WnW 2.b – Affluence

In the absolute darkness, my only guide was the cool, smooth hand that held my own. With nothing else to focus on, I traced the nails with my thumb. Manicured and short, so there was no chance of accidentally scratching someone. It held me firmly, yet it was not unpleasant. It felt designed in a way that I could appreciate. Even if this was merely a fun diversion, the quality was certainly up to par with other things I had tried. I pinched a bit of their skin between my nails. They didn’t react and I chuckled. I imagined a team of quality assurance testers walking through this same black space trying different grip strengths.

Manufacturing experiences like this wasn’t easy. I understood that. I had funded a few businesses who strived to give novel experiences to those who had tried it all. Compared to those, this was on another level entirely. Everything had felt orchestrated; the rumours I heard from my peers, leading into each other, making me curious.

Then one day, my secretary receives an anonymous package. Within, a bonsai, shaped perfectly into an anatomical heart, complete with different interior chambers. Once supplied with a drop of my blood, it opened, revealing a living spider, who weaved with golden thread. The spider lived in one of my offices for a while, I continued to feed it until it finished its design. Under a microscope, the web contained an invitation: “The world hangs on the precipice of great change. But no one knows that we hold a finger on the scale, waiting. We will Shape the future. Come and remove the veil.”

The next day, a new message had been inscribed on my skin with white scars. A set of coordinates that vanished by the time I made my way to the location. An unremarkable building sat on a lot with no signs or indications of purpose. Once I stepped inside and shut the door, I heard the whirring of hidden mechanical parts and all light was blocked out. And a hand silently grasped my own to lead me.

I was pulled from my recollections as I realized I could no longer feel that hand. I stopped abruptly, reaching out, hoping that the hand would return to mine. 

I spoke into the abyss, “Hello?” There was no response. 

There was no reason to be frightened. Modernity had provided solutions. 

I tapped my watch and felt a very slight vibration on my shoulder. “Apollo, I can’t see.”

A gentle voice responded into my left ear. “Two strides forward is a door without a handle. No obstacles in the path. Try pushing.”

Some days I resented these easy solutions. They smoothed away the wrinkles. Surely the answer was not to cast away our progress but to find new problems. But there was little to challenge me. Some of my peers turned to politics but I found that to be utterly vapid. They sought to hoard their wealth like dragons and rot away on top of it. They had been lulled to sleep by the smoothest of blankets, became numb to the idea of wanting a challenge. Not I.

I strode forward confidently and pushed on the door. It swung open noiselessly and a light source was revealed. A projector unit, displaying a blank white rectangle on the wall furthest from me. There were other individuals already here. An Asian man wearing a vest and pants that were perfectly tailored to his proportions. There were silvery scars running all along his toned forearms. 

Beside him was a Black woman who wore a suit and sunglasses. In her gloved hands was an old cassette tape player. On the other side of the projector was a very tall man. Close to seven feet tall if I had to guess. He looked quite old, the skin around his eyes and cheeks sagged, yet he held himself upright with princely posture. Beside him was a young girl with deathly pale skin. She wore a dress with a fur lining.

Two other objects drew my attention. In the far corner, an old-fashioned typewriter sat upon a short wooden stool. Its shiny, silver-rimmed keys glinted from the projector light. Many wires emerged from the back that ran down the stool and disappeared into the shadows.

The other object was an ornate chair. It had wooden legs carved into human legs, they were incredibly detailed, one could see the individual muscles standing out in relief. The seat and back cushions were made of a red velvet and a wide-brimmed hat sat on it. It had a rounded top with black cloth wrapped around it.

All of this prodded my amusement. It was like a shadowy organization from a movie. Ridiculous. They claimed to be pulling the strings? I knew the truth. The world was run by the rich, in the banality of board rooms and shareholder meetings. There was nothing exciting about that. But I supposed I would play along, if only to see where this would go.

“Who’s this?”

I was caught off guard that the porcelain-skinned girl was the first to speak. She had a hint of an eastern European accent.

“Billionaire Seth Grance. Owner of LifeCheck, Nentech, and various other medical and pharmaceutical companies,” the Asian man spoke fluidly.

I flashed a smile at him. “I see that I am well known. And you are?”

He didn’t return the smile. “I represent certain patrons who wish to remain anonymous.”

I scanned the faces in the room. “And that’s why we are here? As patrons?” I didn’t get a response.

Another figure emerged from the darkness and strode towards the group. She was tall, with long hair and she wore a wrinkled suit with a tie that hung loosely around her neck.

There was a click as the woman wearing sunglasses hit a button on the cassette player and the wheels began to spin inside the clear plastic.

The tall woman bowed to the group and spoke, “Welcome donors. I see our newest member has arrived.”

I allowed myself a small smile. “That’s presumptuous of you.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “We are very selective with our process of choosing new members, Mr. Grance. We haven’t had anyone turn us down yet.” She held up a remote and pointed it towards the projector screen.

A satellite image appeared, showing a farm and the surrounding fields.

“Cathrow Farm. Test site 114 for creating a Beacon. This Beacon was grown by Ortum Three, using a slow-cycle maturation process via biomass transplants. The signal was propagated using forty-three subjects within a ten kilometer radius.”

Someone made an annoyed sound. I wasn’t sure who. The presenter paused and turned to the group.

“It’s too low.”

I had trouble figuring out who had just spoken. The voice seemed to be coming from the empty ornate chair.

The spokeswoman nodded and continued, “You may be right, but we wanted to avoid detection from the local HESP group. Unfortunately, a rogue element has been stirring up trouble in Sillwood, so they were on high alert. Fallout consequences from the failure to contain the situation at Kirkbride Asylum.”

I recognized this behaviour and saw an opportunity to gain some control. “You’re stalling. What went wrong at the test site?”

Everyone turned to look at me. They ranged from looks of annoyance to approval. The woman nodded and changed the picture on the projector. Another satellite photo. This one was harder to decipher. Clouds of smoke obscured much of it. The picture changed once more, zooming in on a building without a roof. A strange white mass was inside, looking like a massive sculpture of grey ash.

“Unknown to us, Ortum Three had rebelled in secret, creating a Phage. He interfered with the operation and attracted the attention of emergency responses by setting fire to the neighbouring farms.”

A high pitched laugh rang out.

What was- I let out an involuntary gasp as I saw the hat on the chair move. The black ribbon that wrapped around the top had torn. White teeth and a red tongue showed past the bits of ripped cloth. It was laughing. Then the laugh faded and the mouth became a sneer. “You want us to believe that one Wolf destroyed this entire operation? Are our agents that incompetent?” 

I stood stiff. If it was a puppet, it was the realest one I had ever seen. I had even seen a uvula within the mouth. Perhaps it was bioengineered? Bits of flesh hooked up to a nervous system? If so, our tech has fallen far behind whoever this is.

I felt a tickle inside my chest. I had been holding back, but now I allowed myself the slim hope that all this could be real.

The presenting woman didn’t show surprise as she responded to the talking hat, “Things were well in hand when I visited the site a few days before the activation. I had a Phage running the operation. I believed he was capable enough to handle it. I went to the site as soon as the Beacon activated, but by the time I arrived it was unsalvageable. HESP had already mobilized.”

“In light of Kirkbride, I shouldn’t be surprised,” the pale girl said, voice tinged with disgust.

“Do we know for sure the Beacon failed?” the man with the silver scars asked.

“The signal was active for four hours, but the strength of the pulses wasn’t near what we were expecting.”

“So the girl’s abilities were overestimated.”

“It’s being investigated,” the presenting woman responded smoothly. “The Phage may have had an effect on Ortum Three’s ability or will to cooperate. Unfortunately, we could not recover her from the site, the Phage delayed long enough for HESP to arrive. We will remedy this in the coming weeks.”

“I must meet this Phage. He sounds like an interesting man,” the hat said.

Okay, I’d had enough. The conversation was so heavy with jargon that it was indecipherable for me. I muttered without opening my mouth, “Apollo, do face and voice recognition searches for all present. Include classified databases if you can mask your request.”

Apollo responded in my ear a split second later, “95% match. Five feet, one inches tall, Belarusian descent. Pseudonym: Snegurochka. Real name is unknown. Involved with crime syndicates in Canada and the United States, with ties to the Bratva. She is being investigated for possibly being the chosen inheritor of Demyan Fedyaev’s empire.”

Even hidden identities were a wrinkle that could be smoothed with technology. I examined the girl. She certainly wasn’t intimidated in the slightest to be in this room. Although some of that could be attributed to her bodyguard’s towering presence.

“73% match to the voice coming from the chair. Maria Wulf. Daughter of Aman Wulf, founder of Forte Automaton Vehicles.” Interesting. I muted Apollo. I got the gist of it. This was a group of very powerful people, but they did not want the public to know about their involvement here. That would explain the ridiculous puppet. I could use that.

The conversation had continued without me.

“It doesn’t matter.” Snegurochka tossed her hair behind her back. “HESP is essentially in our pockets. Besides, we’ve confirmed that they are incompetent at collaborating with other countermeasure forces around the world.”

The spokeswoman responded, “This may be different from last time. Luckily, it’s likely my Phage’s regenerative powers masked the true purpose of the Beacon. However, we don’t know how much they will glean from Ortum Three.”

“Then we should move quickly to deal with that,” the scarred man said.

“Should we be moving quickly?” I spoke aloud. The group turned to me again, save the sunglasses lady who seemed content to just record. I pressed on, “It seems to me that the reason things are going awry is because you haven’t established a workable system. You are all playing very fast and loose with whatever it is we are talking about.”

The hat snorted in amusement. Snegurochka responded with a dismissive tone, “That’s the point. This is new territory. We must act before the rest of the world catches up.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “What’s stopping me, or sunglasses over there, or anyone else who might be recording this from walking out of here and spreading your secrets? Surely you have some secrets, Snegurochka?”

She met my gaze coldly, unphased that I knew her identity. “Go right ahead. As far as common society understands reality, there isn’t anything stopping you. No poison, no bullets or knives.”

The spokeswoman tried to come between us. “Mr. Grance, if you would-” She paused as a new noise interrupted her. A strange clacking sound. This day just keeps getting stranger. The typewriter that had remained inert until now was alive and whirring with activity. The keys plunked up and down by themselves and words slowly became visible as the paper rose upwards. The spokewoman walked over to the typewriter and waited until it was finished. She pulled out the paper, read it quickly, then walked over to me and handed it to me.

It read, “QUITE THE MACHINE YOU’VE GOT THERE ON YOUR SHOULDER.”

Apollo sat comfortably on my shoulder, my constant companion. 

“I’M MORE OLD-FASHIONED IN MY TASTE, BUT I CAN APPRECIATE GOOD DESIGN WHEN I SEE IT. THESE FOXES ARE TOO WOUND UP IN THEIR GAME TO PROPERLY EXPLAIN THINGS. IT TAKES TIME TO TRULY COMPREHEND WHAT WE ARE BREACHING WITH OUR WORK HERE.”

I looked at the typewriter. It remained motionless. I walked over to it and folded my arms. “And why would I go along with this?” I asked.

The keys on the machine began clacking before I even finished the question. My heart beat faster with every line that emerged.

“YOU WERE CHOSEN BECAUSE YOU ARE BORED, SETH. I AM TOO. THE WORLD IS TOO SLOW FOR US. YOU MAY EVEN SAY WE’VE BECOME STAGNANT. WHAT WE’RE OFFERING HERE IS THE OPPORTUNITY TO JUMP-START A NEW AGE. MAYBE EVEN A NEW WORLD. IT WILL HAPPEN WHETHER YOU WANT IT TO OR NOT. SO I BELIEVE THE ONLY QUESTION IS: DO YOU WANT TO RIDE THE WAVE OR GET DRAGGED ALONG IN ITS WAKE?”

It was at this point that I realized I had been hooked as soon as I entered this room. I had to know everything. Secrets were tantalizing, questions I didn’t realize I needed to ask were suddenly springing to mind. New wrinkles arose and I welcomed them with open arms.

I turned to the spokeswoman who was observing me expectantly. “Continue.”