Horizon's End, Part Four: Etherium

“Hello, Miss.”

     Hannah gasped, but her shock quickly turned anger. “You! You dare invade my home? WHAT ARE YOU?”

     “Really? Is this your home? Is it anyone's?” He didn't laugh, even though Hannah expected him to. He actually sounded serious.

     Tab turned to Hannah. “You know Jack?”

      Hannah started to reply, but was cut off by loud crashes and a man shouting “Stop where you are! Colony Security! Hands where we we can see them!”

      Eight men had emerged seemingly from the woodwork in a half-circle, automatic rifles pointed at the cloaked man (Hannah wondered if “man” was really the right word) by the fountain, each wearing a black uniform with “U.S.C.S.” on the shoulder, matte black armor, helmets with tinted visors, and bouquet of hand grenades on their belts. She had only seen them on two occasions, both of which ended in colossal gunfights. She grabbed the kids by their collars and dove behind a pagoda. “Stay down!”

      She heard two or three muffled sentences, then a moment of silence, and then the security officers opened fire in a deafening thunderstorm, emptying their magazines into the unarmed cloaked man, who twitched as each bullet hit him, and then fell, smoking, to the decorative brick pathway. The men in armor walked carefully over to his body and kicked him. His cloak the billowed in the artificial breeze, and it sailed and spiraled for a bit, like the ocean's distant typhoons, revealing nothing underneath, not even stains from the flying blood that Hannah was sure she had seen. Tab whispered in her ear.

     “Do you know why he was here?”

       Hannah frowned, not angry but concerned, looking from children to the security men to the cloak flying about like a memo caught in a squall, or a bird in an intangible dream. She closed her eyes and thought for a bit, but Tom interrupted her, pointing at the cloak that sailed past the lights like a cloud. Hannah watched as an idea dawned on her.

     “I....think I know.”

Fugue in D Minor, part 7: Philosophy and the Pariah

Part One   
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
[Part Seven] Part Eight

"How did you program a computer to think? They only process things in ones and zeroes, like you said earlier. That doesn't leave much room for 'why am I here,' 'who am I,' or 'should I make a sandwich."

"I didn't," Ana mumbled through the cold.  "I programmed them to learn, and as Al and Genghis learned, they could program themselves.  Humans think of mental processes in ones and zeroes, so computer programs, being human-created, suffer those limitations.  When allowed to create themselves, they had none of our flaws.  They had flaws, to be sure, but not the same ones."

She took a deep breath and continued before I could get a word in edgewise.  I don't know what I would have said anyway, since this was all news to me.
"This sort of evolution has had people afraid of computers since that play about robots in the 20's.  Genghis, my first Artificial Intelligence, wasn't malicious, but he was idle.  And idle hands are the devil's workshop, so they say.  And it's true.  Just look at me."  She laughed.  "Al is benevolent, but when plugged into the facility in Lazero Cardenas, who knows?"

I cupped my hands and exhaled into them, trying in futility to warm them for more than a second.  I gave up and shoved them into my armpits, and we kept walking through the deluge.  "Why is Lazero Cardenas so important?"

Ana started talking, but a peal of thunder cut her off.  She looked up at the clouds that spat rain on us and frowned grumpily, as if the sky could see that it had annoyed her, and would promptly stop its tactless behavior.  It was a reflex, almost childlike in its frustration, not angry because of the downpour but because she had been trying to talk.  She rolled her eyes and waited fr it to pass, and then began again.
"Destroying the infrastructure of the information age wasn't just my idea.  I got in with the wrong crowd a while back.  They built the facility with drug money, following my blueprints precisely, and once I realized I was in over my head, it was too late."

      "So who was Jen?"

 "My contact in Arizona.  That's where I'm from.  Her 'airport' remark was supposed to tell me that she's ready to pick me up at the bus stop near the lab."  She stuck her thumb out as a vehicle approached.  "I never thought that the fate of the world would depend on whether I could hitch a ride with a stranger.  Never refusing a hitchhiker again."
     Ana shivered, but I couldn't tell if it was from the freezing rain or from the dark fate that might befall the civilizations of Earth.
     I sighed as yet another pair of headlights passed us by, ignoring the two waterlogged shapes with their thumbs extended.  "Yeah, well, I'm sure these drivers would be sympathetic to the cause of two known criminals if they knew that all their cat videos were at stake."  What Ana had told me about the Internet did very little to assure me of its importance.  "Maybe we should try the porn angle too."
She switched her hands like she had been for the last hour or so, keeping one in her jacket while the other froze into a thumbs-up position.  She had been alternating them about every five minutes.
     "I thought I was supposed to be the sarcastic one."
I switched my hands as another set of lights approached.  "Call me a cynic, but the cold starts to eat at my attitude right around the time it starts to freeze my ass off."
    "....No argument here."
The lights came closer, and Ana and I stretched our thumbs out farther, willing the car to stop.
     It threw on the brakes a little too late, screeching past us with a spray of  mud in its wake, but it did stop.  I looked at Ana.  She shrugged, trying to downplay the situation, the grime on her face topping off the desperation that she tried to hide but simply couldn't manage to.
     The car's passenger side window rolled down a crack, enough to talk through but not enough to let the frigid downpour snap-freeze the driver.  "You folks need a ride?  Awful wet to be hikin' right about now.  Dark, too."  We shivered in response.  "Git on in, don' worry about the seats.  Gonna get 'em cleaned soon enough anyhow."
     Our teeth chattered as we sat huddled on the damp vinyl bench seat, the radio's jaunty country tunes the punchline to an existential joke.  Ana tried to thank the man through her convulsions, which ended up sounding more like a seizure than anything else, but it got the point across. 
    "No prob'em," said the man by way of response.  "Where ya headed?"
     We looked at each other.  Ana shrugged.
     "Mexico," I said through mutinous teeth, chattering in time with the car's squeaking windshield wipers, making a symphony of hink-honk, hink-honk and muh-muh-muh-Mexico, with the occasional burst of rain adding a cymbal-like chhhhhhhhhhhh. 
     "Really?" said the man with audible surprise.  "I'm goin' down there m'self.  Whereabouts?"
I wasn't sure if this stranger was trustworthy.  Friendly, yes, but I didn't think it was wise to throw our destination at anyone with poor enough judgement to pick us up.  Ana decided that didn't matter.
   "Lazezazezazero Cahcahcardenas," struggled Ana.  "Don' think I caught that," said the driver amiably.

Horizon's End, Part Three: Revenant

Hannah sighed. “I live here, you know. I've already seen all of this. You don't need to show me again.”

Tab pointed to their left, where several stacks of sheet metal sat in a pile beside a large but precise hole in the fake brick between the mostly-hidden doors to the reactor. “So you knew about the, um, construction then?”

Hannah frowned. “No, I guess not.”

“Well, that's why me and Tom are here, really. Our uncle does the construction, and he wanted us to be here to watch, I guess. Dunno why.”

Hannah peered into the hole. “So what's he building in there?”

Tab spoke from the hallway, looking like she was trying to avoid the construction zone.

“Well, I don't think he's building so much as changing. I think there was a problem with some something-or-other and he had to fix it. Or something.” She looked uncomfortable.

Tom ran up and pulled on Hannah's arm, gesturing almost frantically down the hall.

“What is it? You can talk, right?” Tom responded by pulling harder.

Tab was practically bouncing in anxiety. “Come on, Miss, we have other things to show!”

“All right, whatever.” The group continued their 'tour,' although Tab had given up on explaining every iota of information in the area.

“Hey Hannah, did you catch the game?” She turned to see an unremarkable young man waving at her in the excitable manner of most colonists.

“Sorry, Matt, I didn't. I'm pretty busy.”

“Oh. Ok.” He looked mildly disappointed, but not enough to turn Hannah's attention from the children pulling her away.

She attributed most of their hysteria to childhood logic, and misunderstanding, but she still felt like something was slightly...off. Tab's obvious attempts to change the subject gave her feeling a pretty solid foundation.

“So...what were you doing topside, Miss Hannah?”

Hannah rolled her eyes, and felt like she would be doing that for most of the day.

“I was doing my job. I'm supposed to flip a switch once the sun goes down for winter, but...”

“But what, Miss Hannah?” asked Tab. The group stopped for Tom to tie his shoe.

“Well, I...don't know what it does, I guess.” Hannah leaned up against an ornate lamppost.

“Oh, it's for the ge-” Tab stopped midsentence.

“What?” Hannah bent down to face her.

“It's for my uncle's thing. You know? With the something?” Tab was being less than helpful, and pretty clearly hiding something.

“Whatever, Tab. Thanks for the information.”

“No problem,Miss Hannah!” Tab beamed, missing the sarcasm in Hannah's voice. “So why were you up there, anyway?”

“I was just....well, I like it up there. It's so...different. So real. Although I can understand why we live inside.” She shivered at the thought of the snake-voiced thing in her dream, and unconsciously touched the back of her neck. Nothing unusual, save for some goosebumps.

Tab fiddled with her skirt. “So you live in here, but sleep out there? That's weird.”

“Hey Hannah, do you want to have sex?” A boy around sixteen asked this through the front window of his imitation cabin, which sat in a line with identical cabins and bordered the central path.

Hannah rolled her eyes. “No, go away.”

“Oh. Ok. Hey Cheryl!” He called to the shrub-tending girl.

“Yes?” She turned, trying to conceal her excitement at being addressed, and not doing a very good job. Hannah rested her face in her palms and breathed deeply.

“Want to have sex?”

“All right!”

Hannah bent to Tab. “I am leaving this area right now. Come with me if you want, but I am not staying for this.”

They moved on, although Tab refused to let their previous conversation go.

“But you were sleeping...”

“Yes, I was, so what?” She ground her teeth with the last two words.

“So...you were working while you were asleep.”

Hannah stopped. “Look, I'm sure your cutesy act works with most people, and maybe me sometimes, but I am sure as hell not in the mood for this today. So get to the point!”

Tab and Tom were both pointing toward the center of the second plaza, which they had just entered. The plaza itself was unusually empty, vacant but for one figure sitting on a bench in front of the fountain, who stood upon her entry. She couldn't see its legs, but the way it stood didn't correspond with human biology. There was something odd about the legs, and the back wasn't hunched so much as deliberately curved, like a man-sized lizard or snake.

“Hello, Miss.”

Horizon's End, Part Two: Rabbit Hole

     “Ma'am, are you all right?”

      Hannah looked around in panic. “I've got....find...switch! Where...is...WHERE IS THE THING?”

She rose to one knee and slowly stood, being careful not to fall, as she was very light-headed.

She looked around for a moment. “Wh...who are you?”

      The two children, a brother and sister of very similar age, explained that they were new, and just showed up a couple weeks ago, having moved in with their aunt. They also called her 'Missus' several times.

     “My name is Hannah, and I'm not married. Stop calling me 'Missus,' it makes me feel old.”

“And Ma'am too. I'm just Hannah.” She pressed the button for the pinnacle's elevator, and the door opened, just as she expected. She was really the only person who used it anyway, so it was always where she left it, except the time when the maintenance team decided to work on it while she was topside, and she was left on the surface for two days with nothing but birds and the quietly stunning view for company. She made a point to return on a regular basis, but not to sleep up there.

     The children looked very apologetic. “Sorry, Miss Hannah.” They looked so comically sorrowful that she would have struggled to keep a straight face, had she not been in a rather foul mood. “It's all right. Just try to remember that.”

     They brightened instantly. “Ok! We have something to show you!” said the girl in the tone of a child with something Important (with a capital I) to say. Hannah reluctantly followed, shaking off the vestige of her dream. Get your attention, be more receptive. She shivered again.

     They were named Tabitha and Thomas, (“But call us Tab and Tom, we like it better”) and they were twins. Hannah thought their parents must possess a pretty simple sense of humor, or perhaps they were just...simple.

      The three of them entered the colony's foyer, Tabitha playing the overenthusiastic tour guide as Thomas pointed to whatever it was that his sister was talking about. The prefabricated structure's builders did their best to mimic a peaceful environment back on Earth, which ended up making colony #4's insides look like a giant garden estate, or a country club. Shrubs, benches, and shaded pagodas dotted the landscape, with each plaza dominated by a fountain or statue of some forgotten or just irrelevant hero. Mercury lamps embedded in the cavernous mirrored ceiling gave an impression of sunlight, while periodic oscillations in their intensity allowed a resident to imagine clouds sailing high above.

     “Hey Hannah, are those your kids?” A plain-looking girl waved at her from behind a shrub she was pruning.

      “I'm nineteen years old! No, they are not!”

       “Oh. Ok.” She went back to pruning the shrub, which was engineered to be a perfect precise sphere, and definitely did not need any clipping, although this didn't stop the plain girl.

Tab gestured for Hannah to bend down, and whispered into her ear. “Do you know her?”

“Never met her. I don't care to either.” Hannah suspiciously eyed the plain girl, who was now singing a song to herself as she worked. “I don't like stupid people.”

      Tab and Tom pulled at Hannah, and they continued their exhibition.

Horizon's End, Part One: Dichotomy

     “So, Miss, what do you choose?”

     The sentence trailed off in a serpentine hiss. She said nothing, green eyes locked on the horizon as Pollux sunk lazily through the sky, stoic as a wall but for a small shudder as the pinprick pain on the back of her neck grew stronger. The wind around her didn't so much howl as it wept, as if it knew what was occurring on the peak of Prefabricated Terramorph Colony #4 at the very edge of dusk on the planet Sunrise. Her modest blue skirt waved a bittersweet goodnight to the fading sun.

     The reptilian voice picked up again after a few moments. “I can hear your thoughts as if you spoke them aloud. Your silence is admirable, but ultimately meaningless.”

      She remained silent anyway, probably more out of sheer stubbornness than restraint.

     This time it sounded like a friendly brown bear.

     “You're running out of time, little lady. Tick. Tock.” She bit her lip, eyes darting around as if to search for some deus ex machina salvation. The point dug deeper as the sun dropped lower and lower in the sky. She found the sunset fittingly beautiful today, and although they generally made her uncomfortable, she felt almost at peace.

     “Tick. Tock.” The gentle bear's voice brought her back to her present predicament.

     The light dimmed as the sky faded to a dark burnt orange dotted with purple clouds tossed about by the spindly cyclones that whirred across the vast ocean, and desert beyond the ocean, bracketed by snowcapped mountains thousands of feet high. Perhaps the tornadoes traversed the land beyond the mountains, too. She shivered, although the cold had yet to set in.

     The voice returned to its sibilant serpentine tone.

     “There is no other choice, Miss. Only two options. I know your thoughts, you know, and as much as you try to hide them, I can still hear them as if they shouted at me through a megaphone. I know you think I've offered you a false choice between only two of a vast number of options, and that you aren't sure if old Jack is lying.”

     The sun was less than half visible now, and its light was waning, painting the sky the rich dark gold-maroon of a king's robes.

     “If you don't make a decision soon, I'll make one for you. And I guarantee you won't like it one bit.” There was silence broken only by the wind sobbing through the steel struts and whispering through the moss covering them. She spoke, and although she trembled almost undetectably, her voice was strong and unwavering.

     “Why are you here?”

     There was no noise from behind her, but she could tell by the change in the pressure on her neck that she had caught the thing off guard. It recovered just as quickly as she expected it to.

     “Just helping out a neighbor. That's all. Jack's gotta do what, well, nobody else will do, I guess.”

     She spoke again. This time her voice shook from the pressure of the situation, but Jack didn't notice.

     “What do you want from me? I'm just supposed to flip that switch! I don't have anything valuable! Leave me alone!”

     It sighed.

     “This was the only way to get your attention. I just hoped that you would be more receptive.”

     Her almost-cool demeanor evaporated in an instant. She began to turn to face the other for the first time. “Wait, wh-”

     The pair of spiked electrodes plunged deep into her spine and she collapsed, one arm still reaching in vain for the switch.

- - -

     “Hello? Hello? Ma'am?”

     “Missus, please wake up.”

     She blinked once, but kept her eyes closed against the harsh sunlight. She stretched her arms until her elbows made a slight popping sound, rolled her shoulders, opened her eyes, and started in shock as she realized she had been sleeping on the control deck of her colony.

     “Ma'am, are you all right?”

Fugue in D Minor, part 6: Penitence and Perdition

Part One   
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
[Part Six]
Part Seven
Part Eight

“I hated everyone. Every last man, woman and child. I hated all of them for their mindless roll-the-dice, move-your-mice approach to life. I was a terrorist.”

She looked up. “But once I actually got on the road to do it, I saw other sides of people. Homeless people smiled at me, children waved, random people I didn't know said hello to me.”

I leaned back and yawned. “What was that like?”

“...I...couldn't say.” She thought about it for a while.

“It was incredible, like becoming a real person after being a puppet, or a cartoon, or a toy. I had never seen anything that way before.”

“I was determined, but every day that I saw that side of people weakened my intent, and I eventually gave up completely and turned around. Which was today, when my car was stolen.”

I sighed. “You don't remember what I did, do you?”

“No...well...it was something strange. It must have, because they didn't give any information, and you were on after a murderer and a pedophile, and they didn't mention anything about you, or what you did, at all.”

I closed my eyes and frowned. “What...could I have done?”

“Dammit man, I don't know, but the whole situation is sketchy as all hell. You were probably taking down the government or something, and they didn't want to tell anyone.”

She laughed a small laugh, hardly more than a giggle.

“Well, Mr. Anarchist, we still have the internet, thanks to viewers like you.”

“Ha, well, thanks, I guess. Although I don't remember ever using it...”

My mind tried to change gears, but stripped all the teeth off of one of them and popped the other off the axle. “So, what do we do now? I don't know the first thing about living on the run. Or anything at all, really.”

She snorted.

“Well, I guess we're going to have to find out, aren't we?”

Fugue in D Minor, part 5: of Identity and Categorization

Part One   
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
[Part Five]
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

I snickered a bit.  Bomb the Web?  That's nothing short of ridiculous.

      "How, exactly, were you going to do that?" 

     Her jaw was again set in a scowl.  

      "You're going to have to drop that snarky-ass tone if you want me to keep answering your questions like a goddamn schoolgirl."

    Awfully foul-mouthed for a schoolgirl.  "Yeah, ok.  So, how?"

      She stretched her hands, twisting first the left and then the right until they made a tiny grinding sound, closed her eyes, and began.

     "I designed a computer program to systematically hijack servers-basically big computers that handle network traffic- and then use them to ping other servers and computers thousands of times a second, basically overloading them with information.  The program would then tell its servers to turn off their cooling fans and run at maximum processor speed, which would set the physical servers on fire."

     She drummed on the wheel idly in time with the raindrops, although she didn't seem to be doing it deliberately, lost in thought.

     I sighed.  "That's a hell of a program."

     She stopped drumming.  "It worked, by the way.  Accidentally let it loose on some websites based in Brazil, but it burned all of its bridges and basically got stuck.  That was an older version.  Unfortunately, AL isn't quite as reckless."

     "Al?"  I asked, incredulous.  "Of all the names you could have given to a destructive virus, you gave it Al?"

    "AL's not a virus," she retorted defensively, "he's an artificial intelligence, and the first one of his kind, as far as I can tell."  She chuckled to herself for a moment.  "In one of my moments of good humor, I named him AL because I misread some of my notes that said A I, in capital letters, which looked a little like AL."

     She drew in breath almost as if she was gathering thoughts.

     “Are you familiar with the idea of artificial intelligence?”

     I thought for a moment. She decided to explain it anyway.

     “Artificial intelligence, or A.I., is basically a thinking computer. A computer that can make its own decisions, learn, and communicate, like a human.”

     She continued excitedly, obviously enthralled with her pet project. Lightening lit up the sky again, but Ana didn't seem to notice.

     “It was often regarded as impossible. I ignored all the doubters, and I succeeded! I created a synthetic thinking being!”

     Her smile disappeared.  "He was a project, a brainchild born out of the code of that first destructive program, but with reasoning and intelligence.  Basically he's unstoppable once he's plugged into the Internet, and we're stuck in a car with no gas and no battery...."

     She almost looked like she was crying.

    I don't have much experience with people, but I tried to comfort her.  She's violent, but the only person I know, and I should try to keep her calm, for both of our sake.

     "Ana, we'll stop him, somehow.  Maybe hitchhike."

     She jumped, startled. “...How do you know my name?”

     I closed my eyes for a moment in thought.

     “A phone...your phone...rang a while back. Woman named Jen wanted you to know she was waiting for you at the airport.”

     “Sounds like Jen, all right. She...” Her sentence died. Lightning flashed once, leaving red circles as if we had our picture taken.

     “Where is the phone?”

     I rummaged around my feet. “Um,” I said. “Oh, here it is. Why?”

      She sat back and exhaled deeply. “We're even more fucked than I thought.  AL's already over the border.”  She flicked her eyes toward me and back to the road. “Wait, you talked to Jen?"  

      "Well, she yelled and swore at me.  I guess that counts."

      Her stomach rumbled.

     “Hey, I'm hungry. Sign says there's a gas station a mile up the road.”

      “Ana, it's torrents outside. Do you have any money anyway?”

     She didn't need any time to think, apparently, because she followed me up immediately with a “no.”

     “I know because I tried to get coffee earlier today, and I was twelve cents short. I ended up just sitting in the shop and watching TV....” She trailed off, and threw me a split-second look that could only be described as terror. I frowned.

     “You all right?”

     “...Yeah, I'm fine.” She obviously was nothing of the sort, unless “fine” meant “scared shitless,” and I don't think it does.

     “You know you were on TV recently, right?”

      “Why would I know that? I don't remember watching TV ever, let alone today, let alone being filmed for it.”

     She breathed deeply. “Right...well, I don't mean to alarm you, but...” She trailed off, as if she had suddenly lost confidence.

     “But?”

     She sighed again. “....You're....in trouble...law trouble.”

     WHAT.

     “...WHAT.”

     Of course I don't ask anything helpful, only the stupid obligatory question.

    She flicked her eyes back to the road. “I don't know what you did, but there's an APB out for you.”

     She snorted. “I forget exactly what APB means, it's not good...but not any worse than me.”

     I mentally reeled in confusion. “Wait, I have and APB out for me, so...” I trailed off, before finding the words to complete my question, without sounding like an ass.

     “So...what does that make you? A terrorist?” I snickered at my little joke. Hee hurr.

      She turned to me for a moment before turning back to the road. I could hardly see her face, but I didn't need to look to see her bitter shame. Whoops.

“Yep.”

Fugue in D Minor, part 4: In which an Incompatability exists between Reality and Existence

Part One   
Part Two
Part Three
[Part Four]
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

4:53.

      She scowled at me, pacing like a starving tiger, and then stopped, sat down and closed her eyes. She seemed to have lost her adrenaline high and was dropped unceremoniously back into her unfortunate circumstance. If I had looked up “beaten” in the dictionary, I would find a picture of her alongside the second or third definition. She sighed.

     “Three men, dressed up as a truck driver and two mechanics. I thought they looked suspicious, but I've had to ignore my gut feelings for a while now.”

     "They walked up to me when I was filling up at a gas station and told me that my left taillight was out.  I showed them that it wasn't.  They snatched my keys, threw me in the trunk, and drove...." She looked around and shivered when the wind picked up.  "Well, drove somewhere."

      She turned back to me. 

     “You don't look like them at all, now that I think about it. They were huge gorillas of men, hands that could crush cans into paste. You....aren't.”

I thought that was generous, considering I got knocked out by a crazy trunk-lady.

     Her face softened for a moment. She was beautiful in a strange way, some combination of her almost sharp features, large expressive eyes, and jaw-length hair, which was currently all sorts of awry. Being locked in the trunk of a highway-bound car for an undetermined amount of time can do that, I suppose.

     “Why do you have to ignore your gut feelings? Did they get you in trouble?”

     She looked almost startled that I would ask her such a personal question.  I got the feeling that she wasn't used to it. She took a deep breath and went back to her veil of suspicion.

      “....you could say that.” She looked at the ground and absently played with some small rocks, trying to stack them up into towers, which didn't seem to work out. I would have prodded her further, but she began again of her own accord, lifting the metaphorical veil.

     “I've had to tell a lot of lies to a lot of people, and if my gut had its way, I'd be in prison right about now.”

      I was on a roll, as far as information-gathering went.

“So what's all the stuff in the car for, anyway? The switches? That stand thing?”

     She clammed up again. I was not on a roll, apparently.

     The sky darkened slightly and rumbled like a baritone giant. She stood up and stabilized a little awkwardly, favoring her left leg. Probably hit something on her way out of the trunk.

     “I'm going inside. Come with me,” she said, which sounded more like an order than a suggestion. I wasn't about to argue with her or the approaching storm clouds, so I followed her to the Saab, grunching over the increasingly slick pebbles.

     She slammed the driver's side door shut and relaxed, collapsing into the relatively comfortable driver's seat as raindrops began to patter on the closed sunroof. She glanced at the dash and frowned. “Great.” The car's display was dark.

     I jumped in and closed the door behind me, remembering at the last second that there was a bunch of stuff on the passenger's side. I did a strange half-pirouette in midair and landed facing backwards with my knees on the seat, successfully saving the accessories from my feet. She only partially suppressed her smirk at my stupid trick, even in spite of the situation we found ourselves in. I looked over my right shoulder at the items on the floor.

     “Is this your stuff?”

     She leaned over to take a casual glance at it, which quickly turned very alarmed. “Yeah, that's my-OH SHIT! Give me that bag!”

     I reached down for it, eventually dislodging it from everything else. I handed it to her.

     “Here. It feels empty.”

     She took the bag and immediately her face fell like a suicide jumper. She went limp and sunk into the seat.

     “Of course. Perfect end to a perfect day. Fuck.” She tossed the bag over her shoulder, where it hit the rear seats with a flaccid flump.

     I rearranged myself, managing to negotiate myself into a normal seated position. The thunder grew louder, but still didn't entirely reassure me that sitting in this car was such a good idea. Too late now. 

     Actually, it was probably too late however many hours ago I ended up with this car. Oh well.

     I turned my attention to her from the rivulets that turned to rivers on the windshield.

     “So what do we do now?”

She turned he head lazily, in a kind of trance, or more likely shock.

“...I don't know.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back, rubbing my temples, listening to the rain on the roof. It made me think of tribal drums, but I couldn't think of where I would have heard such music.

“Well,” I began, “We're in the middle of nowhere, and the car's dead.”

     The map I had seen suddenly came to mind.

“Hey, what's in Lazero Cardenas? It's marked on your map.”

     I had my eyes closed still, listening to the patterns the rain made on the roof. I heard a heavy sigh that sounded like it could have come from an ancient statue in a forgotten ruin.

     “That's where I was intending to go the day before yesterday, and it's where the contents of that bag-” she pointed a thumb back at the seat behind her, “-are headed right now.”

     She shook her head. “ Fuck.”

      I saw a hint of distress as she winced in pain as she accidentally bumped her foot on the brake pedal, but her iron shroud returned almost instantly. I could guess there was a lot more where that sad look came from.

     “I'm sorry.” I meant it.

     She looked hard-eyed, almost angry, but I caught a watery glimmer in her eye for a second.

     “No, I should be sorry. I should have expected this. I had it coming. It's all over.”

     Tears escaped her eyelids and wandered slowly down her unmoving face, much like the water on the windshield. I reached over and flipped the wiper controls. She sniffled once and rubbed her face with her dingy shirtsleeve.

      "What do you mean?  Why is the bag go-"  She cut me off with a wave of her hand.  She began with a question.

     "How much do you know about the Internet?  Or, well, how much do you remember?"

     I thought for a moment.  "Not much.  Bunch of websites."

     She turned a little, halfheartedly facing me.  "That's the Web.  The Internet's the hardware that it all runs on, all the interconnected computers and wires and satellites."

     My temper rose slightly.  Arguing over the fine meaning of words has a place and time, but not in the middle of nowhere, in a thunderstorm, at 5:21 pm.  

      "So what?  Why is the difference important?"  I scratched the back of my neck in frustration, trying to relieve some tension. 

     I could hear her grinding her teeth.  "The difference is important because changing hardware requires someone to be at the location to change it, or fix it, or whatever.  Changing software can be done from one place, with the right access."  

     I laid my hands out in a questioning gesture.  

     "So what?"

     Ana exhaled harshly.  "So what?  I was going to Lazero Cardenas to bomb the Web."

Fugue in D Minor, part 3: a Madwoman and a Misplaced Garment

Part One   
Part Two
[Part Three]
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

     I don't have any memories of opening a car's trunk, but I definitely didn't expect to be greeted by a crazed snarling shoeless psycho woman who jumped out swinging.

     “RAAAAH!”

     One of her flailing fists landed solidly on my nose. It hurt. I clamped my hands down on my nose as blood began to stream from it, which really did  nothing but make my cursing sound ridiculous.

     “AHHH DA FAAAAHH!?”

     A young woman with more malice in her eyes than I had ever seen in my five or six hours of life towered over me in her wrinkled pants and grimy shirt. She kicked me in the shin once almost lightly, and then wound up for another one, which felt like a light tap with a socket wrench followed by a sledgehammer-and-chisel combination.

     WHAM.

5:29.

     She had her hands up in some kind of improvised fighting stance, ignoring the new red splatters on her bare feet. I couldn't tell if the blood was mine or hers. I dropped my left hand from my nose, folding it into a fist, and sent it into her jaw with a flat solid smack like a belly-flop.

     She reeled from the blow, but as I readied another punch, she swung her elbow around behind her and located my temple-

6:13.

     Once I woke up and my nose had stopped bleeding, I tried to explain myself as I lay in the ground in submission, and although she, sitting nearby, nodded coldly, I could tell she believed very little.

     “So....how in HELL did you end up with my car?”

     I held my head in my hands. I kept answering the same halfway-disguised questions with the same information; that is to say, none at all. I was getting a little exasperated.

      “I don't know. The first thing I remember is driving it on the highway...this highway.”

     She stood and reached for a license plate that sat on the gravel. Nothing good could come of that.

     “That's bullshit and you know it. Where are your friends now, asshole?”

     “....What? Friends?”

     She walked toward me with the ragged metal plate that grew more and more ominous.

     “So they left all the dirty work to you. I guess there's no heroes among thieves after all. I hope I'm out of this gig before I'm the ass-end of some operation.”

      I said nothing and gave her a look of incredible confusion.

    Unnamed thugs....hmmmm.   Something dawned on me.

     "Wait, what did they look like?  Was one of them wearing these pants?"

     She gave me a look of such exasperation that I just shut up and decided to wait for her to talk, hoping that she wouldn't open my throat with the saw-like license plate.  Then she frowned.

     "Yeah....that's my blood on the right knee, but the guy who was wearing them was a hell of a lot bigger than you.  Hit me straight in the mouth."

     She gestured to her busted lips.   "So, how did you get his pants?  And my car?"

     "I told you, I don't know.  I remember how to do stuff, like drive a car, but I don't remember anything about my life."

      She sat back down and eyed me with reinforced suspicion.

“How did you end up in the trunk of your own car?”

     She glared at me. “Shut up,” she said flatly. She sounded like a raccoon that hadn't slept for a year.

   

Fugue in D Minor, part 2: Jen and some Confusion

Part One   
[Part Two]
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

     There's a pocket on the door that held a map of southwest North America, which is interesting only for the reason that it is unmarked, save for a circle around Lazero Cardenas, Mexico. I don't think that's where I am right now, but I couldn't say for sure.

      The car's (my car? Michael's car?) a black Saab, old but full of riddles.

     There is a stand on the passenger's side of the car that has several different segments that turn several different ways, mounted on the dashboard. It looks like it was intended for a computer or TV.

      There's a collection of junk (my junk? ) on the floor on the passenger's side that I haven't gotten around to looking through just yet, mostly due to shock.

      I began to rummage around in the passenger's footwell, hoping to drag my fingertips, like a divining rod, over an epiphany, or at least a clue.

     There was no chorus of angels, unfortunately, but my blindly groping hand did close on a hunk of plastic inside the bag, which turned out to be an old Nokia cell phone missing the column with keys 1, 4, and 7, as well as half of the screen and most of its battery power. I tossed it onto the passenger seat, intending to take a look at it later. 

3: 22.

      I had settled back into my seat just as a jaunty tune erupted from my right, almost causing me to hit the sign that patiently reminded me of the speed limit, which I was exceeding by a good fifteen to twenty miles an hour.

      “OHHH WHEN THE SAAAINTS....COME MARCH-”

      I snatched it up and reflexively mashed the green “Answer” button, if only to stop the symphony of awful. I held it tentatively to my ear.

       “Hello?”

      A woman's voice came over the line.

      “Hey, Ana, it's Jen.”

      I (who) grimaced. This is not what I had hoped for, but more or less exactly what I had expected.

     “Um, hey, I'm not Ana...”

      “Well, is she available?”

      “I don't think so...sorry.”

      She ignored my ignorance and continued in her strident, businesslike tone. “Well, could you tell her that Jen is waiting for her at the airport?”

      I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

      “Um....I can't, actually. I just found this phone. I-”

      She cut me off with such startling force that I veered into the wrong lane. All I heard was “WAIT, YOU-” and then some indignant honking from outside. I dropped the phone in order to steer out of the way of oncoming traffic. I picked it again and interrupted what appeared to be a tirade. “Could you repeat that?” She lost her already thin facade of tolerance. “WHERE DID YOU FIND IT?”

     “Uhhh....” I tried desperately to think of where I could have picked it up, but all I know is road.

     “She never takes it out of her car. How did you end up with it?” This conversation was not going well.

     “What kind of car does she have?”

      “A black Saab.”

      I sighed. “....well, fuck.”

      I hung up just before a I was consumed by a retaliatory volcano of expletives. I tossed the phone into the passenger's footwell, but didn't hear the solid clunk I expected. I leaned over to take a closer look. The phone had landed on a backpack or messenger bag or something, next to some shoes, a cord for something, and two hairbands. As I reached down for the (my?) miscellaneous objects, I caught a glance of my watch, which said 3:25.

After the one sided shouting match with Jen, the odd thumping in the back of the car that I had presumed to be some loose bolts or something became much more ominous. I signaled right even though I couldn't see any cars anymore, hoping that I had imagined all of this, and would wake up...somewhere. Anywhere.

      As I reached down to shut off the car, I noticed there was no key in the ignition. Hotwired?

     I looked curiously below the steering wheel and found an exposed nest of wires, several of which were clipped and electrical-taped together. I really hope I didn't steal this car. Or kidnap the thud sound in the trunk.

      Despite my better judgment, I decided to turn off the car, pulling questionable connections apart one by one. The car's engine died on the second pair of wires.

      I pulled the parking brake, put the shifter in neutral, and stepped out of the car, all the while trying to override the mild panic bubbling up in my throat.

     The damp, dirty gravel ground under my shoes with a slick wet crunch. It had been raining on and off for a couple hours now, and it looked as if the clouds were on the tail end of their lunch break.

     I shivered.

Fugue in D Minor, pt.1

Soundtrack
[Part One]
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
2:12.

WHOWHEREWHATEWHOWHATWHEREWHOWHAT

HONK HONK HONK HOOONNNNnnnnnnnnnk SKREEEEEEE

2:37.

WHEREAMIWHEREAMIWHEREAMI WHERE WHERE WHERE WHO

2:40.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO WHO!

2:52.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO CALM DOWN NO NO NO STOP NO

3:04.

Ok....ok...this...all right...ok...

3:07.

Ok....where am I? This is...desert...look...for...signs...

3:08.

Highway...8? Where's....oh. Arizona? Huh.

 

3: 12.

As far as I can tell, my life began with the road in front of me; a desert highway spotted here and there with trash and stunted trees, lying submissive under a bipolar sky, waffling between (am i dreaming) storms and sun.

I checked my pockets a while back for (anything at all) something that could tell me about myself. The wallet in my back right pocket has a California driver's license in it, reading Michael Wells, (me me me) a thirty-year-old white guy with a ridiculous moustache and some extra pounds. I checked the rearview mirror.

Not me. These pants are probably his, though. Jesus. This man is a whale. Or was a whale.

So why do I have his pants?

They Should Have Aimed A Little Higher

Soundtrack

9:36

Twenty-five shots later, the smoke that swirled through the conference room like a restless cyclone began to evacuate through the remains of an expensive bay window. The men in business suits lowered their handguns, eyes narrowed, searching through the haze for a corpse.

"Mr. Fuller, do you see anything?" The speaker's empty revolver gleamed in the early evening streetlights far below.

"Sir, I....he's..."







Like many revolutions, it began at the coast and spread inland at incredible speed, overtaking towns and cities under the cover of night.




However, unlike other revolutions, where the combatants fought over a particular patch of land and the rights associated with it, this one was fought over, and for, the people already living there.




9:29

"You misunderstand me."

The hooded figure turned to face his inquisitors.

"There is no industrial profit from this operation. Believe me if you will, but although I was a mercenary once, and may well be one again, there is nothing mercenary about my intent, plan, and proposed execution."


There was some muttering amongst the group, doubt and suspicion among the staple themes.

"Are you gentlemen familiar with Sierra Leone? Small country on Africa's west coast, integral to much of the 18th and 19th century's slave trade, and more recently, the diamond market."

The men's eyes lit up at the mention of the precious gemstones.

"Have I got your attention?"

The men in suits nodded, trying not to look to eager.

"Good."

The hooded man turned away once more.

"If I succeed, I will halt the diamond trade, topple their puppeteer shadow government, and give the people the opportunity to establish leadership they deserve."




The suits frowned. Three reached casually for their pockets, and another fiddled with his watch buttons.

"Gentlemen, I am fully aware of your identities, as well as the companies you represent."

He gathered breath for a moment, and let it out in a sigh.

"Companies that will irreparably damaged, if not destroyed, if my errand-list of activities comes to completion."




Two of the suits reached into their jackets.




9:37

The cloaked figure stumbled as the hazy shroud fell to the floor and the gunmen glanced at each others guns in confusion, mentally computing the number of rounds contained in four six-shot revolvers, and comparing it to the twenty-five explosions ringing in their ears.




As they looked in increasing horror to the hooded man, the modest but tasteful chandelier broke loose of its moorings and fell like a ton of bricks onto the suits. The hooded man straightened up, threw the pinned businessmen a sarcastic salute, and dove like an Olympian through the mostly vacant windowframe.

"Mr. Fuller, call our contacts."

"Sierra Leone, Sir?"

The boss stretched his hand out and grabbed a padded jacket with twenty-four bullet holes left by the window.

"No, all of them."