__________ __ ________________ / _____/ \ / \/ _ \__ ___/___ _____ _____ \_____ \\ \/\/ / /_\ \| |_/ __ \\__ \ / \ / \\ / | \ |\ ___/ / __ \| Y Y \ /_______ / \__/\ /\____|__ /____| \___ >____ /__|_| / \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ [ 1998 - 2010 - Hacking, Phreaking & Anarchy in the UK ] April 5th 2010 . Author davethefan ---------------------------------------------------------- [ Fiction: The curious case of the maimed bomber ] ---------------------------------------------------------- Phil emerged from the building; the first thing he noticed from the periphery of his vision was the wide arc of Human Army soldiers with their rifles trained on him. They barked orders at him from their masks, amplified by the in-built microphone. He raised his arms to show that he was unarmed, all the while taking in his surroundings, the future-predicting glasses that had only failed him once in the past showed that he wasn't about to be shot in the next ten seconds - provided he stayed still and cooperated with them. He imagined into the screen of his glasses what would happen if he were to move, make a run for it - the answer came back instantly, he'd be shot in the back. He'd lost count of the times he'd witnessed his own death in these lenses in the year that he'd owned them, each a testament to how many times they had saved his life. Walk towards them, hands in the air. 'Don't move another step.' a voice ordered from the masks. What if I did? They open fired, no questions asked. With hindsight from the future, he knew to stand still, and let them make their move first. 'Where is the bomber? Is he dead?' Phil shook his head, No sir - he isn't. Badly maimed, and wishing he was, but very much alive. Two of the soldiers broke formation and ran into the burning building, keeping eye contact with Phil for as long as they could while running past him. The middle soldier followed, as if on a string to the other two and stood next to Phil. 'We're going to need you to come with us. I don't know who the hell you are, or what you're doing here - but we've been looking for you.' 'I'm just a survivor' he lied. 'Don't play dumb with me - get in the van.' - He gave Phil a nudge with his rifle as an added incentive - pointing the muzzle at his back. Phil walked to the van, he had a feeling that he wouldn't be harmed, an overall feeling that came with having to know and look into the future. But then his instincts had failed him before. He felt safer around Human Army soldiers than that of mans' created army. He was one of them, if he were to choose an alliance. In the back of the van, they handed him a blindfold. 'You know the drill - we're not allowed to take you anywhere without one of these. Whether you're friend or foe - we can't afford to err on that decision.' He wrapped the black blindfold around his eyes, this was an expensive material - there'd definitely be no peeking through this. 'GPS' he silently intoned to his visor and an overhead map appeared, made even more vivid by the lack of light entering the lenses. His position appeared as a flashing red dot, and he knew it to be representative of his actual position from the T-junction 100 yards to the East - that's the way he travelled to get here. His mind drifted to why they'd picked him up - little did he know that he's a wanted man in six decades and hasn't physically aged by a week. Did the Army think he was with the bomber? A conspirator? No, they'd have shot him on sight if they thought that, they wouldn't take him to their hive - unless they plan on torturing him? This thought gave him a cold sweat. Right now, it seemed the only plausible explanation. How will I explain this? Lie. No! A lie will only lead to another and it will be unraveled under interrogation. Tell them the truth? That's a good one: How did you get here? What were you doing? I honestly don't know. I don't even know what year it is. Like a Human Army interrogator has never heard that old chestnut before. The bulletproof metal windows clicked from their hinges and slammed shut, making Phil jump. The machinery in the van whirred into life, and the electronic signals began waking up and trying to communicate with him. Would alarm bells ring if he was to respond to the van's requests? He waited for the course to be plotted, when the van began to rise from the ground with it's' thrusters - he knew that the van knew where it was going. Destination? He asked its dashboard through his visor. To his surprise, it responded - the GPS map on his visual display zoomed out, with a line connecting points A and B. He began intoning wordlessly to his glasses. Store this location. Stored. What is it? A Human Army building. No further information. Classified. Look inside. Permission denied. His concentration was broken by a voice to the right. 'You religious?' though he couldn't see, he knew it he that was been spoken to. 'Not particularly. Why?' 'You looked like you were praying. Talking silently to someone. You hear voices?' 'Sometimes.' he half lied. If he needed to plea for insanity at any point, this would be in his favour. Besides, he did hear voices. How insane would he sound if he told them it was machines and non-linear time he was talking to? 'You'll drive yourself nuts, friend.' 'It's a little late for that, I'm afraid.' realising that he probably should try not to sound hostile when he has a blindfold around him. What's going on in the car? He asked his glasses - careful not to move his lips. Their sitting positions didn't pose a threat. Only one pistol pointed at his ribs - to his right. He was relatively safe, for now. If they were going to execute him, they'd have done it outside the burning building, or privately at this building. He hoped that his being alive was important to somebody high up in the ranks. The entire vehicle was struck by an almighty blow that rocked the entire craft, a cacophony of alarm bells rang all over the interior of the van to indicate damage. 'We're hit!' from the driver 'Massive damage to the exterior. Engines damaged.' 'What was it?' the passenger yelled. 'Your guess is as good as mine, Sir 'whatever it was, it was big.' Behind his blindfold, Phil was communicating with his glasses. 'Time' He intoned silently; the familiar digital clock appeared in front of his eyes, the clock he had summoned time after time, only to close it again as preparation for moments like this. He focused on the seconds. 'Stop' The chaos around him stopped instantly, even though he'd stopped time temporarily, he felt himself hovering above the street in the thin metal shell. He quickly removed his blindfold and yanked open the sunroof, clambering over his frozen-still captors, there was a long drop on to the roof below, he held his breath, and dived – reanimating the time in his visor and focused on the time, and the distance of the roof, ready to Stop before impact – again, the ten-second buffer seen through his visors had saved his life. Sergeant Wilkes couldn't understand what had just happened. In an instant, his craft was hit, the sunroof had opened, and the prisoner had leapt from the flying van – in the blink of an eye. How had he managed that? It led him to believe that the rumours were true, he is the one that evaded capture for decades – and Wilkes almost had him. Almost! 'What the hell just happened?' The two in the front had no idea that their prisoner had escaped. 'Seems we were hit by an air to air missile, Sir.' 'Not that! Him! How did he get away?' Robson turned from the front seat. A young, eager soldier– yet to earn his Human Army title – let alone operate on a mission as important as this, looked over at the back seat, and the prisoner had indeed escaped. 'Oh, shit!' Robson knew as the lowest ranking soldier, he would take the blame for this – whether he liked it or not, he would suffer more for dirtying his superiors' name than he would for keeping quiet and taking the blame. He'd accidentally hit the sunroof button, that's what happened. That's the official story. Wilkes' eyes said it all. Even if you tell a corpse, I will make sure you regret it. Phil paused, just inches from the floor and resumed as quickly as he'd stopped, running for the open door on the roof. In the van, they were scanning using thermal imaging for any movement along the rooftops where he was bound to land – one quick burst of intense lightning darted across the roof directly below them and disappeared from the map. 'I've got him, he's in the building below us.' 'Call for backup, and get down to ground level – we'll catch him on the run, and send backup in through the windows.' They lowered the craft to peer through the windows, but the thermal imaging showed too many moving humans, there's no way there'd be able to track him now – the building was too full. Phil walked through the office, camoflagued in suit and tie he wore, though disheveled – he fit in to the black and white sea of busy staff, attracting strange looks from those in the office area – he knew he had to change, had to get into a clean suit. He stopped dead in his tracks when a familiar face emerged from the crowd. A woman, he couldn't place her face, but he knew he knew her. Rachel Weiss. The woman who had saved him from the trance outside the Ashes of Monovision concert, he'd fallen deep into blackness, and she bundled him into the back of her car and took him home. She recognized him instantly, and walked briskly towards him. 'I need to get out of here. The Human Army are after me.' 'I know you – you'd collapsed outside the church.' 'No time for that, will you help me?' 'You haven't aged a day. How?' she ignored his assertiveness – she had questions of her own. 'Get me somewhere safe, I'll explain the best I can.' 'Come with me. The boss is out on lunch, You can use one of his suits' She grabbed his hand and ran towards the end of the floor, herself attracting the curious looks that he attracted, how does she know him? Who is he? She punched in a key code on her bosses door, looked over her shoulder to make sure nobody was looking and shut the door behind them. He was already undressed to the waist, rooting through the walk in wardrobe in her bosses office. She watched him, igniting passions she had not felt for five years – passions she had tried to dispel in her mind about him – she'd given up hope of ever seeing him again and convinced herself it was best to forget him, but she couldn't. Why was he here? Who is he? 'Phil. Isn't it? I remember now.' She'd never forgotten. 'You disappeared. Vanished right before my eyes. 'How did you do that?' 'I'm not sure myself' he called from the wardrobe, and emerged in a crisp, black suit and tie, with a clean white shirt. 'I thought I'd never see you again.' It fell out of her mouth, before she'd realized what she'd said, it was out. He walked up to her, and looked into her eyes – the same swirling eyes – thunderstorms of blue, brown, green and white still erupted on the surface like a weather forecast of Jupiter. Those eyes that had stuck in her mind for so long. She exhaled with the intense longing of seeing those eyes again. 'I remember you' he whispered 'you rescued me. I remember being in your car, and then nothing…' 'You appeared in my house an hour later.' Something about needing to hide something 'I don't remember. What was it?' 'A box. A small silver box.' 'Do you still have it?' 'Of course. You said that you'll be back for it, you didn't know when – but you needed me to keep it for you.' He scanned his mind for the memory she spoke of, he'd that many disconnected memories that he didn't know where to start. 'I need you to take me home, I don't know what it is I left with you, but past experience tells me that I've met you again for a reason. Remind me of your name?' 'Rachel. Rachel Weiss' her voice saying her own name made memories flood back to him. That night, there was somebody photographing him. A journalist, a journalist with an unhealthy interest in him, he'd bought Phil a drink, that drink made him sick. That's what started the blackout. Where did he go in that hour? He was sure that it would be connected to the concert, the photographer. 'I need you to take me home. I may need that back.' 'I finish in two hours, I've a report to ty-' 'Two hours is too long. The Human Army are chasing me. They will know I'm here.' She looked at her watch. 'Screw the report. Let's go.' Police saucers circled the building like vultures waiting for a death, their red and blue lights intruding the floors of the skyscraper – their prying eye looking in every floor, waiting for their facial recognition software to lock on and pull the criminal from the building. They were flying at almost vertical angles, a dangerous manouever prone to causing mid-air fires on board the craft – the officers lives were expendable when on a manhunt as important as this, their chiefs would rather risk their officers lives for a chance to work in co-operation with the Human Army. Politics between them were hot, and for the people sat behind their desks pulling the strings, communication between the two was important – especially when a rogue time traveler involved in an attempted suicide bombing was concerned. The failed suicide bomber , Morkoft wasn't talking. He claims he's never seen him before in his life, let alone plotted together. Apparantly, It's in his best interests to say that though, if the time traveler found out he'd been betrayed, he'd think nothing of going back in time thirty years and executing Morkoft as a child. 'Why are they after you?' Rachel hissed, careful not to be heard as they ran down the stairwell, three steps at a time. 'They think I have something to do with the failed suicide bombing on Second Road.' she wanted to stop dead in her tracks: Am I aiding a terrorist? Out of faith for him, she was sure to not break stride – or to give away any clues that she might have disbelieved him. 'No. They've been chasing me since before then – this is convenient for them to pin it on me, because I was there at the time. I don't even know why.' She thought about what he said in her bosses office, about disconnected memories, he continued: 'the bomber didn't die in the blast. He was wearing two pairs of trousers, and instead of wearing the belt around his waist – pushed it between his trousers to rest on his boot for comfort. When the bomb went off, instead of blowing apart his organs, it only blew his leg off – he survived.' 'Why did he do it in the first place?' 'He was sent – I was supposed to die in that blast. Someone, somewhere knew I would be there, even before I did.' She let that sink in, and decided that she would weigh up whether she believed him or not when she had chance to think for herself. Right now, her mind was on helping the man she could so easily fall in love with escape to see another day, so she could see him another day. The clump-clump of boots running up stairs echoed up to them, they were almost at the ground floor – the signs above the door on the exits to the stairwell marked Floor Twelve: Accounting. Phil pushed Rachel through the door hurriedly, and they commandeered an empty office, they ducked behind the large, wooden boardroom table in the center of the room – red and blue lights illuminated the entire room. Once they passed, he crept up to the floor to ceiling window and opened it to its full berth, peered over the balcony at the street below. 'No!' she knew what he was thinking 'It's the only way. I'll never get out the front door,' 'This isn't the answer, please!' She was right, this wasn't the answer. As soon as he hit the ground, they'd be all over him like a rash. He needed another way out, and the only way he could think of was obvious – only he hadn't quite perfected it. There was no choice. He drew his plastic weapon from the front of his trousers, loaded with a blue vial that caused temporary paralysis for any number of hours. He used it to freeze live, living specimens that would put up too much of a fight to carry through time. 'What are you doing?' fear spreading in her eyes like wildfire: 'Please! No! I'll do anything. I want to hel-' he fired mid-sentence, hitting her in the leg – the orangey-red hue of the carpet to his left through his yellow goggles said that a police saucer would be outside their window in seconds. In the blink of an eye, a bolt of lightning projected him across the large table that separated them, across the room into her, where he spun against the wall to shield her from the impending impact that never came. She too, had vanished, leaving the police saucer with nothing but the feeling that something just happened, and they missed it. He'd eluded them again. They flew through mid-air in Rachel's front room, slamming into the brown, leather sofa – Phil's back first, absorbing the impact – and they both lie there for a second – Phil storing his location in his glasses' memory bank so he can return with ease, they lay recovering, jumps like that always drained Phil – like a cat being dropped in a bath, Rachel leapt off the sofa, fire in her eyes. 'What the hell-' and she realized who it was, her voice softened. 'You' He sat up, unable to gauge her reaction. 'What the hell's going on?' she asked, her calm exterior not even beginning to reflect the whirl of confusion inside her. He opened his arms, a hug will dispel her anger. She sat on his lap and hugged him – her forehead resting on his shoulder, whatever was going on – she was glad to be back in his arms.How she had longed for his embrace again, yet she couldn't remember him spending the night with her. What was going on? He'd taken her to the beginning of the day he'd just removed her from, partly to save her own sanity – a week of dιjΰ vu would cause her to suspect something was going on, and could even damage her mental state, one day would not. He wanted to show her so much, yet it was not his choice to make, she was not ready to be shown what he needed her to see. 'Last time I was here, I left something with you. A silver box.' 'Yes.' 'Do you still have it?' 'Yes.' She was staring into those eyes again, watching the storms circle the pupils of his eyes, trying to read them, yet it was impossible. She tried to take off his glasses, to see them clearly – but the electric prongs in his temple would not allow them to move. He assisted her by pressing a button on them that retracted them. There they were, in all their beauty. Even more unreadable now that every nuance could be seen in detail. She kissed his lips, and stood to find him his artifact. 'Coffee?' he asked as she was walking away. 'Strong. Very strong. The day has already started and I can tell it's going to be a strange one, because you're here.' He didn't disagree. It certainly would be. This time you won't see me again Phil flicked on the perculator and walked to the bedroom to find Rachel. He knew the layout of the house instinctively, he had been here before – the art on the walls reminded him of where he was – all familiar pieces, completing a jigsaw in his mind. Rachel was stood with her back to the door, fumbling in the top shelf of her wardrobe, she turned and gave it to him. 'What is it?' she asked 'It's a data storage device. It hasn't been invented yet.' 'Then why do you have it, and why did you need me to look after it for you for five years?' 'There's something on there – I think, that I need to know.' 'But how will you access it?' 'With other technology that hasn't been invented yet.' She looked astounded at him 'Who are you? Why don't I remember you coming here lastnight – why does it feel like we just appeared on the sofa together? One second we were in an office, the next, we're here.' 'I've had too many days like that, and I still don't understand it.' He lied, she eyed him curiously – as if she could see through his lie, 'Will I see you again?' she asked. Her question reminded Phil to save his current location in his headset so that he can return. 'Yes. You'll be seeing me a lot more often in future.' He smiled. All he could think of now, was killing Morkoft before he could set off that bomb, and this time make sure his loose lips die with him.