Inform. Addicts Page 3

  If Christ can sacrifice himself for the human race, a man wishing to honor his sacrifice must take it upon himself to suffer for his fellow beings, Pahaliah thought to himself. He said a quick prayer for the strength to face the demons in the dark.

  “You didn’t have to fall in love with her,” an aged man said to Pahaliah through Abaddon’s mind’s eye.

  The clergyman did not realize that he had subconsciously moved onto another unpleasant memory – the only kind this man seemed to have. In this stage of recollection, Abaddon sat in a swivel chair, the backing extremely uncomfortable on the ribs. Pahaliah found it rather odd that a memory of such an inconsequential irritation felt more potent than the recalled experience of being bludgeoned and tortured as an operative. As he was about to learn, emotional pain made this scene from the past stick out in Abaddon’s life.

  “Why did I have to be the one to kill her?” Pahaliah felt shocked to feel flesh hot tears running out of Abaddon’s eyes. Blood soaked his shirt. “You made me kill my own wife you sick minded freak!”

  The identity of the man in this flashback suddenly registered in the priest’s mind. He had seen that doughy double chinned face countless times yet never with such a pernicious expression carved into its flesh. It belonged to that time’s Secretary of the Treasury – Zirus Occamy.

  “You never truly loved Marion,” Zirus exclaimed. “For crying out loud, she was arranged as a cover, nothing more than the means by which to give you the appearance of a normal, self-fulfilled life.” The man approached Abaddon and ran a hand over his cheek. “We both know that I have always been your true love.”

  Abaddon spat in the man’s face, and Pahaliah gathered from the emotions attached to this memory that this was not a wise decision.

  “Mr. Occamy, you talk about how I was forced to marry Marion, but you have to be suffering from a memory problem if you forget how I came to service you and the other perverts in this administration? Making children into killing machines wasn’t enough for you all was it? There were other uses for us.”

  Pahaliah felt a growing disgust wedge its way into his heart that made the divide that had grown between him and his son look trivial. A part of him had always known that the people at the top of the government had grotesque habits, but he never thought they would get away with such evils as this. It might as well have been his children treated this way.

  “You should put your tongue to better use.” Occamy shoved the much larger man in front of him, as if he were still a young, helpless boy.

  A sick feeling affected the clergyman, and he felt like he would pass out, even if such a bodily reaction was impossible inside a memory world. It had dawned on him as Abaddon breathed heavily and eyed the unrealistically expensive fountain pen resting in the pocket of Occamy’s dress shirt. It was a custom made writing utensil composed of gold with emerald insets, the largest of which had Inter Natos Mulierum non sur-rexit mayor carved into it. Such a unique pen’s role in history would not easily be forgotten by someone as well read as Pahaliah.

  “What do you think you are doing, boy?” Occamy asked as Abaddon took the fountain pen from his pocket.

  “What a garish instrument.” Abaddon turned the writing implement over in his hands and removed its cap, looking over the logo imprinted on the finial. “I prefer collecting ancient Waterman pens myself.”

  Occamy visibly appeared to throw his chest out. “I suppose you have never heard of IAMPETH?”

  “The International Association of Master Penmen, Engrossers and Teachers of Handwriting.” Abaddon gripped the man’s greying hair aggressively. “I am not as uncultured as you would like to believe.”

  Pahaliah exhaled sharply as the nib of the fountain pen pierced the pupil of Occamy’s left eye and traveled clear into the man’s pedophilic brain. The bloody instrument was mechanically withdrawn from the wound and thrust through the victim’s other eye for good measure. Given that the Xiphos software permitted the clergyman to experience the emotions of the criminal’s memories, he suddenly regretted ever probing this man’s mind. He could feel the ecstasy of murdering Secretary Occamy. It felt like the convict who compared himself to the devil also had righteous indignation on his side.

  Skipping to the next major memory, Pahaliah perceived that Abaddon stood in the living room of a richly decorated cabin somewhere in the Midwest, an icy deluge surrounding this fragile, fireplace heated ark. Many gentlemen stood staring at Abaddon, except for one who remained seated. An archaic record player in the room filled the awkward silence with the sound of Bobby Vee singing “The Night Has a Thousand Eyes.” Father Pahaliah would shake his head in shame if it were not for the fact that he was in a disembodied experience. The seated man was Frederick Ulysses Deimos – a businessman who senators bowed to as if he was the reincarnation of an ancient mystery religion’s messiah and they were the mystai. Money had always gone hand in hand with power.

  “You realize that we can’t just kill you in a broom closet somewhere?” Deimos asked.

  “Naturally, you have to make an example of me for my replacement.” Abaddon nodded.

  “We are going to have you sent overseas, framed, and brought back for a publicized execution,” a senator named Pliny Astor said.

  “Your successor will never, ever, doubt the precariousness of his position in our government.” Deimos rubbed his artificially grown eyes as if this menacing exchange tired him. “Any attempt you make to escape this hand fate has dealt you will only incur more suffering for yourself and others. You can pretend to have no sympathy for the little demons you created for us, but it’s quite obvious that you care for them. Having too much in common with a person can really dampen your professionalism.”

  “Speaking of which, I have the reports on our media outreach,” Abaddon said without any sign of anger or frustration. It seemed even more eerie witnessing a man give up hope than hold seething fires of revenge to his heart.

  “We’ll have the major film studios simultaneously release movies depicting children as spies in the service of the nation, out to thwart the evil rich geniuses,” Abaddon continued, fully aware that Deimos smiled and approved of this idea. “It shouldn’t take long for the public to become desensitized to this concept, so our secret programs will not have to remain hidden forever.”

  It was a slow, painful process extracting himself from the abode of another’s memories, but Father Pahaliah soon found himself once again in full awareness of his body sitting across from Abaddon’s. He balled his hand into a fist and stared at it, a sign to himself that he had returned to the real world and that the angered emotions he felt compressing his chest in that moment were indeed his own.

  “I can’t…apologize enough for what has happened to you,” Pahaliah addressed the criminal, working hard to keep a tear from forming in his eye.

  “So I guess you didn’t enjoy what you saw and experienced in there?” Abaddon yawned and smirked. He had not been forced by the Rodzanice system to relive the memories witnessed by the clergyman.

  The autonomous Escort resting behind Abaddon moved forward and released his electronic foot cuffs. “It’s time to leave this world,” it said with a terrifyingly mechanical calm.

  “Please consider conversion!” Pahaliah knocked his chair over as he stood. “You have suffered more than enough in this world. It breaks my heart to think of you or anyone else enduring pain in the next.”

  Abaddon tilted his head, as if this was the first time he had ever considered this matter.

  “Tell me Father, you know of the evil I have unrepentantly committed in this world, but you have also seen what kind of past made me into a monster. Who do you think is worse, the devil or the one who creates him with full knowledge of what he will do with his life?”

  Pahaliah’s eyes weren’t running with tears, but he felt a moist stab of pain in them as Abaddon was led away, a twisted smirk on his mouth.

  ***

  “I hope we made your stay as comfortable as possible and that you
found what you were looking for,” Jago said as a Dryopid 808 hover taxi pulled up out in front of the prison to take Pahaliah to his hotel. The taxi was designed to operate just as well above choppy water as on land, a good choice given the canals of Neo Orleans.

  “Hopefully you do not feel too affronted by Warden Puce’s decision to allow me to scour the prisoner’s memories?” Pahaliah replied.

  “How you managed to swing that one is none of my concern.” Jago wiped sweat from his forehead with an ANS manufactured handkerchief. It was laced with cheap nanomachines that would break down his sweat and bacteria, requiring it to be washed infrequently. “Sometimes there are advantages in being kept out of the loop. Sometimes knowledge can be dangerous”

  Pahaliah, always a sucker for politeness, thanked Jago profusely before getting in the taxi and asking the driver to take him to the hotel Le niveau Neurogénétique at 3301 Kōan Street before the forecasted nanacid storm arrived. Miss Orange Shock was playing over the taxi’s traditional stereo so loudly that he wondered if the man in the front seat could hear him. His face paled when the cabbie turned to face him with a Seether – a handheld laser weapon – in tow. The clergyman glared in the direction he imagined Warden Puce’s office rested. He hung his head in prayer, and a moment later it left his body in a flash of light.

  Stratum 2: “From the Minds of Babes”

  Japan had many names attributed to it over the years, and the Land of the Rising Sun was one that had stuck for some time. Misaki Yamazaki paid little attention to the fiery orb that illuminated the businesses she passed that fine summer day. She didn’t stop to consider how fortunate it was that the weather had been far less humid than usual. She had other matters on her mind.

  “How was the coffee?” Kaori asked as her human counterpart slammed the door to their Ōsuzumebachi 634 hover car. Wink’s "Samishii Nettaigyo" played loudly over the vehicle’s speaker system, making the automaton’s question barely audible.

  “The coffee was fine, my company not so much.” Misaki sent a mental command to the autopilot adapter attached to the hover car’s steering column, commanding it to pull them out of their faintly outlined parking spot. “You would think that people would show more respect for the police after we solved the Tajōmaru Case.”

  As their vehicle took off down one of Nagoya’s tree lined streets, Misaki handed her partner a Baryon Bar – an energy packed food source most androids found appetizing. Misaki tried not to turn up her nose when Kaori ate snacks that smelled like diesel fuel.

  “So what happened in there?” Kaori took a pleased bite out of the bar.

  “They were covering the Abyzou Case, and some asshole had to make a comment about the ‘incompetence of the police.’ I’d like to see him try to solve this string of kidnappings. Frankly, I think our current line of inquiry is amiss because –”

  An incoming call distracted Misaki from her bitter musings on the ungrateful behavior of certain members of the citizenry and the difficulties of her current assignment. “Officer Yamazaki here,” she mentally answered the caller.

  “This is Principal Kashima,” a voice struggling hard not to sound livid spoke in Misaki’s head. “I’m calling about some trouble we’ve had with your daughter…again.”

  Of course, Misaki thought to herself. “Well, what seems to be the trouble this time?”

  “Your daughter struck another student during her lunch period.”

  “Did you ask for Noa’s side of the story? Maybe the other girl was picking on her?”

  “Actually, she hit a boy,” the principal replied.

  Misaki smiled slightly. “Well, punish her as you see fit. I’m on duty at the moment.”

  “Yes but –” Misaki “hung up” and turned to Kaori, shaking her head.

  “Who was that?” the android asked.

  Their vehicle automatically swerved to avoid running over a tanuki that had decided to be out and about early in the morning for whatever reason nocturnal animals made such decisions. Both occupants of the hover car quickly checked to make sure they had missed the creature, and the autopilot hadn’t disappointed them.

  “Ah, Noa is in trouble at school again,” Misaki groaned. She did not know why, but talking with her inhuman partner made her more at ease than conversations with flesh and blood friends. Maybe because there was an illusion that every comment Kaori shared had an objectified feeling to it. Granted, her programming allowed for emotion and expression, but this did not translate into the judgmental nature of a human being. “Apparently she hit a boy. Hopefully it was that Horus kid. He’s a real dick.”

  “You shouldn’t encourage delinquent behavior,” Kaori spoke with the characteristic shock of a naïve machine. “If your daughter rebels now, then she will never emotionally adjust to life as a respectable citizen. Remember, ‘deru kugi ha utareru’ (‘the nail that sticks out gets hammered down’).”

  “I’m a mother,” Misaki said as she started applying holographic nail polish to give her well-trimmed fingernails a shimmering surface. “Mothers stand by their daughters even when they make foolish decisions. Noa is one of the smartest girls in her class. She just doesn’t have her priorities fully sorted out. If she hit a boy, I’m sure there was a good reason for doing so.”

  “And if not?” Kaori asked as she pulled a lock of blizzard blue hair out of her eyes.

  “Well, I’ll try not to kick her ass.”

  CRIME IN PROGRESS ON YOUR RIGHT, the autopilot suddenly spoke in a dry tone and automatically stopped the hover car. Misaki had nearly forgotten how dull the timbre of her autopilot system sounded to the ears, given that Kaori had an incredible range of vocal inflections.

  “This job never gets boring.” Misaki drew her Bushi 727 from its holster. The electrical components of the weapon automatically activated as sensors detected this removal. A display within Misaki’s head reminded her that she had fifteen rounds in her pistol, and that a computer at H.Q. kept count as well. If she fired her service weapon without just cause, there would be hell to pay.

  Half a dozen men enclosed a whimpering youth in a menacing semicircle. Based on their tattoos, Misaki and Kaori quickly inferred that they had an affiliation with the Asuras gang that had been causing so much trouble for police and Yakuza alike. These men, ranging in height from a 5’1” truncheon wielding lackey to a 6’6” thug with obviously artificial legs glowered at the officers with their drawn hand guns. None of these “gentlemen,” as Kaori addressed them, had long range weaponry visibly on their persons.

  “Please, all of you face that wall and put your hands behind your heads.” Misaki’s index finger rested close to the second trigger on her service pistol. With a quick tug on this trigger, she could fire two rounds of wireless Taser pellets in rapid succession.

  “Any resistance on your part will result in the loss of life and limbs.” Kaori prepared the stun cuffs for their unexpected “take of the day.”

  Suddenly an intense heat, like the burning radiance of the Sun during an ozone alert, erupted from behind the two police officers. Kaori absorbed the impact of the blast rather well, the gyroscopes in her mechanical shell allowing her to maintain full awareness of her body in space as she rolled into a fighting position. Misaki hit the ground hard, but the expertly crafted Aegis III body armor that encapsulated her figure absorbed most of the impact through a combination of pressure absorption gels and multiple layers of Kevlar. Sensors in this vest automatically deployed a protective absorption bagging in her collar, preventing neck injury. The helmet that surrounded her skull was the latest model from Nashonmi Incorporated – a protective device more than capable of handling a grenade blast.

  By the time Misaki recovered mentally from the shock of this sudden onslaught, she caught sight of the culprit responsible for the detonation. A burly fellow sat atop the building lining the right side of the alleyway, a Howa Type 96 automatic grenade launcher just in front of him. Misaki did not wait for further confirmation from headquarters; she quickly took aim at
the perp’s head with her Bushi and fired a single round before the smoke cleared and he could unload another 40 mm grenade on his targets. The auto-correcting function in the pistol made a wild shot look like the work of carefully calculated marksmanship, as the speeding, eco-friendly bullet struck the man right between the eyes. As Misaki had suspected, a geyser of aureolin-tinted blood emanated from the back of her target’s head.

  Turning her attention back to the gang, Misaki felt little surprise when she saw half of the gang members’ bodies strewn across the alleyway, limbs and joints snapped like Popsicle sticks. Kaori had a fairly generic outward covering, but her internal mechanical construction balanced strength and agility in a terrifying combination. That and her brain had over a dozen fighting techniques programmed into it, including some of the more exotic disciplines, like Nearu.

  Even as advanced a model as Kaori would have difficulties handling so many assailants in hand to hand combat. The glamorous depictions of martial artists in the movies didn’t quite match reality. Misaki could see one of the Asuras raising an old-fashioned galvanized pipe in a striking position near Kaori, who had her hands full driving a boshi-ken strike into one of the gangster’s throats and stabbing out the other member’s eyes with her incredibly strong fingers.

  Before the criminal could land a devastating blow, he suddenly found two Taser pellets sticking out of his eyes. With a mechanical shriek, the Asura started swinging blindly, only to have a bullet suddenly pierce his throat and nearly take his head off. A disappointed expression crossed Kaori’s face as she withdrew fingers from the eye sockets of her last opponent and, wiping the fluid that now covered her hand on the jacket of the fallen man, surveyed the surrounding carnage.

  “We should have left one intact?” Misaki guessed her partner’s thoughts.

  “The way that tazed moron was thrashing around, he probably would have gotten me, if you hadn’t shot him first.” Kaori motioned at the youth she had plastered against the alley’s wall, a halo of yellow blood surrounding his head. “Our so-called mugging victim attacked me with the rest.”