The Second Sphere

The central observation room of the Intelligence Division was free, and it was from there that Bryant, Nelson, Malinda, and I would track Cody Beans. At the front of the room was a large screen that, at the moment, was blank. Several rows of stadium seating ran to the back of the room.

The three of them sat in the second row and regarded me with detachment as I sat next to Bryant.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said. But they pretended like I hadn’t spoken.

“Communications ready,” Bryant said.

“We’re en route, Bryant,” Len’s unearthly voice said over the speakers in the room. “ETA fifteen minutes.”

“Engaging with the subject now. We’ll report as he closes on the location,” Bryant said.

The screen became light yellow, then before us was a set of grayish hands extended from a body, fumbling through a stack of drives. Cody stood and sighed. His gaze moved from the unmade bed, to the dirty floor, to the couch where a lone throwaway lay.

The image crackled for a moment as Cody walked into the bathroom and began washing his hands. He looked at his own face in the mirror that hung above the sink. When he was done drying his hands, Cody left the apartment. Out in the hallway, Cody kept his head down, but greeted several men leaning against the wall with a friendly nod. He left the building and bounded toward the train station, exchanging pleasantries every step and a half with other residents of Sector 60.

Cody took the 1-line going up moon. Transfers of various shapes and sizes crowded the train. He tried to keep his gaze down, focused on the midsections around him, but occasionally his eyes would fall upon a face, and he would stare for a moment or two. But those were fleeting moments. Advertisements came at Cody throughout the journey: Coke, Nike, Samsonite. Transfers exited and entered the train. But Cody didn’t move until the conductor bot announced that they’d reached the last stop. By that time, there were only a few hundred people on board.

The final stop on the 1-line was in the middle of an industrial area just on the edge of the constructed moon, near several major recycling centers. When he stepped into the station, Cody hesitated on the platform. His head moved like a pendulum as he got his bearings. His vision focused on an exit to his left. He began walking.

The sector hallway teemed with people headed to work. The walls were gray and worn, with various squiggles of indecipherable graffiti. Cody stood at the entrance to the train station and let the crowd race past him. Then he began to move. A few hundred meters later, he made a left at a wide passageway. The signs at the entrance to this industrial hub read ServiCo.

“Somebody getting this?” Bryant asked to no one in particular.

“I’ve got it,” Malinda said.

A light flickered overhead, which engulfed the far end of the hallway in shadows. It was only when Cody stepped into the shadows that I noticed a man leaning casually against the wall. He was thin with short black hair and wary blue eyes. The two men didn’t say anything to each other, but shook hands. The man led Cody through the front door of the industrial operation. Inside, machinery whirred and trilled. The sound of a pulsing hammer beat in Cody’s ears. The man led Cody past this area and through another door, into a storage area filled with what appeared to be white, heavy plastic piping. The two men walked down a long row until they reached another door.

Cody shook hands with the man, again without saying anything, and opened the door. Inside was a battered green transport attached to a two by three-meter trailer. The door to the air locker closed, and Cody got into the vehicle. He rubbed his hands together.

He pushed a button on the black dashboard, and the motor rumbled to life. Wisps of air began to erupt from the vents. The structure began to pressurize. Cody waited patiently, occasionally looking at the gauges in front of him. A few minutes later, a loud beep sounded.

We heard the gasp of oxygen sucked out of the lock as the doors ahead of Cody creaked open. A worn, narrow road stretched between several buildings. Ahead of that, I saw the craggily face of the moon run far into the distance. Cody adjusted several gears on the vehicle and began to drive.

He maneuvered between the narrow walls, barely avoiding tight corners. Then, the vehicle reached the edge of the constructed moon. Cody looked back and caught a glimpse of the buildings behind him. The transport kept moving.

The drive lasted almost twenty minutes. Behind the vehicle, the lights of the developed moon receded. Cody pushed a button that started a transmission signal, which I could only presume was meant to convey his presence to the person he would meet. Ahead of Cody, a green light pulsed from a thin crack in the ground.

Cody approached the light slowly, and when he got closer, drove along the edge of the canyon until he reached a portion that was a gradient, allowing access into the valley below. The transport maneuvered slowly down the incline. Once it reached the bottom, Cody made a right and pulled up to a worn metal door implanted in the rock walls. The door began to open slowly. When it was fully open, Cody pulled the vehicle inside the air lock and shut the engine off.

The door behind the vehicle closed. Cody remained for a few moments as air filled the lock. After it did, Cody got out of the transport. The door ahead of him flew open, and he stepped through. There, a tall, thin man with shiny, jet black hair waited for him.

“Cody,” the man said. He smiled.

“Hey, great to see you, man.” The two shook hands.

“Len, the suspect has entered the facility. It’s at your discretion when to move,” Bryant said.

Cody followed the unnamed man down a long, dark, rocky hallway, deeper into the cave. They made a left down a corridor and continued about twenty meters. They reached an enormous, brightly lit room, probably thirty meters by fifty. On the gray, rocky walls were black bio-chamber crypts, hundreds of them. Each crypt was attached to a link-up on a small table. Each link-up burped twirling rings. There was a strange indecipherable script on the walls; large letters and bizarre hieroglyphs.

Cody shot a glance to the far end of the cavern, where a translucent curtain that divided the room was open slightly. There were ten link-ups on a large, brown table. Around the table, five bots sat, attached to those link-ups.

The two men moved toward another table in the middle of the room.

“I got the cash transfer you made,” the other man said to Cody.

“It came through? Good,” Cody said.

I heard a slight crack, just as they sat. Muffled footsteps followed.

“Get your hands up! Get your hands up!” Cody’s head flew about, watching the armed men surround him.

“Get your hands up!”

At that moment, Cody looked down to his side. He had a weapon on his ankle. His hand traced the edge of his leg.

Before I knew it I screamed, “Bryant!”

“I know. Len, Beans has a weapon on him. I repeat, Beans has a weapon.”

Even as the chaotic sounds of a military strike swirled in the air, Cody moved his right hand to the pistol. The first shot fired went over Len’s shoulder and struck Cody directly in the neck. A terrible buzz went through the sound system in the observation room. As quickly as he could, Bryant adjusted the link-up to pick up a signal from one of the bots accompanying Len’s troops.

The bot was by Len’s side, its optical scanner mounted at the top of its knobby head just high enough to see over the table. The scene was stark, an image taken from some old cowboy movie. Cody was dead. The chip had melted in his neck. His mouth was frozen wide in mid-scream. But his partner in crime, the one whom he’d been about to deal with, showed no emotion. His face was mountain-still. Then, one of Len’s troops put a mind order band on his head.

“Nice shot,” Len said to the man behind him who took out Cody Beans. “Way to be. You just saved our asses.”