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  He must be released for a little while

  Ω

  J.B. SIMMONS

  Copyright © 2014 by J.B. Simmons

  All rights reserved.

  This is fiction, not prophecy.

  Names, characters, and incidents in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons is coincidental.

  www.jbsimmons.com

  [email protected]

  @jbsimmonslight

  Cover by Kerry Ellis.

  www.kerry-ellis.com

  ISBN: 1500286842

  For Jamison, Eliza, and any others to come

  My name is Elijah Goldsmith. This is my story, and it’s the honest-to-god truth. I’ll tell you what I saw, what I felt, and that’s about all I can do. You’re probably going to ask me why it happened. I’ll go ahead and tell you—I don’t know. I figure nobody knows, nobody human anyway. Maybe you’ll ask me how I know it’s true. We’ll get to that, but let’s start with the dream. The dream, the agency, and then the girl...

  I STOOD IN the piazza facing St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Bodies pressed around me and a pope’s voice boomed in my ears. The ground began to tremble, as if aching under the crowd’s weight. The cobblestones lurched under my feet. I staggered, tripped over someone, and fell flat on my back. People started running and screaming.

  The sky darkened like nothing I’d ever seen. Lightning rolled through black clouds that were not there a moment before. A bolt struck the center of the piazza, hitting the cross atop the towering obelisk. The thunderclap was deafening. The obelisk tilted and fell, taking the cross down with it. Just as it crashed on the ground, the piazza split open—as if a giant had grabbed the colonnades on either side and ripped them apart. Hundreds of people plummeted into the chasm as I scrambled away to the piazza’s far edge.

  The splitting earth spread to the Basilica. Spider-web cracks splintered over the dome. The ancient stone groaned, swayed, and then imploded on itself. An enormous cloud of dust and debris billowed out into the chaos.

  Then a shape rose from the chasm. Where the obelisk had been, a creature hovered low in the sky. It was like a dragon, but no storybook dragon. Ribbons of shadow and smoke coiled and danced around its long, slender form. Above its sentient face, onyx horns the size of trees stabbed into the sky. Its wings covered the entire width of the piazza.

  A man walked toward the creature and paused at the chasm’s edge. The creature fixed its red eyes on him as if seeing an old friend. He was a stunning man, with a flawless face and dark hair to his shoulders. His gray suit showed no blemish or wrinkle, despite the wind and the chaos. I knew him, but I could not name him. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t move. I could only feel the blackness, feel the end. It had to end.

  And then it did. I woke up covered in sweat.

  This was three nights in a row. Three nights of the same stupid nightmare. It had come from nowhere. I’d never even been to Rome.

  I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and ran my hands through my hair. Today of all days, I could not have these visions in my head. Maybe I would try the new pill. If it let me control my dreams as they promised, I’d program my mind for more productive nights. I’d dream of breaking a code to stop the next attack on America, while finding a smart girl who’d appreciate it. That’s what I needed: a smart girl, not a freakin’ dragon.

  I activated my precept’s morning report. The four screens projected in my vision, showing it was 6:33 am, January 4, 2066. There were no major attacks last night. No news of Rome or of dragons.

  I had seven minutes until my wake-up alarm, but I started my morning routine anyway. Thirty seconds in the shower chamber, one minute to slip on my black suit, and then my food arrived. Real eggs and coffee. My mouth watered. There had been too many mornings of pills and smoothies. This was a day for real food. I took my time with each bite while watching the video briefings.

  The news focused on Iran again. The Persian nation had bought another piece of desert, while its leader denounced the United Nations for buying another robotics company. Apparently Iran didn’t like the UN drones saving starving kids in Africa and trying to grow plants in the south Asia wastelands. But it didn’t matter much, because China and the U.S. approved. Drones were as American as apple pies and precepts. Another briefing showed officials rounding up more fanatics who would not comply with the new global precept mandate.

  These people were so weird. Precepts had been around long enough now. Besides, who would turn down a standard implant to be smarter, sharper, stronger? I called my precept “V.” She was far from standard. She was the best my dad’s money could buy, and he could buy anything. Life without V would be like earth without the sun.

  One of the screens drew my attention. It was a video of the police hauling a fanatic into a van. The man was holding a cross and flapping insanely, as if he had wings. I lifted my hand for V to raise the volume. The man was yelling something about an earthquake and a dragon from a pit. As the police slammed the van’s door shut, I heard the man’s last word: Rome.

  My mouth fell open. No way that guy had seen what I’d seen. It was just a dream. I shuddered and shut off the screens.

  “Order for delivery tonight,” I told V. “Research report on dream pills, and a sample of three leading brands.”

  I finished the last of my eggs and downed the coffee. I stepped to the closet. V suggested the red, white, and blue tie, so I put it on. I walked out and left the hotel.

  The sky was clear over the nation’s capital. It would have been frigid back at school, but D.C.’s shield kept it warm. That shield and every other defense could soon be my responsibility.

  This would be my first day as a spy.

  “Y’ALL ENJOY THAT hotel?” the instructor asked. “Last time you’ll stay in one of those, as long as you’re on duty with us.” He looked like a cruise director with his pressed white suit and floppy brown hair, but he sounded like a southern plantation owner brought to the future. Strange choice for a spy.

  A spinning holograph of the White House appeared before him. “You know,” he said, “the President used to live in this house a few blocks from here.”

  Laughter rolled through our class. There were fifty of us in the room, and most looked like old bureaucrats.

  “I know, I know, hard to imagine,” he joked. “The President, living out in the open like that, with everyone knowing where he was? Well, life changes when you have power and responsibility. The world is watching, and it’s our job to watch the world. Starting today, you used to stay in hotels, just like the President used to live in the White House.”

  The holograph blinked off.

  “My name is Wade Brown, and I’ll be your orientation leader. First, it is my honor to congratulate and welcome you. The International Security Agency is our greatest hope for a brighter future. We at ISA work under the United Nation’s oversight to preserve what peace remains in the world and to protect against all acts of aggression.”

  He pointed to a man leaning by the door with his arms crossed. “This is Alexi Markos, our UN liaison. He’s here to make sure our American division follows protocol.” Mr. Brown grinned at the liaison, who nodded back with a shady smile.

  “But I bet y’all know all this,” the instructor said. “You’re the best and brightest. You come from all walks of life. We have some rising stars”—he motioned in my table’s direction—“and we have veterans of war. We’re all here to serve, to do our part. So shall we get into the orienting?” The instructor pulled out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead. “We’ll start with something near and dear to our hearts, HR! I’ll cover benefits and retirement planning. Benefits start with health care, right? We have fourteen government policies
to choose from. First…”

  People began taking notes as the instructor talked. Notes! On tablets, no less. One grizzled man even used paper, writing by hand. Maybe these people were so old they didn’t know how to use their precepts to record what the instructor said. V would remember every word for me, so I tuned Mr. Brown out. Besides, I’d figured we would start with our mission statement and a few things only ISA agents could know. Like the latest precept advances or some secret cloning program. I was starting to think I’d shown up in the wrong place.

  Nothing about the room was what I’d expected. We were in groups of five around wooden tables. In the center of each table was an old-fashioned card with a number—“ISA-1,” “ISA-2,” and so on. I hadn’t sat at a table without a screen or plug-ins since preschool. This was supposed to be the center of government intelligence, but it seemed more like a meeting room in a roadside motel. I would probably never set foot inside a motel, so this was as close as I’d get. Was this really how they’d treat the elite student fellows like me? I doubted it.

  I might have walked out if not for the four others sitting at my table. They looked sharp, and we were the youngest in the room by far. “ISA-7” was written on our table’s card and on each of our nametags.

  Beside me was Charles. We were in the same class at my boarding school. He was already a legend at hacking, so it wasn’t much of a surprise for him to be a student fellow. He wore black-rimmed glasses even though he could have seen just fine with lenses like mine. He’d told me girls digged glasses. Old school, he’d said. Today he was watching a movie on his glasses while pretending to listen to the instructor. From my angle, I could see most of what he could. It looked like a Kung Fu movie in Chinese. One of the fighters had a dragon emblazoned on his shirt. My thoughts flicked to my dream, but I forced it away.

  My eyes caught the nametag of the other boy at our table: Patrick O’Grady. He had a blond crewcut and looked like he should be on a football field, not working in intelligence. Instead of a suit, he’d worn a short-sleeved shirt with a high, straight collar. It was only a little intimidating that the shirt’s fabric stretched thin around his muscled biceps. From the size of him, I guessed he was a couple years older, probably in college already.

  The other two at the table were girls, about my age. The dark-skinned one was Aisha Mahdi. She was a pretty Persian, with long black hair and dark almond eyes. On her brow was a thin, silver-colored diadem. I couldn’t tell if it was connected to her brain as a precept enhancement, or if she was some kind of princess. I decided her petulant lips made her look like royalty.

  The last girl was, well, she was different—like a golden sunrise is different. She had honey blond curls, freckles, and skin the color of café au lait. She looked like she was actually listening to the instructor. Her nametag said Naomi Parish and, unlike the rest of ours, it had a red star drawn after her name. I had no idea what that meant. But I wanted to know.

  I looked up and found Naomi smiling at me. I felt my cheeks heating when I smiled back, and I told myself it was only because she’d caught me staring at her nametag…on her chest. I turned back towards the instructor.

  “If you walk away with only one thing,” Mr. Brown was saying, “you must remember ISA.you.gov. It has all the information we covered and more. It has a live chat for questions. So tag that site with your precepts. For you old timers out there, favorite it in your watches, phones, and tablets.” Half the room laughed, the grey-haired half. “We’ll get you using upgraded precepts soon enough. For now, just remember, ISA.you.gov.”

  “Okay,” he continued, clasping his hands, “that’s it for the HR basics. This afternoon I’ll start letting you in on some secret stuff. No, we haven’t sent anyone to Mars, and yes, we still use carbon fuels. As y’all know, we’ve been too busy with wars and natural disasters to live up to all the predictions for the twenty-first century. But, thanks to those wars, we’ve gotten very, very good at surveillance. More on that to come! Now we have our first breakout sessions. Check the map on the screens to find your room.”

  As the room began to stir, the instructor looked towards my table with a Cheshire-cat grin. “ISA-7!” he said, waving for us to come to him. “You won’t see your group listed. Y’all are coming with me.”

  “HOPE Y’ALL FOUND my talk helpful.” The instructor glanced back over his shoulder as he led us out of the room. “I try to liven it up, you know, because orientations can be boring.”

  When he looked forward again, Charles caught my attention and laughed silently, pointing at Mr. Brown. The morning could not have been more boring. I smiled at Charles, but for some reason it didn’t seem funny. The instructor’s easy demeanor was too easy—like he was hiding something.

  We walked past an elevator bank to a door under an exit sign. The instructor pressed his palm to a panel on the wall. A green light flashed, and the door swung open. We followed him into a dimly lit stairwell. A rush of cool air greeted us as we entered. I peered down the gap at the center of the stairwell and could see only darkness below. No bottom was in sight. I was the last of our group to begin heading down.

  “Mr. Brown?” asked Naomi after one flight of stairs.

  “Yes?” he said, without slowing.

  “This building’s records indicate only one floor below ground.” She spoke with calm precision. That was smart—checking the floor plans. V could have done that, if I’d thought of it. “And my precept’s signal is growing weak,” she continued. “We may lose connection if we go much further. Where are you taking us?”

  Mr. Brown laughed off her concern. “Already asking questions, huh! That’s why we pick you star students. We’re heading to a secret spot. It’s very cool. You’ll see soon enough.” He paused for a moment and looked up at Naomi. “And, please, call me Wade.”

  He turned and kept walking down.

  Naomi glanced back at me and shrugged. I wanted to say something witty, but nothing came. Where was V with a quip when I needed it? V’s focus seemed elsewhere. She was upping my adrenalin and magnifying my vision slightly. I wasn’t sure what to make of Wade, but I wasn’t going to back out now. This was closer to what I’d expected. Maybe our ISA-7 group was heading to the real training and the real secrets.

  As we wound our way down the stairs, I could not pull my eyes away from Naomi. She was lean and tall, with a glide to her steps. Her fitted white pants and blue dress shirt were well worn, almost like they were from a thrift shop. But her sleeves were folded back casually, confidently, the same way the girls from our sister boarding school wore their designer shirts. I don’t know why, but I really liked her style.

  “How much longer?” Charles asked Wade after we’d gone down five or six flights. “Don’t they make elevators for this?”

  “Almost there!” Wade shouted up.

  A few moments later we stopped in front of a door. I peered down the gap at the center of the stairwell again. There was still no bottom in sight.

  “Come on now, Elijah,” Wade beckoned.

  I walked through the door and Wade followed last. The door shut behind us and clicked. A red light blinked on the panel beside the door’s handle. My internet connection was suddenly gone. V went into local mode, so I lost access to the outside world. It made my shoulders tense.

  Wade took the lead again, walking down a hallway ten feet wide and about a million feet long. Plain grey metal doors were on both sides every twenty steps or so. Fluorescent lights flickered on the ceiling. No one had made lights like those in fifty years.

  I fell into step beside Naomi at the back of the group.

  “Naomi, right?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She leaned closer as we walked and stared down at my chest. Then she smiled at me accusingly. “Good thing for these nametags. So you’re Elijah?”

  “Yeah, or just Eli.” I felt my cheeks flushing again. “Where are you from?”

  “North Carolina, mostly. You?”

  “New York, but I’m in school in Massachusetts. Yo
u know, for a southerner, you don’t have much of an accent, unlike our instructor.” I nodded up ahead, where Wade was chatting with Aisha.

  “My dad’s a missionary.” She fingered a gold cross hanging from a red ribbon necklace. “We traveled a lot growing up.”

  “That must have been fun,” I said. “My dad’s a banker. He traveled a lot. He brought me some super souvenirs.”

  She smiled. “A touch bitter?”

  “Maybe a little,” I confessed, grinning back. Her smiling face made me feel light and innocent. “Where have you traveled?” I asked.

  Before she could answer, Patrick’s loud voice interrupted us. “Look man,” he was saying to Wade, “you seem like a nice guy, but I don’t like this. Where are you taking us?” Patrick had grabbed Wade’s arm and made him stop. We were about halfway to the hall’s other end.

  Wade kept smiling, or maybe he sneered. “I know it seems strange, but we’re just going to a different building for the next session, and it’s faster to get there this way. Soon you’ll know all these secret passages.” He winked at us. “Come on, we’re getting close.”

  He pulled his arm away from Patrick, smoothed his sleeve, and walked on at a casual pace. It was not much further before we stopped in front of another plain door.

  “Here we are,” Wade announced as he pressed his palm on another panel. Again a green light blinked, but the door did not open.

  Wade turned to us and this time there was no smile. He suddenly looked nothing like a cruise director. “You have much to learn,” he said. “Watch.”

  He leaned toward the door and then stuck his face into it. The metal bent like wet clay, molding to the shape of his face. He pulled back, leaving his face’s impression in the metal.