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The Darkness and the Light - Chapter 2:
Posted By: IAmDelta<mikemello176@juno.com>
Date: 24 February 2004, 12:43 PM
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"This is it, Mr. G."
John nodded and rose, hefting the two bags of money. A moment later, the door slid open with a hiss, and John stepped out onto a suspended walkway several meters across. People passed in front of him, hurrying about their business, as the broad expanse of the Upper City filled his vision. Innumerable suspended walkways similar to the one he stood on spanned the heavens miles high, as huge towers and spires looked down on all. The many lights affixed to them lit up the sky with an eerie, artificial glow, shimmering in the cool night air. Occasionally one saw a bright white snake streak through the darkness, an illuminated train on tracks obscured by the darkness.
John had shed any outward signs of his profession. The pistols still hung comfortingly next to his skin, but he had traded the many throwing knives for a single knife sheathed on the inside of his coat, designed not for throwing but for cutting and slashing. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. Over his shoulder he carried the two duffel bags.
His first priority was of course to get rid of them. Beneath its veneer of safety and well-being, the Upper City was just as dangerous as the Nest, and worse because the presence of light leveled the playing field too much for comfort. The last thing he wanted to do was walk around carrying a large sum of money, with the chance that some petty mugger might by get lucky and steal his loot. Besides that, he couldn't use it in its present form, since virtually nobody took cash any more. However, he knew just the place to go.
He turned left and walked down the platform. In front of him a train sped into the station at the end of the walkway. Various loiterers suddenly took on an air of purpose, flocking to the car like moths to light, and John had to run the last few meters to the waiting train. He quickly swiped a card through a slot next to the door, and then stepped inside. It was the first of seven trains he would ride before he reached his destination. Placing the duffel bags at his feet, John took one of the few remaining seats and settled down for the ride, trying to look inconspicuous.
John emerged from the final train about an hour later. He was now at a much lower altitude, and the majority of the walkways and bridges stretched across above him. The platform he was now on was flanked by several businesses, and much more populated than the platform onto which he had first emerged. Towering over all was a building that was designed to look secure, a huge monolith of concrete and burnished metal. It was a bank, the proprietors supposedly direct descendants of the original Swiss bankers of Earth. It appeared that over several centuries of change, one thing hadn't. The Swiss were still known for anonymity and efficiency, and John knew that if it was safe anywhere, his money would be safe here.
He walked toward the bank and then past it. Watching the traffic around him, he quickly removed his pistols and the knife, placing them in a trash bag. He dropped the bag into the next trash receptacle - they were uniformly placed 200 meters apart throughout the city - and was glad to see that it was empty. That meant that it had been emptied recently, and wouldn't be emptied again for several hours. He didn't know how long this would take, and it would not do to have his weapons thrown away while he was gone.
John then turned and headed back down the street towards the bank. He walked up a short flight of broad stone steps that lead to a door, which slid open as he approached. He stepped through the opening, and the door slid shut behind him. He was now standing in a small, square glass room between the door he had just entered through and a second, inner door. Air jets blasted from left, right, top, and below, and he heard a hiss as pressures were equalized. He knew that simultaneously he was being x-rayed to ensure he was not carrying any weapons. If he had been, the airlock would have remained locked while the bank called the authorities and the guys with shotguns came. Instead, a few final pops were heard and the inner door slid open, admitting him into a large, spacious, yet economical room.
Padding on the walls suppressed echoes as John walked toward an open counter, and the only sound heard was unintelligible conversation from another desk, where a fidgety little man was talking absentmindedly to his clerk. In a dark corner John observed a man standing unobtrusively, wearing a perfectly tailored and expensive suit. Telltale bulges under his clothing told of an arsenal large enough to level a small army. The bank took security very seriously.
The single clerk standing at the desk when John approached did not bat an eye as he unzipped the duffel bags and began stacking the wads of cash on the counter. "I'm gonna need this changed over to international credits," John said gruffly as he worked.
"Certainly sir," said the clerk. "That will of course take several-"
"I know." Hard currency was becoming less and less used, and as such the bank took a while to process it. It would take anything from a few hours to days, depending on the state of the market at the time.
"You understand the procedures, sir?" the clerk asked.
"Yes," he nodded, continuing to stack. The bank would take the money and, after validating it and running it through several tests, count it. They would then use the current exchange rate to convert it into international credits, a purely electronic form of money that had emerged soon after the discovery of sub-space, when the world had suddenly been faced with maintaining money standards and steady markets throughout a network of many new colonies. The credits would be dumped into a buffer account known only to the bank and the customer. John could then retrieve the credits at his leisure from any of the innumerable consoles sprinkled throughout the city, designed for just such occurrences. He would never have to return to the bank, and the bank never had to know his name.
"We will have to count the money before we can place a handling fee-"
"I know. Take it out of the total."
"Of course, sir." The bank charged a handling fee on all of its transactions, based upon the amounts being handled and the difficulty of the transaction being performed. In the case of hard cash, and in such a quantity, John knew the fee was likely to be astronomical. He was better off not knowing.
Handing him an electronic keypad, the clerk said, "Please enter a random five-digit number. This will be the first part of your PIN." Thinking fast, John typed 12044. "Thank you," said the clerk, taking the pad. "One moment please." He stared at a computer console below the counter, tapping a pen impatiently. After several seconds, he saw what he wanted to see. He typed a few characters, hit enter, and a small printer on the desk squealed and spit out a small piece of paper. The clerk picked it up and handed it to John. "This is the second part. Please memorize it."
John read the paper. A5T3-L24E-1D76. There was no easy way to memorize the code, but he recognized that that was the purpose of it. He read it over in his mind until it sank in, then folded the paper and put it in his pocket.
"Ahem!" the clerk said sharply. He beckoned, and John withdrew the paper, placing it in the clerk's waiting hand. Picking up a lighter from his desk, the clerk brought flame to the paper. In a flash of brilliant white it was gone.
"I think that concludes our business," John said.
"If you have no questions, yes, sir. A pleasure doing business with you. Have a nice day." John offered the man a brief half-smile, turned on his heel, and passed through another airlock back into the street, leaving the clerk on the phone arranging for a crew to come down and pick up the stacks of cash that had been left on the counter. John found his weapons as he had left them, with only a few small articles of trash on top. He re-equipped himself, then dropped the empty duffel bags into the trash and headed down the street, looking for someplace to eat.
Turning a corner, he spotted a sign for a bar down the street, and headed toward it. He would grab a bite to eat, then go and find someplace to stay until the money was exchanged. After that...the possibilities were endless. For the first time ever, he was truly free. He could move out of the city, even leave the planet. One thing was for sure; he was not going back to the Nest.
But in the back of his mind doubts flourished. Crime was all he knew. The large sum of money would tide him over for a long time, but if he didn't supplement it, he would eventually wind up back in the Nest. His income was just not high enough as a criminal. But what else could he do?
John's thoughts were cut short as he entered the bar. The interior was dark, and melancholy music played over hidden speakers. There was a single man hunched over a drink at the counter, and the bartender sat on a stool with his feet up on the bar, watching TV. The place had the aura of an establishment that was past its prime. The barkeep jumped up when he saw John enter.
"What can I get for you?" he asked in a voice to match the appearance of the room.
"A burger, fries, and a beer...no make that coffee." John wanted his mind at its clearest tonight. He might need it.
"That'll be 9 ICs."
John reached into a pocket and withdrew a card. He handed it to the man, who took it and swiped it through a machine sitting on the counter. A loud beep was heard, and the man looked up at John with a half inquiring, half challenging glare. "What's the idea, mister?"
"Huh?" asked John, genuinely confused.
"We're not giving handouts here." He threw the card down on the counter.
"Empty?" John asked.
"Fine, act like you don't know. Just get out."
"But...very well." John had no desire to be involved in a confrontation, and submissively rose and walked out of the bar.
The barkeeper issued a loud humph! at John's departing form. Apparently, the card did not have 9 credits on it. John must have spent more than he realized on the train ride here. And now he observed was a perfect example of what he had just been worrying about. He just couldn't support himself. If he wanted to eat and sleep tonight, he was going to have to rob somebody. But then one did what one had to do. From the street, he stepped into an open elevator. The doors slid shut, and he rocketed up toward another platform.
John emerged from the elevator onto another platform, along which were many sets of individual sliding doors, each accompanied with a keypad. He could not have hoped for better luck. It was a residential neighborhood, and by the looks of it pretty wealthy. He just had to get inside one now.
A woman emerged from another elevator to his right and headed down the platform. John waited a few moments and then fell in behind her. As he stepped quickly but carefully, making no noise, he felt suddenly at home. This was his job. It was what he was good at; what he did.
The woman stopped at a door, inserted a key card accompanied with a PIN, and was admitted. As soon as she was inside, John sprinted for the door, reaching it just in time to pass his hand across the opening, activating a sensor that detected obstructions in the doorway. The door slid open again, and John was about to enter the apartment when he heard a questioning sound from inside. He instantly melted back into a shadowy corner, and moments later the woman stepped outside, looking curious but not especially wary. She stepped out into the middle of the platform, looking down it to the left and right. Then she issued a soft huh! and retreated into her apartment. By that time John was already inside.
He moved quickly through the place, looking for a spot to hide until the woman settled down. During his search he noted a computer terminal embedded in the wall in the kitchen. He would need it later. Moving farther down the hall, he entered a bedroom that seemed much too clean to be in use, and hid himself in the closet.
He listened for several minutes as the woman went about her business, changing clothes and getting a drink from the refrigerator. Then he heard a click and a hum. A moment later a strong, deep voice emanated from down the hall.
"And in universal news today, the UNSC has dealt the Covenant another crushing blow in a battle in the Beta Cygni system. After three days of intense action, the fleet under the command of Admiral William Jacobs was able to drive off the enemy and maintain hold on the system. Here with more is correspondent Jenna Peterson."
John knew that there was a war on. Recruitment posters posted around the city attested to that. The impression he had received was that the war was not going well for the humans, but this news report seemed to make it out to be otherwise. Still, it smelled of propaganda, and the "crushing blow" might very well have been no more than a lucky break. Truth be told, John knew very little about the subject. It had always seemed rather unimportant compared to the effort required for daily survival in the Nest.
John stepped out of the room and headed down the hall as correspondent Jenna Peterson began to read off battle statistics and other details. Ahead of him he could see the glow of the television set, but before he reached it he turned right into the kitchen. It was separated from the family room where the TV was by a waist-high counter. The woman had turned all the lights out, and the only illumination came from the TV. After making sure she would be occupied for the next few minutes, John reached out and tapped the screen of the computer, which instantly sprang to life. Pulling a card from his jacket pocket, he slipped it into a corresponding slot in the wall. The screen blinked. It was the only signal that the program on the card was doing its work.
It was a small AI, although hardly fit to be called that. Basically the program cracked into the system with the specific purpose of stealing any credits that were stored on it. One didn't obtain large amounts of money from doing this. People had secure bank accounts to hold the bulk of their money. A home system was the intermediate between an ultra-secure bank account and a highly vulnerable personal currency card (PCC), as well as the best way to extract money from the former. As such it usually contained some overflow and safety money.
John's skills did not lie in the computer realm, so he had purchased the handy little program to do the work for him. The developers had thrown in a genetic algorithm and a few intelligently selected options so that they could legally title the program an AI, but it was really quite simplistic, although effective. In fact, there was a rumor that the designers of the system it attacked had actually released it themselves so that their customers would have to keep updating the software. Either way it served its function.
As he waited, he focused again on the news report blaring behind him. "...and a combination of new equipment and new tactics lead to the ultimate victory. We managed to obtain a few words from the officer in command during the battle, Admiral William H. Jacobs. Admiral, how does it feel to win a victory like this?"
The admiral answered in a deep, gruff voice that John instinctively related to. "We all do what we have to do. I suppose it's all in a day's work. But actually, it wasn't quite-"
Jenna cut him off. "And is there anything you would like to say to the viewers about the war?"
The Admiral responded, sounding tired and mildly annoyed. It was obvious that the interviewer was purposely keeping him away from what he really wanted to say. John chanced a peek over the counter and saw on the TV an older gentleman, probably around fifty but with many more wrinkles than he should have had at that age. Again John instinctively related to and admired the man he saw. He listened closely to the Admiral's response. "Please help. I know you all have your excuses, but they won't matter if the Covenant comes and glasses your planet. It feels like we're all alone out here, and sometimes I'm not sure what we're fighting for. You don't understand what this battle really-"
"Thank you so much for your time Admiral," cut in Jenna once again. And then to the audience: "Pardon the Admiral's words. He has had a long day, and you know how irritable people get when they're tired." She laughed. A girlish, idiotic laugh John thought. "Back to you, Carl."
His attention was drawn away from the news and back to the computer as the program flashed on screen that it had found and stolen a total of 460 credits. John was satisfied. He removed the program card and then inserted his own PCC, to which the money was transferred. Withdrawing the card, he tapped the screen twice and it went black. Too easy, thought John. He slipped quietly out the front door, his footsteps drowned out by the voice of the anchorman as he moved to the next item. "In a rare statement from the Office of Naval Intelligence, all civilians are cautioned..."
Clear of the apartment, John assumed the attitude of a nonchalant citizen of the Upper City, somebody who belonged to the neighborhood. He walked back the way he had come, slipping his PCC into his pocket. Now he could grab a bite and find someplace to spend the night. It would take all the money he had just taken to accomplish this, but hopefully the bank would be able to complete the transaction by tomorrow. If not, he would have to go out looting again. The fact remained that he was done for tonight. He relaxed his mind and body and again tried to decide what to do once he had his fortune.
John approached the bank of elevators at the end of the platform, and was almost to the door when he heard an unnatural hiss from behind him. He began to turn his head, and out of his peripheral vision saw a knife-like beam of blue energy come slashing out of the darkness toward his head. There was no time to think. He just moved.
The blade passed his head by mere centimeters, singing his hair and eyebrows. Simultaneously he lashed out with his right arm, knocking into the arm that held the blade and sending the weapon flying. It landed on the platform, burning part of the way through before it deactivated. John prepared for another attack, but before he knew it his attacker was upon him from behind. His eyes searched frantically for his assailant as blows landed all around him. He couldn't see anything. For many moments he panicked, until in a moment of brilliance he shut his eyes and began to listen.
He could hear-and feel-which side the blows came from. He jabbed at the area with his arm and was rewarded with a grunt and a temporary reprieve from the blows. He heard footsteps approaching again and crouched down low. When his assailant struck, John wrapped his arms around him and pushed up with his powerful legs, throwing the attacker into the air and several meters back. John opened his eyes and looked where the body had landed. There was nothing there.
More than a little disturbed, he sprinted back down the platform, trying to put some distance between himself and this ghostly attacker. He scanned the platform again. Again, there was simply nobody there. But he heard footsteps approaching, and then heavy breathing as his attacker neared. John was not the only one working hard.
He feigned ignorance as he allowed the charging figure to approach, closing his eyes again to eliminate distraction as much as possible. Then, when they were right on top of him, he pulled his knife from its sheath and slashed horizontally in the region he had heard the assailant come from. Something warm gushed on his hand, and the figure let out a mournful cry. He opened his eyes to see that knife and hand were now covered with purple liquid, purple blood he realized, and he looked up to see that he had made a deep gash about a foot long in his attacker. It floated eerily in mid-air, a small strip of exposed flesh in the midst of nothingness. John was beginning to understand what was happening. His attacker had some sort of cloaking mechanism. The knife had slashed a small portion of it, and that section was now visible.
There was no time for further contemplation. The assailant apparently still had plenty of fight left in him. Before he could make a move, something impacted John squarely on the jaw, sending him sprawling on his back with stars floating before his eyes. He expected the figure to finish the attack at this point, but instead he heard footsteps retreating toward the elevators. Was the attacker running away? Then all was made clear as John saw that the mysterious weapon his attacker had used earlier had once again been activated. With a hiss, the blue beam shot out again, and now the creature advanced upon John with renewed vigor.
John scrambled up, unsure that he could get as lucky as he had the first time. He slowly switched the knife to his left hand, pulling a pistol with his right. He felt like he was in an old western duel as the two combatants stood about 20 meters apart, sizing each other up. He took a step closer, and watched as the floating energy blade did as well. They were both poised, ready to attack at a moments notice. The tension grew, and John was about to charge when a loud ding was heard and the elevator doors slid open. John wasn't distracted, but evidently his attacker wasn't used to such events. He turned to see what the noise was, and by the time he thought to turn back, John had covered three quarters of the distance between them.
The phantom enemy instantly charged toward John, bringing the blade back for a final slice. It arced toward John in slow motion, the blinding blue light searing into his eyes and leaving a fading streak in his vision. At the last second he dove, and the blade passed above him where his head had been just moments before. He hit the ground and took the assailant's legs out from under him, bringing him down on his stomach. John was now behind him. He placed his left arm on the mysterious figure's back and drove him into the ground to hold him down. He felt for the head with his other hand, found it, and, placing the pistol there, pulled the trigger. The round blasted through the skull of John's attacker, the soft bullet flattening out and bouncing around inside the skull, wreaking havoc on its brain.
A body suddenly appeared beneath John, the cloaking apparently automatically disengaged upon death. Flipping the figure over John took a sharp breath. His attacker had been no human. A distinctly different shaped skull framed the oddest thing he had ever seen, a mouth consisting of four mandibles that came together in the middle. The figure seemed oddly familiar, but then John had only limited experience with such things. Of course, if he had watched the news regularly, he would have known that the creature before him was one of the Covenant races, those known as Elite.
"Well..." said a deep, neutral voice. John turned his head toward the elevator. Three lights floated in mid-air inside the elevator. After a moment, they moved toward him, transforming into reflectively coated visors on the helmets of three monstrous green figures.
"Did he..." said a second voice, higher, a woman's.
"Yeah," answered a second male.
"But that's..." came the woman again.
"Enough," commanded the first voice. "Clean it up, quickly." He walked toward John, who was frozen with awe and fear. John was just opening his mouth to speak when the figure drew a pistol. "Sorry," he said, his emotionless voice giving no hint whether he meant it or not. He brought the butt of the pistol down on John's head.
Everything went black.
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