The SubVersion Complex, Chapter Fifteen (Revised)

Continuing the march of revised chapters, this one has been more rearranged than rewritten, with hopefully a better end result and a better fit with the story as a whole. It is by far my favorite scene of the entire book so far, and one that made me cry when I wrote it.

Also, a tidbit: Sonya is the Russian-derived nickname for the feminine name "Sophia", which comes from Greek and means "wisdom". I'll let you draw your own conclusions . . .

Here is the new Chapter 15 of The SubVersion Complex. This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.

╗ FIFTEEN ╚

SONYA

It took much longer than a couple hours for the brain scan to complete. Anna and the doctor worked on everything else they could think of in the meantime waiting for it, but it seemed like it would never finish. The doctor's optimism didn't appear to wane much under the pressure of waiting, but his energy levels definitely did. He was moving quite a bit slower by the time four o'clock rolled around and he found himself continuously yawning. Anna on the other hand grew more and more tense as the hours passed, consumed with thoughts of Daniel and his hacker buddies and the code slicer in the bag silently but persistently chipping away at the encrypted files.

At four fifty-five the doctor yawned one last time and grabbed his coat from a nearby workbench. “I have officially had enough for one day. That's what I get for going sleepless last night.” He chuckled and patted Anna's arm. “You're younger and hardier than I, Anna. Would you be able to stay and make sure that the brain wave sequencer finishes correctly, if indeed it finishes tonight at all? It looks like it shouldn't take more than hour, I hope.”

Anna nodded as casually as she could and Dr. Jarrod thanked her and turned on his heel towards the door. At the door he gave Anna a little wave and disappeared, leaving her all alone in the room.

She glanced up at the ceiling and frowned. Not quite all alone, she thought as she stared into the electronic eyeball of a security camera. After double-checking to make sure her hands could not be seen by the camera, she turned slowly to the other workbench where her tablet sat and peeked into the bag to see the status of her files. With a flop of her stomach she saw that both files were done. She unplugged the slicer, pulled the tablet out of its case and spun back around in her chair, attempting to maintain a sense of nonchalance despite the thumping vein in her temple. She crossed her legs and set the tablet on her knee with the screen away from the cameras and began to peruse the files.

The first one she opened was a collection of vital statistics running for many, many long pages, but a picture at the top of the data readout caught her attention. The image was of a woman, a very young beautiful woman with pale skin, long brown hair, and piercing brown eyes. The eyes were the picture of sadness and resignation, and the mouth was drawn in a taut unhappy line.

Anna gazed for a long time at the picture. What was this? A personnel profile? She couldn't be sure what she felt, but a hunch began to form in her mind. She stared at the picture for a long pregnant moment, then began skimming again. The middle section of the data ran in a monotonous string for pages and pages but Anna was not interested in that part. She skimmed towards the end and was eventually rewarded with something intriguing.

The “Notes” sections on all the other pages had remained blank for the most part, besides the occasional stray comment or odd observation. Near the end of the file, however, the notes sections transformed into a veritable diary of eventful happenings, and Anna examined them with growing interest and alarm. One note in particular caught her eye; it read, “Estimated date of unauthorized sexual activity between subject and D.M., will use to backdate pregnancy. Monitor for any continued contact.”

D.M.? Daniel Marcus, no doubt. This must have been the woman he had been involved with, and if the data was to be believed they had been lovers. No wonder he wanted to know where she was so badly. Anna's heart melted unexpectedly for him and for his pain; she could forgive some of his cruel behavior to her for that. But a question persisted in her mind that she could not shake, something she needed an understandable answer to before she would be willing to absolve Daniel of all blame. What was the Subversion Complex for, and why was this woman there at all? If it was indeed a prison, then there had to be a reason she had been locked up.

She scrolled to the end of the file and saw a final grouping of data points, followed by a note that read, “Subject put back into cold storage until further notice.” Above that was a box labeled “Subject Location,” and it read “SubVersion Complex, Cold Storage Room 3, Drawer 1049.”

Cold storage? Drawer? Anna's skin crawled and she sat back in her chair, as if physical space between her and the eerie file on her tablet could save her from its disturbing power. And she cocked her head at the spelling: SubVersion. She had assumed it was the word “subversion,” a surefire conspiracy theorist term used by crackpots who railed against the government. But looking at it now it seemed awfully similar to HomoGen's “Versions.” The only problem was she had never heard of a “SubVersion” before. Her puzzlement increased, and soon she was doubting whether they had any connection at all. She quickly closed out the file and opened the other, but it proved to be little better.

Grimacing at her from the top of the new file was the image of a child, probably six or seven years old, with a shaven head and prominent facial features. Although Anna knew it was a female from what Daniel had told her, it would have been difficult to tell just by looking at the picture whether it was a boy or a girl. The girl's sunken eyes exuded sadness and the tight line of her mouth only added to the disturbing effect. Anna stared for several seconds in a sort of fascinated unease at the face, then slowly began to comb through the text of the data. It gave things similar to the first file like running stats of height, weight, body temperature, and hundreds of other data points that stretched for pages and pages.

But that picture haunted her imagination. She realized that the woman and this girl bore a striking resemblance to each other, so striking that they could be mother and daughter. No, they have to be mother and daughter, it's the only way that this all makes sense, Anna mused uncomfortably. It all jived perfectly with what Daniel had told her and the notes section in the other file.

Finally, near the end, Anna found something interesting. The section featured the title “Subject Transfer History” and gave a short list of what looked like differing locations. At the end sat a small note, which simply read “Specimen signed out indefinitely to Dr. Konrath Jarrod. Final subject location: Laboratory A1A, Central Administration Complex.”

Below that, very clearly signed with a flourish, was Dr. Jarrod's signature.

A cold sweat broke out over Anna's entire body as she slowly put the tablet back into its case. So the transfer order ended up here, in this very room, she thought. The eerie conclusion clicked in her mind. That means that the little girl in the picture is somewhere in this room right now. She glanced around the lab in a futile attempt to divine where the girl might be, but nothing immediately presented itself. It was only when her eye fell on the main display of the reactive computer that a horrible thought came into her mind.

Behind the display, buried in its network of cables and paraphernalia was the heart of the reactive computer, the coffin-like black box that Anna had fleetingly thought earlier could comfortably house a small child.

No, it couldn't be . . .

The notion disturbed her so badly that it was an effort to remain outwardly calm. She walked over to the reactive computer and stood standing there for several seconds, running her fingers over the edges of the displays. Only two things surfaced in her mind: that there was someone inside the box, and that Dr. Jarrod knew about it. Not only did he know, but it seemed he had signed off on the little girl's transfer. And he had left Anna all alone in the room with it.

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For the next hour Anna's spirit raged inside her as she waited in agony for the reactive computer to finish the scan. She could not shake the horrid feeling of being not alone.

Left alone with that . . . thing.

Thing, girl, monstrous creature, whatever it was. If indeed that was what was in the box, but Anna somehow had no doubt in her mind that the box did contain what she feared it did. There was no other place for the girl to hide in the lab, unless . . . she was in more than one piece. Anna shuddered at the thought and desperately thrust that possibility out of her mind. She would go with her first assumption for now.

There was nothing to do but wait for the scan to complete. Anna found she couldn't get comfortable in any position, whether sitting or standing or pacing around. The whole awful concept burned in her mind like nothing ever had before. At one point she turned toward the computer and the desperate thought occurred to her that she could pop the box open and confirm her suspicions once and for all, but she recoiled just as quickly and decided against it.

Her mind churned for answers but none came. Only questions bubbled to the surface. She knew Dr. Jarrod was more than aware what he was doing, but how the thought of using a little girl for an experiment ever entered his head she could not fathom. How many other people knew what was actually going on here? Did Adam know?

She felt her stomach growing sick again at the thought of the girl. What had they done to her? Why had they done it? And worst of all, why had she been trapped inside the SubVersion Complex for what looked like years before being shipped here to be used as part of an experiment? Which led back to her original question . . .

What was the SubVersion Complex?

She shuddered again and put it out of her head for the moment. There were bigger and more immediate problems at hand. She turned to the main display on the computer and with a shock realized that the scan had completed. The scan is complete. Theoretically that means that I can talk to the brain inside. The brain inside . . .

She stared at the display for a long time without moving. The brain wave pattern readout undulated in regular patterns like it always had, but now next to it there blinked an input window. Anna realized that the algorithm was working and that the computer sat ready to finally do what it had been designed to do. She fell into the chair in front of the keyboard but still hesitated. Equal parts morbid curiosity and revulsion mixed inside her as she considered trying it out.

With a sudden burst of either desperation or confidence she typed the opening command. The electronic side of the computer would be running standard QX code, but if the algorithm was indeed working it would translate whatever code she typed into the appropriate brain wave impulses on the other side. Once the opening command was typed in she struck Enter.

The brain wave pattern immediately contorted and stuttered, and Anna recoiled as she began to see the patterns speed up and pulsate. She looked back to her input display and her heart raced. Underneath it was a window labeled “Output” and text began to fill it in. It was one sentence long.

'Please stop you're hurting me.'

Anna froze. Could it even be possible? Or was it a trick of the code? She went back to her input window and typed 'I don't want to hurt you.' Perhaps it was not real.

A pause, then more text appeared. 'It makes my head hurt make it stop.'

Anna's heart pounded. She was talking to the girl in the box. In a fevered daze she typed 'Who are you?' She waited for a moment, and sure enough more text appeared.

'I'm Sonya and I'm trapped get me out I want to get out where's my mommy I want my mommy.'

The girl had a mother. The girl's name was Sonya. And she was in pain. Suddenly the humanity of the creature inside the computer struck Anna in a wave and she sat back in her chair, stunned. Her eyes filled with tears; she almost didn't know why. She reached for the keyboard again. 'I don't know where your mother is, I'm so sorry.'

A long silent moment passed before anything appeared again on the screen. Then a short burst of text: 'Please get me out it's so dark I'm scared.'

A tear ran down Anna's check and fell onto the keyboard. She sat motionless, unsure of what to tell this poor girl. Her hands trembled with an emotion she could barely understand, a surge of protectiveness and a feeling bordering on attachment. She was about to type again when the output window filled with more text.

'What's your name?'

For some reason the question caught her completely off-guard. She bit her lip, then typed 'My name is Anna.' Then she added, 'I wish I could get you out of there, I wish I could find your mommy for you.' She had never really spoken to or interacted with many children before so she felt suddenly awkward speaking to one even through the stilted interface of the computer.

No response appeared on the screen. Anna waited for what seemed an age but still no answer. Fearful that somehow she was losing her subject's attention, she wracked her brain for something to say. Then something occurred to her, but she found herself wincing as she typed it: 'I lost my mommy too.'

Sure enough a reply was not long in coming. 'Oh do you have the same mommy as me? We should find her.'

Anna found herself smiling grimly at the suggestion, and another tear trickled to the end of her nose. She realized that she liked this girl. She began to type again when another message from Sonya appeared. 'I like your name Anna it's pretty.'

Anna stopped typing her own message and sat still, listening to herself breathe and the computer hum. The situation was surreal. The biggest dream of her life, the reactive computer, sat in front of her and all she could do was have a basic conversation with the brain inside. The mind inside. The entire experience was completely unlike what she had ever fantasized about it.

She typed 'I've always liked my name. I like yours too.'

An idea occurred to her, and she leaned to one side so she could see the black box a little better. The lid was secured to the rest of the box with hinges on the long side and a trio of latches on the other. However, there were also screws pinning the lid closed all around its perimeter, securing it shut.

What would happen if I opened the box?

She knew she had roundly rejected doing so earlier, but now that she was certain of what was inside, somehow it didn't seem half as crazy. Except she had no idea of Sonya's condition, how she was hooked up to the computer, what sort of physical state she was in. Anna sat undecided for what felt like an eternity, her fear and her curiosity battling for dominance. On top of everything else, whoever was watching her via the security cameras would certainly see her open the box. Who knew if she would be stopped for doing it?

She glanced at the monitor and saw another message from Sonya. 'My head hurts Anna make it stop.'

That settled things in Anna's mind. Without another contrary thought she hopped off the chair and pulled the rolling toolbox over to the computer. Selecting the appropriate torque driver, she gingerly pushed aside the masses of cabling and tubing that snaked to and from the black box and began working on the first screw. They were tightly secured and Anna had some trouble, but ten minutes and two sore hands later she had removed every last one. She snapped the wing latches open first, then reached for the main one, but again stopped in fear.

Why was she doing this? Suddenly every instinct in her body insisted that she stop, that she walk away. That she tell Adam what was going on, perhaps, so he could fix it all. Or perhaps that she should just finish the transfer protocol project and forget that this entire thing happened. Forget that she knew about Sonya, let the whole thing drop from her mind.

And it was then, while she crouched next to the black box absorbed in these thoughts, that she heard a sound that she would never forget. It was a sound that completely banished all thoughts of abandonment and betrayal from her head, quelling any desire in her to run from something that she knew she could never un-know.

From deep inside the box's dim interior came a sigh; the sorrowful, fitful sigh of a child who has cried for hours and hours and has no tears left to cry.

Steeling herself for the worst, Anna flipped the final latch and let it fall open, then took the lid in both hands and slowly lifted it up. It creaked a loud creak, the noise of rarely used and never oiled hinges. Anna's spirit sank as it occurred to her that this box probably was not meant to be opened for a long, long time. She pushed the top all the way open and looked inside. Initially she saw nothing but a strange paper-like substance, very much like opening a gift wrapped in tissue paper. She guessed it was some sort of insulating substance meant to protect the subject inside and she reached in and spread the paper apart. Even with all of the time her mind had had to accommodate itself to such a disturbing idea, Anna found herself unprepared for what she saw next.

Lying on her back in the bed of insulating paper was the limp body of a little girl, her pale slender arms straight against her sides and her spindly legs lying straight with ankles together. She was dressed in a flimsy piece of clothing that resembled a hospital gown in that it only covered the front, and it was shifted around almost as if the girl had moved quite a bit since being put into the box. But it was her face and head that caused Anna to feel horribly queasy yet again. The girl had no hair to speak of on the top of her head; rather, in an obscene parody of long hair, from her scalp there sprouted innumerable slender probes that connected to wiring which flowed out of one end of the box and into the computer. The skin of her scalp had actually been peeled away in some spots where larger probes had been inserted.

The girl's face looked similar to her picture in her file, except this face was even more sunken and tortured. She wore a sort of blindfold or eye protection of some sort, and thrust into her nose was a long thin oxygen tube. Embedded into her abdomen were two other tubes, one for food and one for waste presumably, and in her arm was stuck an IV. All of the girl's skin shone a pasty white, and tattooed into her upper arm was the number SVC1001-1FX.

Anna gaped at the miserable form in the box for several long minutes, her soul devoid of any feeling other than absolute revulsion and fierce sadness. However, instead of willing herself to go numb, to feel nothing this time, she dared to fully savor the depth of her grief as she looked at Sonya. There was a grave injustice at work here and Anna could not help but feel herself moved to sorrow.

Then she heard the sound again, and clearly saw Sonya's chest rise briefly and fall in a long unconscious and broken sigh. A single tear trickled out from underneath the blindfold and disappeared into the paper below the little girl as she grimaced faintly. Anna saw the tear, the sigh, the pitiful condition of the helpless subject in front of her and in that moment something snapped. Whether it was the repellant combination of human and machine or the sudden thought that the girl had a strange terrible beauty about her, she was never sure. Whatever it was, tears surged into Anna's eyes; she leaned on the side of the box and wept, and as she did so she put out a hand and touched the girl's face softly, feeling the surprising cold of Sonya's skin. The unconscious form of the little girl did not noticeably respond to her touch though, and Anna wept more.

As she sobbed a notion crossed her mind and grew stronger the longer she looked at the black box and its occupant. A crazy notion to be sure, but a strange and powerful urge that would not subside. Without knowing how it might be accomplished or what her life would hold in the future if she tried, she suddenly felt that she absolutely must get this girl out. Out of this laboratory, out of Central Admin, out of D.C.

But where to start? Perhaps with Adam? But her face darkened as she realized that the Secretary might be as deep in this as Dr. Jarrod, in which case he would be absolutely no help. Maybe Daniel would know how to break her out, Anna thought, then cursed herself for even considering wanting to work with him. But the curse felt halfhearted in the face of what she had seen already today. Besides, the realization struck her that she was Daniel's break-out plan, or very probably, and it would make perfect sense if this was his daughter. Anna found herself staring into the child's face and tried to recall Daniel's face for comparison, but the trauma of the girl's ordeal made it difficult to tell if there was a resemblance.

The question still remained as to what both mother and daughter were doing in the SubVersion Complex in the first place, but that was for a later time. She turned to take one last look at the computer monitor and her pulse quickened at what she saw.

In the Output window new words had appeared: 'I heard you crying did you touch my face please make it stop hurting Anna please don't leave.'

The words ripped Anna's heart out. There was no way to just take the girl out; it was not something Anna could do on her own anyways. Any attempt to move Sonya in the condition she was in would probably kill her. Neither was there an easy way to convince Dr. Jarrod to stop his experiment. He would never stop, she was convinced. Nor could she simply let the whole matter drop, she just couldn't. For lack of anything better to do she closed the box again and screwed it shut.

A knock on the door nearly sent Anna's pulse through the roof. She turned away from the black box and answered, “Yes?”

The door clicked open and an aide stepped in. “Miss McLean?”

“That's me.” Anna felt one hundred percent sure someone had been watching her over the cameras, had seen her open the box. Why else would they be here?

“The Party Secretary would like to see you in his office. Now.”

Anna stood resolutely and took one last look around. I'm sure he does. I'd like to speak with him too. She glanced over at her tablet case and hesitated, remembering that the code slicer sat nestled inside. She wondered if it would be safer to leave the case behind or to bring it with her. She decided with trepidation that it would be better if the tablet and slicer stayed in the lab for now, since the security was tighter in front of the Secretary's office and she had no idea what they might want to confiscate besides her gun before she walked in. She leaned over to turn the workbench light off and in the same motion, out of sight of the aide and the cameras, she pulled the tablet case off the table and slid it onto a cabinet sitting underneath the workbench. That would have to do for now. Her purse would have to come with her, however, since it held her ID badge.

She straightened her dress and headed towards the door. “Lead the way,” she said to the aide with more confidence than she really felt.

 

 

 

The SubVersion Complex, Chapter Seven

Here is the next chapter of The SubVersion Complex. Hope you all enjoy! If you missed Chapter Six, click here.

This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.

 

╗ SEVEN ╚

THE TOWER

“The man just keeps talking...”

Standing arms akimbo in the half-light from the computer screens in front of him, Officer Sam Holloway shook his head and smiled with dark amusement. A monochrome video feed of Anna and Dr. Jarrod talking together at the cafeteria table flickered softly on the main monitor, and the pair's conversational audio played over the main sound system.

The two young security officers sitting in front of the monitors turned around with identical concerned expressions on their faces. “Should we intervene?” one of them asked.

Sam rubbed his stubbled jaw in thought. “I'm sorry, that wasn't a question,” he replied sharply after a pause. “And technically, he hasn't violated protocol. Yet.” He looked back to the monitor. “Miss McLean is entitled to know what her job entails.”

He watched the pair for a while in silence, his eyes flicking from one to the other and back again. It had been a while since the last time he quarterbacked a surveillance operation personally and the rush of the moment showed clearly in his face. Normally, an operation like this consisted of long stretches of time in which nothing of interest happened, punctuated at intervals by hectic activity, followed by more boredom.

This was different.

Ever since Anna had entered the first of the outer perimeters she had been interesting to watch. How she reacted to the guards, dogs, scanners, security protocols; he was interested in it all. Her time with her new sidearm had particularly intrigued him, especially the tight groupings she had perforated in her paper targets. But this conversation struck him as particularly worthy of his time.

Dr. Jarrod's voice crackled over the speakers: “I would recommend that you keep your eyes wide open. Something is going on here that is bigger than you, I think. As much as I will enjoy working with you, I feel your time with my laboratory will be brief. They didn't bring you in here just to program a protocol for me.”

Sam frowned and leaned forward towards the screen. His eyes twitched and he gestured towards the young officer who had asked the question. “Zoom in on Dr. Jarrod.”

“Yes sir.”

All three men watched and listened further.

Dr. Jarrod's electronic voice on the speakers continued: “I wouldn't worry for the moment, I don't think. But...keep your eyes open. I like you already, Anna, and I wouldn't want to see you get hurt. Speaking of laboratories and projects, shall we go get you acquainted with mine?”

Sam relaxed again, but tapped the younger officer on the shoulder. “Make a note, Lieutenant, for me to visit with the good doctor after he relinquishes Anna for the day. We are going to have a little chat.” The lieutenant nodded in reply and they all continued to watch the screens.

Anna and the doctor rose from their table and began to wend their way back to his laboratory and away from the cafeteria security cameras. Sam returned to his standing pose, scanning the wall of monitors from his position behind his two officers. The two lieutenants began to tap their controls, following the doctor and Anna with the appropriate camera angles.

The door several feet behind Sam suddenly buzzed and he turned in surprise to the security monitor to see who it was. He was met with the stern pixeled face of Terry Garnham staring back at him. With a roll of his eyes he stepped back and tapped the door lock button; the door unlocked with its characteristic thud and Terry swept into the room.

“Terry,” Sam acknowledged, nodding to her with little warmth. Terry nodded back with even less emotion and stopped beside him, clasping her hands behind her back and watching the screens with him. They stood together in silence for so long that the two lieutenants turned around to steal an awkward glance at the pair, a glance which was cut short by a glare from Terry.

Sam was the first to speak. “I wouldn't have expected you here.”

The woman remained expressionless. “And why is that? I'm giving them the perceived freedom of speaking freely. Where else would I be?”

Sam smirked and shook his head. “You have been such a smothering mother hen to Miss McLean that I thought you'd be down there making sure she didn't trip and scrape her knee.”

Terry didn't deign to look over at him. “Hardly. I just take my job seriously, unlike some of my colleagues.”

Sam smiled and sighed. “And I thought we divorced so I wouldn't have to listen to this sort of shit.” He leaned forward to the young officer again and mumbled a direction to him. The young man tapped his controls and the cameras angled in for a better look as Anna stopped in front of the mural. Sam, satisfied with the new camera view, leaned back again and folded his arms.

Terry turned and regarded him with a look of thinly disguised disdain. “You divorced me for far more trivial reasons than that.”

“Triviality is in the eye of the beholder,” Sam responded with sarcasm.

“Well, you are the beholder. And this spying is a little obsessive, don't you think?”

Sam pursed his lips and kept his eyes on the monitor. “If you say so. The Secretary was quite clear, he wanted keen observation of her for as long as she is in the building. Besides,” he added with increasing sarcasm, “why should you care? We treat all the new people this way.”

“That's not true and you know it,” Terry replied, irritated. “This woman has had her life picked apart like nobody else that we've ever brought in. And I've never seen you monitor someone new personally like this.”

“And I've never seen a man talk as freely and without restriction as Dr. Jarrod,” Sam replied, pointing to the figure of the doctor on the computer monitor. “He barely waited until you left the room before all manner of theories and opinions began to come out. Makes me wish we still had the infrastructure to monitor the citizenry like we used to. It's men like him that keep me awake at night.”

“Besides your own snoring, that is,” Terry ripped dryly. “He's been cooped up in that lab for too long, I think it's getting to his head. But oh wait! That's your doing as well, is it not?”

Sam smiled his wide smile at her. “You just keep getting more delightful with every passing month. And tell me, do you still have nightmares about the downtown shooting that keep you up until three in the morning? And can you find a man understanding enough anymore to pat you on the shoulder and tell you it'll be okay?”

For the first time since she came into the room Terry appeared visibly discomfited. Her usually poised and rigid figure flagged and she looked away. “My lovers and private life are my own business now, not yours.”

“Oh, but you're mistaken!” Sam shot back, still smiling although his eyes had turned cruel. “When you enter the Tower nothing is private anymore!” He gestured widely to the room at large; it was a huge round affair consisting of two levels of seating arrangements and computer desks. In front of almost every computer monitor sat an officer, dutifully scanning the glowing screens for signs of anything amiss in the Central Admin complex. The lighting glowed a dim moody blue and gave the Tower an almost theatrical feel.

“In here there are no secrets, in here . . . ” he said slowly as he pointed to himself, “I am God.” He turned back to the flickering images of Anna and the doctor, entering Laboratory A1A. “I am God, surrounded by my avenging angels and messengers. I thought you would have known that by now.”

Terry was silent. Sam chuckled at her discomfiture. “So yes, we will follow and listen and learn. We will track her and you will not interfere or question.

Terry, visibly eager to change tracks, gestured to the main screen. “Have you found anything out that I can make use of tomorrow during my training sessions with her?”

The cruel look faded away and Sam shrugged. “Not too much. Although,” he added, chuckling again as he watched the screen, “this man cannot stop talking.”

Terry frowned. “What do you mean? Has he broken protocol?”

“Technically, no, since Anna has the clearance. But he's skirting the line...” Sam's voice trailed away as he listened to Dr. Jarrod speak. The doctor was explaining Daniel Marcus's disappearance, and Sam paid close attention, hanging on every word. Finally he shook his head again. “I can't figure why the Secretary let a man like him into this project.”

Terry sighed. “He knows what he's doing.”

“Who, our Secretary or this buffoon of a doctor?” Sam fired back.

“You know who I'm talking about,” Terry replied, glaring at him. “And I get the distinct impression that he didn't authorize this level of scrutiny.”

“Ha! He authorized me to background-check the hell out of Miss McLean, as well as to glean what I could from her time here. I don't like being doubted in my own domain, Miss Garnham, it only serves to irritate me.”

“Are you still surveilling her house?” Terry asked, ignoring his outburst.

Sam paused petulantly. “No, we're not.”

“Why not?”

“He won't let me anymore. He claims we got what we needed during the vetting process and he wants to leave her alone there. He's oddly touchy about that. So we pulled everyone out.”

“Why don't I believe you?” Terry queried, shaking her head.

“If you don't believe me, ask Lieutenant Farkas down there at console six to pull up the three-sixty degree traffic cam on her street. It doesn't work. We lost it during one of those outages we had last week.” Sam reddened as he spoke, whether it was with anger or embarrassment was unclear. “We've been losing cameras like that for a while. We've tried keeping up with replacing them but its become a bit of an epidemic. I don't know if it's Verité or just some screwball gang who's doing it.”

A hint of a smile crept over Terry's face. “If you can't play peeping tom on Anna in her own house you could perhaps find a way to spy on her next door neighbor instead. I've been told he's quite the character.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just a crazy old man. Our records say he's up for a geriatric home in a couple years, so we're letting him stay in his house.” He turned suddenly on Terry. “You may leave now, Miss Garnham. We have work to attend to. Go back to babysitting our new arrival.”

Terry's face darkened but she said nothing, opting instead for one last look at the monitor and the image of Anna sitting at the reactive computer. Terry sighed and strode quickly out of the Tower, letting the door shut behind her with a dramatic click.

Sam once again chuckled under his breath as he watched the screen. “That man just keeps talking...”

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Terry stalked down the long hallway to her office, her fists clenched and her knuckles white. Her heels clicked even more quickly than usual, echoing hollowly off the marble slab-sided walls with a steady but urgent tempo. The usual grimness in her face had nearly vanished and was replaced by another stronger emotion, nearly inexplicable even to her. It could have been terror, had it not been so well-controlled. Or anger.

She pushed unceremoniously through the glass doors of her office and sat down at the spartan desk, a desk meticulously clear of any of the usual office clutter and containing only a commex charging station and her office computer. Her breath drew in and let out unevenly and she sat for a long moment with arms extended, her hands flat on the desktop, attempting to calm herself and soothe her nerves. The brushed aluminum slab felt cold to her palms.

She glanced quickly around; no one walked the hallway outside her office. When her hands were steady enough she reached up to her left ear and slipped the earring out. It was a large, dangling pendant earring in an entirely nondescript color. She took a long breath, then grasped the bottom of it firmly and pulled.

Out popped a small micro-data plug cleverly concealed inside.

She peered over the top of her computer monitor at the security camera outside her office. It only spied on her through the glass door of her office, affording her a small bit of privacy, the same as it was with all higher ranking officers of Central Admin. Rank equaled privacy, or a degree of it anyways. With a nervousness that was not her wont she slipped out her commex and, holding it near the desk where the cameras couldn't see, she slid the micro-data plug into the slot at the bottom.

The screen of her commex lit up briefly, flashed, then went dark again. Then the device began to reinitialize and long lines of text scrolled past as a new subroutine took over. Terry held the device with fraying patience waiting for the subroutine to complete, occasionally glancing up to make sure nobody was coming. Finally the text stopped scrolling and all that was left was a blinking bar, waiting ominously for input.

Terry hesitated, then began typing on the screen: “Anna's three-sixty degree street cam is confirmed still dead. Probably no fix for at least a week. Recommend you move now.” She tapped the Send button.

And waited.

Not fifteen seconds later the screen flashed as a message appeared. Terry opened it, breathing slowly: “Is Anna's security clearance fully initialized? Will her ID badge work everywhere now?”

Terry hesitated again, biting the inside of her cheek. When she began to type again her fingers were not as steady: “ID badge is free and clear. Will work on everything.” She paused, then added, “You're not going to hurt her?”

The return message took much longer to come this time. When it did Terry opened it without enthusiasm: “That depends on her. You need plausible deniability. No more questions. Good work. Over and out.”

Terry gritted her teeth and pulled the data plug out of the bottom of her commex. The screen flashed again, then returned to normal. She grimly reinstalled the plug in her earring, then breathed another long breath and rubbed her hands together. Her palms were drenched with cold sweat.

Click here to read Chapter 8!

The SubVersion Complex, Chapter Six

Here is the next chapter of The SubVersion Complex. Hope you all enjoy! If you missed Chapter Five, click here.

This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.

 

╗ SIX ╚

LABORATORY A1A

Anna tore into her lunch with a vigor that surprised even her. The last three hours had approached grueling in their intensity and food had never looked so good before in her life. Despite the greasiness and lack of taste of Central Admin cafeteria chicken, she was determined to have her fill before someone else grabbed her and whisked her away for more orientation.

Her hands still shook from the sheer physical exertion they had endured since she arrived. Her right index finger in particular ached, and now that salt and oil covered her fingers she realized painfully that she had rubbed a raw patch on both her finger and the web of the same hand. Terry's mention of one hundred more shots had proven entirely misleading; she had made Anna fire five hundred rounds before she was satisfied. But satisfied she was in the end, and their training had turned to cleaning the firearm.

Anna had no idea a gun could become so filthy so quickly. When she had first handled it out of the box it smelled new, a crisp scent of oil and fresh plastic. After five hundred rounds it smelled of propellant and ash. In her usual matter-of-fact manner, Terry had taken the gun and demonstrated how to brush out and oil the barrel, slide and stock. She was not squeamish about dirt and grime, and by the time the gun clicked back together clean, both her and Anna's hands were covered in black. After washing their hands, Terry had shown her to the cafeteria and left her to eat by herself for the next forty-five minutes.

Anna now silently thanked her for the solitude; it gave her some time to reflect. Her mind still reeled from the events of the morning and it was good to let everything settle. Since her arrival she had been accosted, searched, scanned, probed, and suddenly granted unmolested access to the Central Admin building. On top of that, she had gone from never having touched a firearm in her life to firing, taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling one. Her own, no less. The thought somehow refused to sink into her consciousness easily. The bulge in her waistband begged to differ, however, and she reached back to touch the weapon that nestled under her shirt in the small of her back.

Terry had given her that as well, an in-the-waistband holster that fit both her gun and her body perfectly. Terry had shown her how to draw the gun properly from behind her back and Anna had again impressed with her quickness to learn and her accuracy. With only ten or fifteen tries she had satisfied Terry's critical eye, at least for today.

She glanced at her watch: forty-two minutes had ticked by. Looking up from the remains of her lunch, she saw Terry enter the cafeteria with a business-like stride, accompanied by a very short stout man who was forced to run to keep up with his much taller companion. He looked to be in his late forties, dark skinned with a fringe of gray hair framing his ears. He wore a long white lab coat and a pair of glasses pushed high up onto his forehead.

The odd pair did not immediately approach Anna but instead visited the food counter first. Anna studied the small man with increasing curiosity and a growing sense of wonder; she realized she knew who he was: Dr. Konrath Jarrod, reactive computing specialist extraordinaire. His picture featured prominently in the news she had seen regarding the breakthroughs in reactive computing, and he looked every bit the scientist in real life as he had on the broadcast.

In a few moments they were headed in Anna's direction and Anna quickly wiped her mouth and hands in embarrassment, still oily from her chicken. Terry approached first and gestured to Anna: “Anna, I'd like you to meet the man who invented reactive computing, Dr. Konrath Jarrod. Dr. Jarrod, this is Annalise McLean, the one who will be writing your transfer protocols.”

Dr. Jarrod, all smiles, eagerly proffered his hand to the star-struck Anna. “It is good to meet you, Miss McLean,” he rumbled agreeably. His accent leaned Caribbean, but Anna found it impossible to narrow down any farther. “Officer Garnham has told me how smart you are already, but she did not mention how beautiful as well.”

Anna unexpectedly blushed hard. It had been ages since someone had called her beautiful, at least as sincerely as he just did, and her heart melted a little. Her instinct told her she was needy for being so touched, but for once she didn't care. She held her hand out to him. “I am so pleased to meet you, Dr. Jarrod. I've heard plenty about you as well.”

She was taken completely by surprise when Dr. Jarrod, instead of shaking her hand, took it in his own and kissed it gently. He looked into her shocked face and smiled, showing a full set of very white teeth. “All good, I sincerely hope. I wouldn't want my newest programmer to harbor any animosity.”

Anna stammered something unintelligible and the scientist laughed and sat next to Terry, across the table from Anna. “One would think a man had never paid you any of the proper courtesies due to your sex,” he chuckled almost to himself. “I cannot imagine why or how.”

The offhand comment bit right through to Anna's core and she winced inside. He was more correct than he knew. She pushed the garbage from her lunch to the side and leaned on the table in front of her, searching for a way to change the subject. “So, how far along are you with the whole reactive computing process?”

Terry tapped the doctor on the shoulder. “That is my signal to leave. She is in your care for the rest of the day.” She turned to Anna. “Please review the agenda for tomorrow's orientation before you arrive in the morning.”

“Yes ma'am,” Ann replied, then turned eagerly back to Dr. Jarrod, who had begun to dig into his own lunch. She repeated her earlier question as Terry exited, and he held up a finger as he chewed his first bite. Finally he was ready to speak.

“To be honest,” he said with a sudden seriousness, “now that Officer Garnham is gone, we are far enough along in the reactive computing process that I am surprised they even brought you into it.”

Anna frowned. “Wait, what?”

He looked deep into her face and for the first time she saw a troubled flame in his eyes. “We are almost done. Them bringing you into the project almost seemed like an externally-motivated stunt. I am sorry to say that most of the interesting work is already complete.”

“That's odd,” Anna mused, her spirits falling. She hadn't realized how eager she had been for this challenge until it had apparently evaporated. “So then why did they get me at all?”

Dr. Jarrod leaned back in his chair and chewed silently for a moment before he replied. “The day that I submitted my latest progress report to Central Admin, I included a small action item that I needed fulfilled at their earliest convenience. I told them that I needed a software person to provide a badly needed fresh pair of eyes. We had hit a small snag with the transfer protocol and needed an outside opinion.”

This sounded better than nothing. Anna perked up as he continued: “The reactive tech, as you know, works the same way the human brain works. And the human brain is notoriously...eh...nonlinear in how it processes information.” He rolled his eyes, searching for the correct explanation. “Making that last jump between computer and brain is a bit like trying to pin a fly to a table while it's flying around. The brain attempts to reject the information at every turn.”

“That is fascinating,” Anna remarked. “So the reactive computer simulates the brain that well?”

“Simulates may be a strong word for it. We actually use real brain tissue in the computer, so we are working with essentially the real thing.”

Anna started. “Real brain tissue? But I thought-”

“Most people think the same thing,” Dr. Jarrod said, smiling. “And we did originally build a computer simply based on the structure of the brain. Now we've enhanced it with some of the real thing and run into the problem. We didn't have this transfer issue with the man-made version. A major oversight on our part.”

“Ah.” Anna wasn't sure what sort of reply was appropriate.

“Let's just say that we are finding it much easier to extract muscle skills and thought patterns from the human brain than to put those skills and thoughts back in.”

Anna nodded, again unsure of a proper reply.

“The protocol is finished up to that point. And once we-or you- figure out that particular algorithm, then the project is complete. Central Admin and HomoGen will have instant education at their disposal for the Versions.”

“Then it doesn't sound as bad as you were making it out to be,” Anna said with a dry chuckle. “It leaves me something to do, anyways.”

Dr. Jarrod smiled briefly. “I suppose.” He fiddled with his fork. “The question is, what will you be doing after the project is complete? They seem to want you for the long haul. Officer Garnham really hammered the firearms training this morning, did she not?”

Anna blushed again, this time for other reasons. “Word really gets around in here, doesn't it?”

“She told me herself,” Dr. Jarrod laughed. He became serious again and leaned forward closer to her. “Miss McLean- may I call you Annalise?”

“I prefer Anna.”

“Very well, Anna.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I would recommend that you keep your eyes wide open. Something is going on here that is bigger than you, I think. As much as I will enjoy working with you, I feel your time with my laboratory will be brief. They didn't bring you in here just to program a protocol for me.”

A cold sensation washed over Anna as she listened. She could think of no explanations but in her gut she felt he was correct. She moved closer to him and asked in a lowered voice: “Why am I here then?”

The man across the table from her gave her a perturbed shake of the head. “I have no idea. All I know is that neither I nor any one of the scientists I work with keeps a gun on their person. You'd be the first in my laboratory to do so.”

The cold feeling settled into her stomach and began to wind it up in knots. “Should I be worried? Or should you be worried? I was never told to...to keep an eye on you or anything of that sort.”

“I wouldn't worry for the moment,” the doctor replied. “I don't think. But...keep your eyes open. I like you already, Anna, and I wouldn't want to see you get hurt.” His face was gloomy for a few moments, then it suddenly cleared and he smiled his wide toothy smile again. “Speaking of laboratories and projects, shall we go get you acquainted with mine?”

“That would be wonderful,” Anna said.

They both were eager to change the subject and both left the cafeteria with Dr. Jarrod leading the way. They walked for what seemed like an eternity, down several long hallways and up another elevator, then down a long windowed gallery similar to HomoGen's huge windowed upper stories. Anna slowed down and Dr. Jarrod, realizing he was no longer being followed, slowed as well. She insisted on pausing here, and with her back to the windows she stared with wonder at an enormous mural on the wall opposite.

The painting must have stretched for fifty feet in either direction and easily stood twenty feet tall. Darker hues dominated the leftmost portion, gradually growing lighter as the eye moved from left to right. The individual images crowded together into a fantastic mass of chaotic motion, and yet each was distinct enough to easily make out. Men fought each other; tanks battled, bodies bled, and in the background of the dark section of the painting rose a glowing mushroom cloud. Anna wasn't sure if it literally represented the nuclear terrorist attack of 2024 or if it stood merely as a symbol of past violence, but either way it made an effective image.

Towards the middle of the painting the individual images began to change, forming into a charging slew of men and machines facing off against another army charging in the opposite direction. A different flag flew over each army, the one on the right she recognized as the blue and white flag of the Party of the Reunited States. The flag on the left she did not immediately recognize; it was striped red and white, with a blue field studded with white stars. She guessed it belonged to the rebellion forces, judging from the ugly snarl of the man carrying it. In fact, the entire rebellion army showed the bias of the painter with their bloodthirsty open mouths and animalistic poses.

Moving farther to the right along the painting, the images changed again to dark rivers and fields that gradually yielded to sunshine and brilliant light. From that point onward no darkness or violence lurked, no men fought, no blood ran. At the far right end stood a shining representation of the Central Administration building, with a portrait of a man emerging from behind it. Anna recognized him as Secretary Bono Clark, the first Executive Secretary of the Reunited States. The entire mural, she realized, was a history of the last one hundred years.

“Quite a stunning piece, is it not?” Dr. Jarrod remarked quietly, his hands behind his back and his gaze on the wall. Anna nodded.

“Maybe a little over-the-top, but yes,” she replied, taking in the vast picture. It reminded her of an image she had seen long ago as a little girl, in a book that her parents owned; she only remembered that the picture was titled The Divine Comedy and that it depicted a similar progression of images. Hard to forget, those images of twisted and agonized bodies in hell, of fire licking at damned souls, of the two men walking through the midst of it all witnessing the brutality of their surroundings. She had gone running to her mother in tears after seeing the picture, after which the book disappeared without a trace. To this day Anna could not find it.

She sighed and turned to Dr. Jarrod. “I'm sorry, I've never seen it before, that's why I stopped. We can keep going.”

Dr. Jarrod smiled graciously. “I do not object.” He turned and continued walking down the gallery with Anna in tow. She could not help but give the painting one last glance before they passed through another door and another hall. Finally they stood in front of a door marked Laboratory A1A, and Dr. Jarrod swiped his badge against the sensor pad. The door clicked sharply and he pushed it open, waving Anna inside.

“Welcome to my humble but very well-equipped abode,” he said grandly, spreading his arms wide. Anna grinned at him and, entering, looked around.

Everything was white: the walls, the floor, the equipment. It all gleamed and exuded the feeling of new and expensive. Most of the equipment stood in the middle of the room, forming an island around which the workbenches were arranged. Every work station featured its own omni-monitor and data inputs. Anna felt her spirits rise as she took it all in; this put her setup at HomoGen to shame. She finally felt at home. She poked and probed around, and Dr. Jarrod watched her with an increasingly amused smile. “You are allowed to touch, you know,” he laughed. “Although whatever happens in this lab stays in this lab for security purposes.”

Suddenly she gasped and pointed to the corner. “Is-that it?” she asked, looking to Dr. Jarrod. He nodded.

“That is the crown jewel, yes,” he said, walking to the corner where a large bank of monitors sat atop a shelf that hung suspended over a long black box. As Anna approached she saw that the entire corner was bursting with support equipment for the reactive computer, with wires and cables of all sizes and shapes snaking in and out of the black box and feeding information to the monitor array. She ran her hand along the tops of the glass screens, reveling in the feel of high technology under her fingertips. Looking down past the complex wiring harness, she suddenly found herself disturbed staring at the black box. It looked like nothing so much as a child-sized coffin made of black metal. She shook herself and willed the thought out of her head.

Dr. Jarrod cleared his throat and sat down in front of the monitors. “Sit down if you would, Anna, and we'll get started.”

They spent the next two hours sitting in front of the computer screens, Anna asking many questions to which Dr. Jarrod almost always had an answer. The scope of his knowledge and expertise was truly vast, and Anna thought she could never tire of picking the man's brain. She watched with rapt attention as he demonstrated the wave patterns the reactive computer core generated, and the thought patterns that he and his team were attempting to input. She soon found herself puzzled, though. “Dr. Jarrod? I have an odd question.”

“Yes?”

“You said earlier that it was a lot easier to extract thought than to put it into the brain, correct?”

“That is correct, yes.” Dr. Jarrod pulled his spectacles off his head and began to clean them.

“And you are trying to input a specific thought pattern into the reactive computer core?” Anna continued.

“Yes.”

“Then, if you don't mind my asking, where did the thought patterns come from? The ones we are trying to input? Who did you record them from?”

Dr. Jarrod seemed surprised by the question, but he shrugged and replaced his glasses atop his head. Anna wondered offhandedly why he bothered to clean them when he was just going to stick them back up there. “Now that is an interesting story,” he said. “I didn't get my choice of subject for the thoughts and muscle motor skills I was extracting. Central Admin, in their infinite wisdom, picked my subject for me. I would have chosen...oh, I don't know, a violinist, perhaps? Someone with finely honed artistic skill of some sort. But no, they decided I would get someone else.”

“Who?”

“His name was Daniel Marcus, ex-military Elite Combat Unit. The best of the best, or so they told me. Story goes that he fought his way single-handedly out of Mogadishu during the Allied campaign there and rejoined his squad with barely a scratch. Anyways, he supposedly represented the pinnacle of physical prowess so we recruited him to donate his motor skill thought patterns to us.”

Anna frowned. “You said his name was Daniel Marcus. Where is he now?”

Dr. Jarrod became silent for a long moment. He rubbed his fingers together and with a discouraged look on his face turned to Anna. “Something went wrong. Very wrong. He got mixed up with some woman around here and got into a huge fight. Even started demanding that I erase the brain data he had donated to me. Finally he disappeared into some Central Admin prison and word came out that he was actually an agent working for Verité.”

Anna drew in breath. “Were they attempting to break into something?”

Dr. Jarrod shook his head. “I have no idea. But Central Admin naturally wanted him as dead as they could make him so a brief went out just last week that he was to be executed. It was going to be televised, as a warning against any further Verité intrusion attempts. Then the whole affair just disappeared.”

Anna's eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean? Did they execute him?”

“If they had executed him they would have made it public, like they promised. But they haven't said a word about it since. So I think he either killed himself in his cell, or- and I know this is insane- he escaped.”

Something in Anna's mind instantly clicked. “He escaped,” she breathed.

Dr. Jarrod sat back and raised a doubtful eyebrow at her. “How the hell do you know?”

“The Central Police were stopping all traffic out of D.C. at checkpoints just a matter of days ago,” she explained. “And they refused to tell me why. I'd say it's a good bet that he escaped and they are looking for him.”

Dr. Jarrod chuckled grimly. “Heh, well, I wouldn't have known about roadblocks or checkpoints. I am almost chained to these desks; I sleep here many nights. Just over the weekend I got to go home for the first time in weeks, and I plan on leaving here at decent hours from now on.” He grinned. “Now that I have a savvy programmer in my lab to do my work for me.”

“You can expect work from me, not miracles,” Ann replied, catching his infectious humor. “But I already have some ideas as to how to fix your problem.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Dr. Jarrod said, then stood as another man entered the lab. The new man stood much taller than Dr. Jarrod and sported a much younger face, a face which he was in the act of stuffing full of doughnut as he walked through the door and sat down.

“Anna, this is Dex Lynch, my assistant,” Dr. Jarrod said, motioning to the other man. Anna nodded to him and he nodded wordlessly back, the doughnut still obstructing his speech. Without another word he plugged his ears with digital music and pulled himself up to one of the computers to work.

“Not much of a conversationalist,” Anna remarked dryly. Dr. Jarrod chuckled and sat back down.

“No, and I prefer him that way. Nepotism at its best; Dex the Second, son of the founder of Dexworks. He's a whiz at brain pattern analysis but he spews some of the most obnoxious crap when he gets started.” The doctor tapped the data pad in front of him. “Shall we get back to the task at hand then? All of this talk of escaped convicts has derailed my train of thought.”

Click here to read Chapter 7!