quarters. Mr Sant has already undertaken some of these ‘fly on the wall’ type explorations upon non-project individuals. He will be our ‘main-man’ with regard to the control of our workforce exploration sampling. Now, head up woman. Every great invention has a margin of error. Subject 22 never happened. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir”.

“Good. Encode it as a bad dream. If anyone else hears, we know what could happen, don’t we?”

“Yes”.

“I bid you good day, Miss Fearston. Enjoy your work”.

Fearston left Denison’s quarters with his choice words ringing in her ears. She knew that a ‘low-profile’ now beckoned her and with that in mind, she resisted any temptation to confide in Vain. Fray’s old division were going to be amalgamated with other exploration teams under the auspices of Dwight Richards, but that would not take place until after the week-long leave period that most project members would enjoy in three days time. Diana Fearston retired to her sleeping quarters, to escape into the classical music that always rejuvenated her spirit.

Greg heard about the unit transfer and impending leave-period on his
Comm-Lynx
. He as yet knew nothing of the mobile MC scanning that would await him in the morning. Vain looked forward to being reunited with Tanya and his children. The highland project-village was an enticing prospect and he would be back to share early September with his wife, to share a slice of autumn, their favourite season. He wondered what Tanya would make of his ‘new face’, but he also knew that the ‘face-value’ had never been one of her highest concerns and so old ‘yellow-eyes’ wouldn’t be turned away! Greg turned his thoughts to the project. He hated what MC directives now seemed to represent. He hated prerogative three, he hated Wheeler’s gun determined control and he hated most of those who were key players in the new MC directions. As far as Vain was concerned, a form of dictatorial project control had replaced the ethics that had cemented the initial active exploration work. He envisaged a global culture would ensue where MC Project initiatives would wean society from the womb to the coffin and he was sure that if this transpired, resistance would be quelled by the bullet. Greg understood that the first metaphorical dominoes in this chain had already fallen and he felt that humility, innocence and autonomy had fifty years at best. The ‘Tavini hundred’ had already been halved in his mind.

Greg tried to contact Diana Fearston several times that day, but when her door remained shut after his third attempt, he assumed that his understudy was still exhausted after Fray’s execution. He had seen the warning posters but he hadn’t been surprised by their presence. This kind of fear display was, to him, just another symptom of the immoral crevice that his once beloved project had fallen into. He saw no one that day.

Greg found sleep difficult to obtain that night, and only three hours had been acquired when Dwight Richards and Marco Sant awoke him. The latter detailed the purpose of the visit.

“Morning, Greg. You’re one of the chosen few! You and five other project staff are going to be in our first wave of personnel vault surveillance. We felt you deserve to be amongst the honoured six. After all, no one has contributed more to our cause than you did in your pioneering research period”.

As Sant and Richards fitted the tracking equipment onto Vain’s head, Greg inwardly laughed at the black satire behind Sant’s complimentary words. He said nothing in reply, but winced a bit as the contraption was anchored across his temple region. The headgear contained the conversion and extraction parts that were featured in the arena explorations that he had undertaken, but he essentially wore a prototype - a machine that could explore him as he moved about the Designation. Vain knew an ‘activation centre’ existed somewhere in the building, but he wasn’t scared any longer. He knew that he had no way of removing the hate and anger in his mind. He also knew that he had wished Wheeler, Tavini and even Denison dead many times, and he was certain that each ‘mindsight slaying’ would paint a vivid visual picture - one of non-compliance, of revolutionary thinking. Dwight Richards ironically seemed to read his mind.

“Don’t worry, Greg. You know yourself that we all think things that we would never incarnate into action. Mr Denison has been quite insistent with myself and Mr Sant, that we point this factor out to all the first phase subjects. He wants to allay fears, he wants you to think freely. Now, do have you any questions before we commence your twenty-four hour surveillance period?”

“Just one, gentlemen. Have you ever seen a triceratops on a skateboard?”

Vain collapsed into a fit of laughter as the pair left. Their faces were masks of sobriety.

The wisecrack had temporarily brought Gregory Vain out of his melancholia and he decided that he would socialise amongst his peers, rather than sink into the hatred he now felt for the project. Greg made straight for the breakfast cafeterias, and his appearance made for a surreal portrait amidst the well-dressed ranks of the project assemblage. When people saw that Vain was one of those in the first surveillance phase, many rallied around him, giving him their support and shaking his hand. Most MC Project staff had received news of the commencement of surveillance early that morning through either their
Comm-Lynx
or word of mouth. Greg was a popular figure as far as the vast majority of the project cohort were concerned, and as the personnel were enjoying a three-day ‘wind down’ before the leave period, a gregarious collective attitude ensued. People knew that Vain would fare better if numbers surrounded him and if he entered non-project topics of discussion. Silo and Blyth Carson were instrumental in cracking open vintage red wines in what turned out to be an almost unheard of ‘project drinking session’! When Greg slipped into his thoughts, a Vainite around him would take his mind off project parameters. Greg was deeply touched by the loyalty of such a collective gesture, but he, like his friends around him, knew that potentially damaging visual material lay in the recesses of both of his MC vaults. In many ways his was the party as the boat was sinking.

Carson and one of the original ‘forty’ from the Venison exploration eventually carried Greg back to his quarters. He hadn’t been rendered paralytic through drink, he had just sunk quietly into a sleep, worn down by the rare tide of so much good emotion within a Designation. Fearston and Levene hadn’t been in attendance at the impromptu social gathering, but he had hardly registered their absence due to the sustained ‘bon-hommie’.

Vain awoke, and laughed to himself as he felt mock party streamers around his surveillance headgear. Alone in the darkness of his room he started to realise that a sound from just inside the doorway had woken him.

“Who the fuck’s there?”

“Long time no see, Mr Vain.”

Levene came and sat on Vain’s bed. He could discern her more clearly as his eyes became accustomed to the faint illumination generated by the corridor lighting that stole in from the base of his door.

“Yeah it’s a long time, Marcia. I thought you were in Tavini’s pocket”.

“No just his bed, Gregory.”

Vain fought the anger that was mounting inside him.

“So why the visit then?”

The fingers clawed inside the sheets, kneading the foreskin of his semi-hard penis.

“I thought maybe a last time, Greg. I’d like to take you whilst you’re wearing your surveillance scanner. It’s a device that entraps you, it excites my libido. You must know that. I mean, they won’t be activating it right now, will they Greg?”

Vain’s penis stiffened as Levene’s long hands set to work. The red wine profusion had made him less sharp than usual, but slowly the woman’s masturbation started to weave its spell. Vain allowed Levene to continue, if only to pay Tavini back in some carnal point score. Marcia Levene continued to speak in an imploring tone.

“You’ve got to make up with David you know. He’s a big part of our future - the only future. Prerogative three is a bliss-ticket really, Greg. Yeah sure, I see your point about needing hate but...”

Levene’s voice dropped to a very low pitch that made meaning impossible, and her fingers simultaneously quickened to prepare Vain for a powerful climax.

The audible tone returned.

“...I mean Belinda probably had more bliss in her four years than we will register in seventy”.

Vain broke free from the woman’s hold.

“Hold on Levene, that line was too final, too past tense. What the hell has happened to her?”

“A tragic accident Greg, really tragic”.

Vain lost control and shook the woman violently.

“What the fuck happened to her?”