Devolution

Hours later, the agent, having returned very soon after he left, was still in the room with 3, sitting quietly reading a magazine. They had not spoken since 3 put his foot in his mouth and gave up some information too easily. The silence had become as annoying as his presence, so irritating that 3 was beginning to have some very violent thoughts and he wondered if before too long these thoughts might express themselves in destructive and pain inducing behaviors.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded of the officer.

The man jumped in his seat, startled.

3 couldn’t resist the dig. ‘That’s a good job you’re doing of watching me through your closed eyelids.’

A cold smile creased the agent’s face as though he was thinking how much pleasure he would derive from cracking his knuckles all over the Newtonian’s big ugly head.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I thought you might appreciate some company.’

‘I’d rather have my testicles squeezed slowly with a pair of pliers than endure your company.’

The agent stood up suddenly and lurched towards 3, causing the latter to slide a hasty retreat. ‘I can’t stand a smart arse kid.’

He looked threatening and on the verge of blowing a fuse, his face growing more purple by the second but 3 was not afraid of him. Why should he be? He knew how effective a force his mind weapons were. The agent backed away and sat down again, allowing a smirk to lighten his face. He folded his arms across his chest and said, ‘It would be helpful for us and for you, if you could tell us everything you know about Inspector Jacobssen.’

‘I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know him. I mean I know his face because it’s often on the VDU at home and now that he is obviously here in Sydney, he’s making the news again.’

‘Why would he be after you and your friends? He could have easily talked to you all in Mumbai. Are you running from him because you’re guilty of some involvement in the murders of those senators?’

3 launched his hoverchair around behind the lounge chair and rammed hard into the back of it, knocking the giant agent on the floor.

‘You idiot, one of those senators was my father, and the other, the father of one of my best friends.’

‘So?’ snapped the agent, embarrassed by 3’s surprise attack.

Wanting to hurt him this time, 3 went for him again; straight for the body. He was mad as hell for the insult and he wanted the officer to feel exactly how angry he was. Only just to his feet again, the agent wasn’t even looking when 3 slammed his hoverchair into his chest and sent him flying across the room.

On impact there was a crack as several of his ribs gave way, and when he landed against the wall with his arm twisted behind his back, it too snapped loudly. The agent yelled in agony and would have reached, with his good hand, into his pocket for his electrogun but it wasn’t there. He could see it on the floor way beyond him. The door slid open and two armed officers marched in.

‘Don’t move! Stay there against the wall.’

The other officer helped the injured man to his feet and half carried him out of the room. Shortly afterwards the armed officer who had not stopped looking at 3 nor pointing the electrogun at him, also left, backing out slowly before disappearing behind the door as it slid closed.

Still pissed, 3 was breathing heavily and swearing. ‘Let me out of here!’ he roared but there was no answer. He was alone again.

Also alone, Veena had been sitting in a room for at least an hour, she reckoned without setting eyes on or hearing from another person. She looked around and noted the coffee table covered with a spread of magazines. More like a doctor’s waiting room than a police cell. It’s not a police cell, she reminded herself, and they weren’t police. But of course they pretended at first hoping to win her confidence. Hoping she would meekly surrender. She remembered as though waking slowly from a heavy dream laden sleep. Veena rubbed her temples, felt a small bump and the pain it carried.

Fuzzy landscapes on the wall, an artificial plant here besides her chair and another larger one in the corner. The small TV/DVD combo was switched off.

Where was the box of children’s toys? Veena picked up a ragged issue of Worldly Women and flicked through it disinterestedly. This was definitely all wrong. They lied when they said they were taking her to Joshua. Lied to see her reaction. They read her like a book. She had been too easy, too dumb but at least she put up good physical resistance.

Why was no one coming to talk to her? What did they want? To give her information or ask her questions? Who were these people? In solitude, her mind roamed into dark regions of fear and doubt. A blanket of depression settled on her and Veena hugged it like it was her only friend. For the time being, it was.

Joshua pulled his pants back up as he stood, now satisfied that the restroom was empty. It must be paranoia. The sound of his phone ringing split the air like a bugle disturbing a prayer meeting. He jumped then quickly fumbled in his pocket for it.

‘Yes’ he whispered harshly.

‘There’s no one following you. It might be best if you got on with your business rather than hiding out in a toilet.’

‘Of course,’ answered Joshua sheepishly. He stared at the blank screen of his phone and wished there was a face there to which he could match the voice. Nothing and the anonymous caller had already disconnected.

Encountering the wildest rollercoaster ride of his entire life was beginning to wear Joshua out. He suddenly felt exhausted and wondered if he had time to sleep or even to rest for a little while before he went to Circular Quay. Had he known the number of the person who kept calling him with little pieces of salient advice, he would have called to ask for his thoughts on the matter.

Automatically Joshua flushed the toilet even though he hadn’t done anything, and opened the cubicle door. The only sound was a weak dripping from a leaky tap and the faint hum of the air-conditioning. Again without thinking, Joshua washed his hands, dried them, had a good look at himself in the mirror, and left the restroom.

The dark olive green carpet absorbed his steps as he trudged along the hall then turned left to descend the stairs to the foyer. Politicians and reporters with over sized press passes hanging around their necks moved to and fro, secretaries carried folders and files, security guards surveyed the scene wearing masks of boredom. Apparently the Minster for the Environment was scheduled to deliver a speech here in the museum today.

As he walked out through the front gates, the gatekeeper bowed his head slightly and said in a digitized male voice, ‘Have a good day. Please come again.’

There were too many soulless automatons in this city for Joshua’s liking. The more advanced of the serf class, cyborgs, were too lifelike. Indistinguishable at first or even second glance from humans, yet having no real freedom beyond their individual programming, they were what Evolutionists had also said about humans, marvelous feats of engineering and design but nothing more. The creation of such sophisticated robots destroyed the Godless arguments of self serving and vain scientists. Cyborgs could do everything humans could except feel, and think freely. As hard as they tried, the enemies of God had never been able to reproduce the awesome miracle of creation, and they never would.

Joshua consulted the information kiosk out the front of Parliament House Museum for the quickest route to Circular Quay. Unaware it was only a twenty five minute walk in a straight line down Macquarie Street he took the direction to catch a tram. Five minutes after he arrived at the tram stop, it pulled up and following the alighting of several school children, Joshua stepped on board, wiped his wrist before the scanner and took the vacant seat behind the robot driver.

‘Thank you, Joshua,’ it said.