Anything Goes Read online

  ~1~

  I awake in a daze, sprawled on the debris-strewn tiles of the former UN General Assembly building. The place is a blackened, weather-beaten shell. The terrorist attack of 2056 destroyed it before I was even born. Decades of rot have taken its toll, tearing sunlit gaps in the domed ceiling. A musty, sickening stench permeates the vast chamber. Only the rats hold congress here now.

  I slowly rise, searching my gutted surroundings for any clue as to how I ended up in such an unfamiliar place. My computer-augmented brain purrs softly in my head as it postulates, calculates, and organizes a plethora of data in seconds. I study the Condemned signs and graffiti spray painted on the charred, peeling walls while its processors hum away.

  A familiar tag catches my interest. The red fist raised in defiance has spread at a disturbing pace over the past few years. It's the symbol of New Way, a radical extremist group committed to bringing down the international governing body of the Order.

  I've become quite familiar with the group since assuming my role as chancellor general to York City. Their revolutionary activities are a regular part of my daily briefings with the president.

  The solitude and desolation stir me into a panic. Outside the secure walls of the Citadel, an armed escort always lurks in my shadow. I check my pockets. They're empty. My Wireband wrist PDA is gone as well – not that I could contact anyone this far from the city, anyway.

  I roll up my sleeve to press the alert switch on the tracker embedded into my forearm. The fresh bandage I find instead covers its recent extraction. My cyberbrain calculates possibilities and quickly presents me with the most obvious scenario. The thought sends chills through my body.

  "Somebody abducted me," I utter breathlessly. The revelation introduces a greater mystery – one whose answer I'm unable to discern, no matter how thoroughly I investigate my strange surroundings; where are my abductors now?

  "Hello?" I shout.

  My voice echoes in the cavernous ruins of the hall. From somewhere high above, a startled bird takes wing. The rustle of its feathers as it soars into the sunlight is my only reply.

  A low whine pulls my attention towards a wall devastated by a massive explosion. The gaping fracture reveals the decrepit ruins of once-proud structures on First Avenue. The rickety matchstick towers, now partially consumed by twigs and leaves, stand empty, save for the wildlife nesting within their crumbling walls.

  As I struggle to make sense of my situation, a mechanical shadow whirrs past. An automated sentry drone. Even in this abandoned fringe of the city, enemies of the Order require our constant vigilance.

  "Here!" I yell out to it in my loudest voice, stumbling over the detritus as I hurry to the opening. "I'm here!"

  The whine of its servos lower in pitch as it hovers in place while its A.I. triangulates the source of the disturbance. I help by squeezing through the crack in the outer wall and running across the grass, waving my arms.

  It's a stupid risk, considering the armed drone will attack any visible threat, but the prospect of rescue blinds me to the obvious. It swings to face me, the spinning barrel of its high-capacity repeater wailing as it threatens to unleash hellfire in my direction. I overlook the threat completely in my headlong rush into danger.

  Stop, you idiot!

  The stranger's voice shocks me so badly that I trip over my own feet and tumble to the ground. My clumsiness saves my life. The drone continues to track me warily, but allows its primary weapon to wind down. In a microsecond, it reclassifies the prone target in its sensors as non-combatant.

  I clutch handfuls of grass while my face pales. I realize with dawning horror that the unfamiliar voice that just barked at me came from inside my own head.

  "What? How..?"

  The drone approaches. Its cannons tilt to keep my face in its crosshairs.

  "STATE IDENTITY," it demands in its synthesized, inhuman tone.

  Give the machine what it wants, or we're both dead.

  "I don't understand. How are you–?"

  "STATE IDENTITY," the drone repeats, this time accompanied by the spinning drum of its main guns. "YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO COMPLY."

  Are you trying to get us killed?

  "What are you doing in my head?" I shriek. The unreality of the situation flummoxes me. Not even the threat of impending death breaks through my stupor.

  "ERROR. STATE IDENTITY OR YOU WILL BE TERMINATED. YOU HAVE ONE SECOND TO COMPLY."

  In a heartbeat, I'm disconnected from the physical world, ripped from my senses and set adrift in my own mind. My body is on remote control.

  "Nason!" my mouth responds autonomously. "Chancellor General Robert Nason! Ident number..." Unseen fingers rifle through my brain. "...AA1375609-G."

  The drone processes the information, wirelessly transmitting data to its central hub. It receives its orders in the blink of an eye.

  "FACIAL ANALYSIS COMPLETE. IDENTITY CONFIRMED. CHANCELLOR GENERAL ROBERT NASON, YOU ARE IN A RESTRICTED AREA. DO YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE?"

  "Yes," my tongue replies without awaiting my input.

  "PLEASE REMAIN IN THE AREA. A SECURITY TEAM HAS BEEN DISPATCHED TO RETRIEVE YOU. ETA: FIVE MINUTES."

  Its business here concluded, the drone returns to its preprogrammed patrol route.

  In its wake, the feel of grass between my fingers and wind upon my flesh becomes a tactile sensation again. I'm back in control of my wayward body.

  I rise uncertainly. Clouds lazily drift by above my head. The unfamiliar sight only exacerbates my bewilderment. I long for the comfort of skies dark with steady streams of aircars and towering skyscrapers. Lacking the constant bustle of a megacity thirty-five million souls strong, the silence of the polluted East River hurts my ears.

  "What is going on? Who are you and what are you doing in my head?"

  Call me Trace, the deep voice echoes in my mind. It wasn't supposed to go down like this. We planned to leave you in the dark until my mission was over. This complicates things.

  "What mission? Why did you grab me?"

  You have privileged access to the Citadel. I uploaded my consciousness into the backup memory of your cyberbrain because I need you to get me inside.

  "Why? What do you intend to do?"

  I'm going to kill a man.

  Before the question forms on my lips, I realize that I already know the answer. "The president!" I gasp. "You're using me to get close to President Travis so you can assassinate him!"

  Trace, the unseen voice in my head, remains silent.

  "No! There's no way I'm going to–"

  My hand suddenly shoots up and slaps my face hard. My stinging cheek silences me better than a blast of ice water.

  I'll say this only once: you are NOT in control. The only reason why you're still active is because I need you to appear like everything's normal, Trace explains. Don't try anything cute. Any attempt to hinder my plans and your wife and daughter are going to pay. Are we clear?

  I nod, despite understanding none of this. The bastard in my brain torments me with an image of Janine and Eliza screaming in terror. As he figured, it's the only thing that I need to comprehend.

  "Just don't hurt them. Please."

  That's not up to me. You play it straight and they'll be fine.

  "What about me?"

  I won't lie to you. There's a good chance this is a one-way trip for us both. If it makes you feel any better, know that our sacrifice will mean a better life for everyone.

  "Of course that doesn't make me feel better, you fanatic!" I snap. "Who are you, really? One of those terrorists with New Way?"

  Only the privileged few, living off the blood, sweat and tears of the masses, call us terrorists. To the majority just trying to scrape by in the Order's corrupt regime, we're "freedom fighters," he bristles.

  I spot a shadow in the sky, growing larger. The whine of its rotor blades begin to reach my ears. My ride is coming.

  "Perhaps if they saw the faces of your victims..."

  We're done talk
ing. Just get me into the Citadel. That's your only concern.

  I break into a harsh laugh. "The joke's on you, pal. I've only seen the president once since I took office, on the day he swore me in. Since then, all of our dealings have been across the Net. I don't think he's even in the country."

  We're going to give him a reason to make a personal visit.

  "What are you planning?" I ask hesitantly.

  Just do as I say. Don't try to be a hero, or it'll go badly for you... and your family.

  The aircar, a sleek, black bird with diplomatic tags, blows dust and debris as it settles down in an open patch of ground nearby. I cover my eyes and wait.

  One more thing – I can hear your thoughts just fine. Things will go smoother if you don't draw any unwanted attention to yourself by talking out loud.

  "Chancellor Nason!" the pilot greets through the craft's opened door. "We had teams searching everywhere for you for the past fourteen hours! Are you okay?"

  I climb into the seat next to him, my lips tightly pursed. My personal safety is the least of the many concerns weighing on my mind.

  "Take me back to the Citadel," I order him. "I need to speak with the president."