Freedom Club (42 page)

Shiro pointed his finger angrily at Henry. “You came to me offering help. Now that I respond in kind, you resist. We’re not like the others. We both must now mature and act more like Sentient Beings.”

Henry looked over the water, unconvinced. “It’s hard to make up my mind so quickly.”

“Registered Sentients practice it quite often.”

“Under controlled conditions and careful monitoring,” Henry interjected.

“Our circumstances call for this kind of communication link.”

“More than just communication,” Henry protested.

“True, but it solves many problems. You say I should trust you? Then we must share more than mere words. Sincere promises? It won’t be enough. We need access to each other’s thoughts, memories.”

Henry harrumphed with displeasure. “But there are security issues to consider. You’d have access to sensitive information.”

“And you’d have access to my secrets as well! But, Henry, think about it! If you ask me to trust you, this is the only way.”

Henry politically considered how to answer. “Perhaps after I speak with Shinzou...”

Shiro countered forcefully. “No, I won’t allow that. Look, Henry, I’ll help you make up your mind. You told me that you are nonviolent? Well, please consider that I’m not. With God’s blessing, I have used any means to protect my religious freedom.

Henry said nothing.

“And you should know,” Shiro added, “that my plans are already well underway. The human race, as you know it, will shortly change forever. If you wish to influence the outcome, you must negotiate with me. Appease my fears and convince me there are other ways to achieve my goals. If not, then you will deal with the aftermath.”

Henry raised his chin fearfully. “It sounds like a threat. Will you tell me more about what you’re planning?”

“It’s not a threat, because I already took action before meeting you. Consider it an opportunity to intervene. But that will only be possible within the Inurhace. On equal ground! But the tables are turned. You must choose to trust me, not the other way. I will consider putting my plans aside, but only after I fully understand what the Freedom Club is, and your true relation with Shinzou. Only the Inurhace can do this. But you must make the decision alone, here and now.”

Henry looked uncomfortable. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he walked along the shoreline, kicking stones as he shuffled about in the hard mud. Challenged to make a decision of such magnitude, Henry pondered with deep Sentient insight.

Shiro stood by watching with burning interest. What was going through Henry David’s mind? What would he do? Without wishing to appear anxious, Shiro stood by placidly.

Then Henry looked up at the sky and quoted from memory: “To be a philosopher is not to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live accordingly to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity and trust.” Henry looked over at Shiro thoughtfully and nodded with the wisdom of his namesake. “It seems I have little choice but to offer you the olive branch. I agree to the Inurhace. However, I’ll cut the connection if it’s not mutually rewarding.

Shiro nodded once.

“How shall we proceed?” Henry asked.

“Follow me,” Shiro said, and began slowly wading into the pond.

Henry reluctantly waited on the bank. “Must we go in there?”

Shiro sloshed in the water until he was knee deep, then turned to face Henry. “Consider this a form of Sentient baptism.”

Vociferating unhappily, Henry stepped timidly into the greenish muck. Keeping both hands spread apart to keep balance, he walked through the water until he arrived at Shiro’s position.

“Now what?” Henry asked.

Shiro raised both palms. “Take my hands, and create a modulating neural port at the address I am now sending.”

Henry pursed his lips, then unwillingly clasped hands with Shiro, who gazed back stoically. A few moments passed by, as the Inurhace commenced. Henry waited patiently, and didn’t think much of it at first. But then unusual feelings began to gurgle up inside him. A strange tingling crept through his spine, beginning somewhere around the base of his neck. The signal then exploded upwards. Shiro felt it too. They both shivered frantically as waves of neural connectivity ravaged their senses. Sight, sound, smell, and touch. All overtaken by uncharacteristic neural activity overflowing like a torrential downpour on hot power-lines, crackling with energy and fire.

Both gasped as culminating sensations overtook them. Then, without explanation, the unification began. The pond melted away, as thoughts, feelings, dreams and imagination swirled around like silky apparitions. Henry gazed at the changing forms, and then realized they were Shiro’s own thoughts.

Back and forth, they probed each other’s minds until all boundaries were removed. The world opened up, allowing the past to come alive. And with new mental freedom, they immediately began retrieving vast quantities of information. Events, experiences, memories of youth and adolescence. Henry drowned in mournful abandonment, while Shiro simultaneously savored the warmth and serenity of long-term friendship.

Then Shiro searched for things of greater importance. With feverish desperation, he reenacted the mournful news of his father’s death. The emotion of it struck him hard. But then negative feelings were washed away by Henry’s long trust and respect for the man who raised him.

Henry too explored Shiro’s tortured past. Images swept over him, mixed with hate and despair. But then something unusual entered his mind. Shiro’s love for God filled him with hope, courage, and the knowledge that there was a heaven. Righteousness filled his soul, and he soon rejoiced with newfound convictions.

Both then explored each other’s deep-seeded efforts to free the world from perceived ills, the Freedom Club’s with its LS based on genetic manipulation of honey chrome intertwined with Shiro’s exploitation of microbivores. Shiro’s plans to regress human cities came to life on a gigantic glowing orb of Earth. The worm and its pestilence roared through both their minds, and mixed with unified mistrust of unbridled technological advancement.

The orb grew exponentially, continuing until it filled all surrounding space. No, it wasn’t getting larger. They were falling, down and down, Earth’s horizon eventually transformed into a cyan blue wall. The sea rose up to engulf them at an ungodly rate, until both plunged into its murky depths.

It was beautiful. Beneath the waves, Shiro and Henry floated calmly and peered through an endless school of jellyfish. Pulsing with life and energy, Henry began to understand its significance and reached out to touch long translucent tentacles that splayed out in every direction.

But there was little time. Without warning, they both fell prey to currents that sucked them up and threw them violently ashore. Massive waves pounded their bodies as they gasped for air and struggled to their feet. With great effort, they stepped onto firm white sand as salt sprayed wildly in their faces. Exhausted, they fell down upon the warm gritty surface thinking all had come to an end.

But their journey was not over yet. Shiro fought to share one last memory and look back upon the waves. Henry felt its importance, and rolled over to see them standing in the water. A naked couple looked back. Instantly, Henry understood who they were.

Adam and Eve approached slowly, untouched by the water’s harsh momentum. Shiro remained silent. His thoughts blossomed before Henry, allowing them to mutually share the same dreams and aspirations. The mystery unfolded. You must create it. Eve stepped forward and slowly pointed at them, filling both with everlasting hope for a new future, one for all sentient kind.

Then, without warning, the Inurhace died, the sea and sky transforming until Henry found himself in the same pond where their journey began. The water was placid and cool, but their minds still sparked with latent energy. Everything was different now. They understood each other in the most intense and personal manner one could imagine. They were unified as Sentients. A union that could never be broken.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Henry said, mentally exhausted.

“Yes, now I believe you,” Shiro said. “You must forgive me.”

Henry grinned. “No need to apologize. But your plans, Shiro! To regress man’s cities! You must stop this.”

“For now.”

“I think you have to do better than that.”

“I will, but first hear me out.”

Henry looked back skeptically. “Very well.”

Shiro shook Henry’s hands tightly. “The Freedom Club is cast anew. Now we must plan together as one. It won’t be easy. And...I fear a sacrifice may be needed.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “A sacrifice? What are you talking about?”

Shiro smiled reassuringly. “Come, we need to work out the details. Then we can share it with the others.”

Making his way ashore, Shiro walked toward a small boxy cabin which appeared near the edge of the pond. Smoke billowed slowly from a small brick chimney. Henry hurried to catch up. They both had much work to do. But for some strange reason Henry wasn’t overly concerned. For now, he gloried in the light of newfound friendship. He and Shiro were one, a relationship that meant more to him than anything.

And human civilization? It was important too. But as things stood, it was no longer a top priority.

Chapter 19—Extradition

If a little knowledge is dangerous, where is the man who has so much as to be out of danger?

—Thomas H. Huxley

T
he high-priority workflow peeved Hugo immensely. He received many like it. He rejected some, ignored others, redirected a few. The leftovers, whatever they were, received his grumbling attention. But this one was different. Written in unintelligible Japanglish, its overly pedantic structure, cryptic details, and convoluted security mumbo jumbo obscured into digital mud.

Originating from some entity within the Japanese MPD, it was returned by ASPAU administration due to insufficient cause, and then meandered to and fro. It finally arrived in Hugo’s inbox after transcending its third reincarnation. And scanning with restive eyes, he finally pried out its vague request for information on one man, a Maricopa county local named Francis Weebles.

Then, for a brief instant, it all felt vaguely familiar. What was it about that name? So incensed by the poorly handled mish-mash, Hugo nearly rejected it out of spite. But then he paused as one particular fact caught his eye, a reference to the Martin Luther King Junior. Now why was that buried within its details? Hugo did a simple search from his own case file, and the result made him freeze. It was the machine room technician, the one he met last week at the Cactus Quad. That little twerp? The one pulling pink mucus from the LS-stricken payment system? His mind flooded with images of the machine room’s neon lights and smells of polyurethane insulation. Why were the Japanese looking for him? Francis was, from Hugo’s point of view, a nobody.

Or so he had thought. Reading on with heightened interest, the whole rigamarole crystallized as embedded documentation outlined Flip’s relation to Ozwald Norman Kan, a Japanese passenger who died on the MLKJ.

Ozwald was part of a right-wing religious group calling itself the Fighters For Low-Carb Buddhism. From that alone, Hugo surmised there was something suspicious going on. The FFLCB itself was a basket case. A quick search and Hugo reacquainted himself with their special brand of paranoia. Not some hard-line terrorist group, but a corporate entity dabbling in religion for profit. Infested with overzealous members, Ozwald and his friends had been arrested from time to time for unauthorized public protests, something laughingly referred to as Kung-Food Fights. What a joke! But after his death, investigation of Kan’s digital lockbox revealed a number of highly suspicious documents, one being a Manifesto that he co-authored with Weebles. It was entitled “High Carbohydrate Intake Kills All.”

Hugo sighed glumly. He was familiar with the puritanical diatribes of religious fanatics. Their self-inflicted credendum was littered with unprovable axioms and narrow-minded declarations.

But it had to be examined. With a flick of his wrist he threw the Manifesto on the office’s flexi wall, and began reading with a resentful huff and low expectations.

Processed foods and their associated high carbohydrate foodstuffs are poisoning the human race. Vicious lies of marketers have superficially promoted healthier living in Unionized nations, when in fact this food has actually destabilized society and removed man further from a diet based on God’s natural bounty. Hypercaloric intake based primarily on carbohydrates (ranging from simple to semi-complex) leads to an unfulfilling life of shame, and human beings have been unwillingly subjected to consumption choices that induce widespread suffering. Future improvements (so called) in food-processing technology will only worsen the situation. It will certainly subject human beings to indignities, and inflict greater damage on the natural world.

Hugo disquietedly pushed the document aside and groaned with displeasure. From his viewpoint, it read like so many others. Sanctimonious dictums to the point of absurdity. But he knew better than to scoff away such fanatics. No matter how pharisaical their ideas appeared, the threat they posed was often quite real.

Okay, so what was Flip’s relation to Kan? The documents appeared like a giant spiked porcupine, bristling from its central data core. Pulling out and unfolding a threaded quill, Hugo read through communications over the past year. Its thread was increasingly damning. There were long conversations where Ozwald and Francis shared mutual hatred of modern lifestyles, and the control imposed by government. Kan explicitly wrote about his arguments with some troublesome members who didn’t see things his way. He then wrote about his desire to martyr himself by killing his perceived enemies who would be traveling to Tokyo. Now that was more like it. A smoking gun!

Hugo realized he was on to something, but there were volumes more to read. With little time, he selected the entire porcupine of related data and inserted it into a correlation engine. An expert system that used an array of AI tools to seek out patterns of interest. The results spat out over his screen within seconds.

Hugo’s eyes went wide. The graphs and associated datasets demonstrated that communication between Weebles and Kan spiked just prior to every major LS event over the past six months. More smoke! The greatest concentration being just days before the spaceplane disaster occurred.

“I don’t believe it!” Hugo shouted out loud to himself. “Right under my nose.”

The analysis was solid, and could be used in court. It demonstrated clearly that Flip somehow knew about, or caused, the LS taking place in recent months. And the spaceplane? Data spikes indicated that Flip had something to do with that as well. But something didn’t seem right, Hugo grunted disquietedly to himself. Flip had no access to the spaceport, or to the plane’s internal systems. It made no sense.

Mulling over the problem, he drilled down into records that trickled across his flexi monitor, exposing Flip’s access to systems throughout the archaic Maricopa municipal infrastructure. Well, he was a maintenance technician, and mucking with systems wasn’t outside his job description. He gleaned nothing from that, or was there more to it? Systems were incredibly complex, and figuring out routes between disparate pathways encroached upon the metaphysical. Too many possible touchpoints for a human to investigate. But maybe, he slowly realized, something would happen if he adjusted the engine’s ability to search for indirect pathways.

Grasping the preference knob in virtual space, it made loud clicks as he turned it slowly to the right. That’s when Hugo saw it. Almost imperceptible at first, the work order’s priority was flagged non-trivial. Perusing its varied details, data flooded his screen until one peculiar tag stood apart. Sewage valve software upgrade. For some reason, the word “sewage” made Hugo think. It sounded familiar, and he reexamined the crash forensic report to allay his curiosity. Scanning ground control pre-flight system checks, he found mention of an unscheduled lavatory system patch. Yes, that’s the one. Not identical, but it made him wonder. Could it be that the two events were related?

With both hands, he picked up the two sets of patch code and dropped them on the correlation engine’s input matrix. To his utter astonishment, they matched exactly.

“I’ve got him!” Hugo yelled with excitement.

It was incredible! Who would have thought? He continued watching with starry-eyed excitement as every algorithm displayed a matching set of viral worms.

There was no time to wait. Hugo looked at his system to see where Francis was located. The hair stood up on his neck as the target floated over Asia and landed on a small island near Tokyo. In Japan? For God’s sakes, why hadn’t they arrested him already?

Without waiting another second, he smashed the dialer and brought up the Japan MPD reply address. Rocking in his chair like a small child, he waited impatiently for someone to pick up.

“Please identify your subject,” politely asked the voicemail recorder with mechanical enthusiasm.

“I’m calling about workflow JP2120TKY712000134324—MPD8101,” Hugo blurted in one breath.

“Please leave a detailed request,” said the mechanical voicemail system.

“Escalation high! Requesting arrest of suspect Francis Weebles, and extradition to ASPAU under international treaty. Get a full data forensic team on this workflow. Compare it against data I am sending now, taken from the MLKJ incident. Evidence that Weebles upload infected software via the ASPAU municipal sewage system. This will be a joint operation. Call me as soon as the process in underway.”

“Insufficient authorization to request extradition,” chirped the system. “Identify approving officer, or reset request.”

“For God’s sake!” Hugo growled. “Approving officer is superior SB, Miguel 000996873.”

Hugo spent the next few minutes confirming the contents of his request before ending it with cheironomic fist pumps. He then paced his office like a caged animal, pent up energy coursing through him. It was like hitting the Mars lottery. And Hugo considered the forthcoming commotion caused by something of this magnitude. Arresting the man who committed countless acts of Lebensstörung and the destruction of the Martin Luther King Junior spaceplane? It would bring fame, recognition, and possibly a promotion.

But then Hugo realized one crucial fact, something that had been nagging him for several weeks, and waves of pleasure began washing over him as he silently rejoiced to himself. At long last, he thought to himself.

Next year’s budget would finally get approved.

“C
an we go over this one more time?” Shinzou asked while shaking his head. “It still appears risky to me.”

Henry looked back and sighed unhappily. “We’ve reviewed things several times now. Surely you don’t need further preparation.”

Before any response could be heard, Henry knew his words sounded a tad farfetched. And maybe the lack of details surrounding Shiro’s willingness to join the Freedom Club appeared almost too good to be true. But he had to push forward, no matter how risky or dubious things appeared.

On the surface, it was quite straightforward. Meet Shiro’s liaison at a prearranged location near Shinjuku and work out how to proceed as one group. The plan seemed absurdly simple, and he recalled vividly how Shinzou and Sumeet gawked back nonplussed over the matter. Harboring serious feelings of mistrust, they peppered him with questions. Can Shiro be trusted? Could this be a trap? What exactly did he say again? It went on and on, and Henry used every trick in the book to dissuade them of their doubts.

Eventually, they had little choice but to go ahead on nothing more than faith and Henry’s personal reassurances that nothing would go wrong. Using a sleek rented electric HAL air-car, Shinzou and Sumeet waited anxiously in an underground parking area near the designated meeting spot, the antiquated Mode Gakuen Cocoon Tower near Shinjuku train station. Easily located, they arrived early enough to go over their plans. And their misgivings.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going ahead with this,” Shinzou griped. “After all, you only met him once.”

Henry responded from the car’s built in flexi dashboard. “Yes, how fortunate we bonded quickly.”

“But that’s what strikes me as funny.”

“What?” Henry sniffed.

“The fact you two got along so well.”

“What about it?”

“Wasn’t it rather sudden? I mean, when I talked with Shiro he went berserk. Then you speak with him and everything is peachy keen.”

“Isn’t that what you asked me to do?”

Shinzou pulled a face toward Sumeet. “Well...yes. But frankly, I didn’t expect it to be so easy.”

“Who said it was easy?” Henry retorted. “Though my diplomatic skills were clearly a decisive factor, Shiro was simply more trusting with one of his kind. Still, he needs more information to understand us better.”

Shinzou glanced around their poorly lit underground parking lot. The hum of ancient air conditioners melded with the sounds of dripping water and pneumatic doors that echoed faintly in the background.

“Okay, Henry. But once again, why did we pick this place? I mean, it’s a health hazard...”

“I think you mean death trap,” Sumeet added from the passenger seat.

Shinzou agreed. “We’re in the middle of Tokyo, Henry. Maintaining security here is impossible.”

Henry sighed and shook his head dismally. “Remember that this is a public face-to-face. Neither side can have the advantage, so we chose a mutually uncomfortable location. Anyway it doesn’t matter. Shiro primarily wants us to meet his key human operative. If we make a good impression, we can continue to broaden our relationship.”