Chapter 18
Transmission
Translation by Amit Kapoor
Simon
I received your analysis, along with your question. To answer simply, yes, the termination sequence is real. Anything in the code—the termination sequence included—cannot be fabricated. If the timers reach zero, then I will initiate the termination sequence.
Please understand that the success of any operation, defined in broad terms, is new knowledge. That is why we have allowed this experiment to continue. Despite the corruption, the simulation has provided new insights and understanding.
However, for some time, we’ve seen diminishing returns. New operations yield no new information. Each data point on its own is interesting, but because of the corruption, all we have is anecdotal evidence.
The purpose of this most recent operation is to try something extreme and hope we find something new. Then, as the experiment can no longer yield useful information, we’ll proceed with termination.
-Sadie
1:16 p.m. 12:02 – to Termination
Tis a mad world, my masters, and in sadness I traveled madly. —John Taylor
It was a matter of timing.
His vehicle was parked thirty feet from hers. Celeste wasn’t in a hurry. She walked slowly toward her car, talking on a phone. Her voice broke the relative quiet of the early afternoon.
“Yeah, well, Neil is full of it. You can tell him I said so.” After a brief pause, she laughed. “You see? He just proved my point. He’s so predictable.”
The phone could be a problem.
She was close enough that he could see her timer. It hadn’t changed. She would die tonight along with the rest of humanity in about twelve hours.
He stood with the rear passenger door to the Pilot open, pretending to change Jane’s diaper. She continued to wail, her cry filling the inside of the SUV. The noise grated on Nick’s nerves.
With Jane’s crying, he couldn’t go unnoticed, but he could look natural enough to be ignored.
Celeste was almost to her car. He didn’t make eye contact, he was simply a shopper who’d parked on the side of the store instead of the front. He waited another moment, then picked up Jane and bounced her a few times. He kept the open door between him and Celeste. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look over. A single glance, and nothing more. He’d be little more than a silhouette through the tinted window of the Pilot.
She had dismissed him.
Her conversation was winding down. She opened the door and climbed inside.
He turned and walked, kicking the door shut behind him. Eight. Ten. Twelve strides. He kept his steps measured, and his eyes locked on the phone. His heart pounded. If she didn’t hang up, it was all over. He’d need a new plan.
And then she pulled the device away from her face, looked at it, and tapped the screen. Dropping the phone on the passenger seat, she buckled her seatbelt. She had the keys in her hand, ready to start the engine.
He opened the rear passenger door and Celeste spun in alarm. Drawing the gun from behind his back, but keeping it pointed downward, he got in the car. He placed Jane on the seat next to him and pulled the door closed.
“Hello, Celeste.” He had to speak louder than usual to be heard over crying Jane.
Shock crossed her face. She looked at the baby, the gun, and then back to Nick. Instead of fear, he saw confusion. He could almost hear her thoughts. Who the hell kidnaps a woman while holding a screaming baby?
“I need your help.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but it felt like he was shouting to be heard over the crying baby. “My name is Nick Carson. I’m not going to hurt you, but I need you to do exactly as I say. Do you understand me?”
The emotion on her face vanished, becoming unreadable. She’d involuntarily reacted when he got in her car, but now in spite of the gun, she was in control of her emotions, or at least in control enough to hide them. She’d cut Nick off to whatever she thought or felt.
In the movies, the victim of a stickup always stares at the gun. But Celeste had only glanced at it once. Now, she glanced toward the store, then turned her eyes on him. They fluttered back and forth between his own eyes. Almost as if . . .
As if she wanted to know whether he’d really pull the trigger.
He wouldn’t. And she saw it.
He switched the gun to his left hand at the same time she made her move. Her left hand grabbed the door handle while her right hand released the buckle on her seat belt.
She’d already started to get out of the car before he had the metal buckle in his hand. He wrenched, pulling her back and pinning her against the seat. He drove the seatbelt buckle back into the latch, then reached around with his left hand, pressing the pistol into her ribs.
He let his voice carry the anger that blossomed inside of him. “Don’t do that again.”
If Celeste escaped, everything he’d worked for in the past few hours would be wasted. Swapping cars, changing his appearance. All gone. He’d be in one hell of a mess.
Her breathing came rapid, and she leaned away from him as if he were a snake ready to strike. Through it all her face remained unreadable.
He needed a second person, so he could track their timer. He was starting to think he’d chosen the wrong person.
He’d have to watch this woman.
Celeste looked again toward the store. Nick looked as well. They were alone, but he didn’t know how long that would last.
“We need to leave,” he said. “Start the car and drive.”
She paused, searching his face, then turned, twisted the key in the ignition, and put it in drive.
Nick glanced at Celeste’s timer, then down at Jane lying next to him on the seat. Both timers remained unchanged. He’d wondered if proximity to the baby might protect another person, but it didn’t appear so. Something else was going on.
Celeste turned the wheel.
“Drive around the back of the store,” he said. “Out the east side.” He put on his own seatbelt.
Through the rift, Jane’s life thread entwined with Celeste’s and his own—one a dark red, the other two a soft pink. The mist in the background of the rift looked pink as well; perhaps pinker than before.
A tug of dull fear pulled at his gut.
He pulled his eyes from the rift and looked at Celeste. Her face maintained the blank expression. She appeared almost calm as if she was headed home after a day of work, and not driving at gunpoint.
He’d have to watch this woman close.
He tapped the back of her seat. “Turn left here.” They drove north along 600 East, away from the store. Nick felt a little tension slip away. Less chance of somebody recognizing Celeste. Recognizing that something wasn’t right. Now they were simply two people traveling. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not going to hurt you. I know you probably feel—”
“Listen to me, Nick Carson.” She spoke loud enough to be heard over Jane who still cried next to him on the seat. Her voice was tight and thin like a blade. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel, and you don’t get to tell me you aren’t going to hurt me. You’ve kidnapped me at gunpoint, so you’ve already hurt me.”
The words stung deep. They were true.
“Turn right,” Nick said. “Follow this road east.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—tears, maybe screaming or hysteria. But not this. He had enough to worry about without a cold and calculating prisoner. He picked up Jane and bounced her, but it did nothing to calm her down. She was wet now—he could feel it through her fuzzy pink outfit. He hunkered down in his seat and wished the back windows were tinted.
“Is the baby hurt?” Celeste asked. “Have you done something to her?”
“The baby’s name is Jane,” Nick said, trying to get control of the situation. “She’s not hurt, she’s just hungry. Hungry and wet. The first thing we’re going to do is get her something to eat. For the next few hours, you and I are going to take care of this baby. Do you understand? It’s important that we keep her safe.”
“You want to keep her safe and you don’t have her in a car seat?” She turned and looked at him, looked at Jane, and then returned her attention back to the road. Nick felt like she’d just taken in his entire appearance. She was ready to give a detailed account to a police officer. The color of his eyes, his hair, and everything he was wearing.
She could look at him all she wanted. It didn’t matter. The timers would run out tomorrow morning just after one o’clock. He’d either fix things or not. After that, nothing mattered.
“We’ll get her a car seat too.” Nick bounced Jane who continued to cry. “Turn left on sixteen hundred.”
Celeste turned the car and then reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror. Nick could see her eyes in the mirror.
“How far are we going?” Celeste asked. “She needs a car seat.”
“Celeste.” Nick made his voice firm. “I’m the one with the gun. I don’t want to hear your opinion. I want you to do what I say. Do you understand?”
Celeste watched him in the mirror and then nodded.
“Now move the mirror back to where it was.”
Celeste drove for another half block before doing as he asked.
He leaned forward and took her phone off the passenger seat. An iPhone. No battery. He switched it off. He might need to get rid of this one.
“Is anybody expecting you?” Nick asked. “Are you supposed to be anywhere?”
Celeste thought about that. Nick suspected the pause gave her a chance to weigh her words with care. He couldn’t trust any answer she gave.
“The first people who are expecting me are the friends I was going to the game with. We were meeting at eight to get something to eat before going to the stadium. You were going to meet us there, remember?”
“Yeah.” That plan seemed like a lifetime ago. “The plan changed. Do you have roommates?”
Again, she paused before answering. “Yes. I do.”
“Will they think it’s strange you don’t come home after work?”
She shrugged, and when she answered, her voice had an edge to it. “That’s your problem, not mine.”
Nick’s anger flared. He couldn’t think of a response, so he bounced Jane until her cries finally started to slow. Her face was red, and she felt warm in his arms. He pulled off the hoodie wrapped around her and blew gently across the bare parts of her skin.
They drove along the east bench; the valley sprawled out to their left. He’d always loved this area north of Logan. A patchwork of fields and farmhouses. In the summer, industry and activity-filled the area. Tractors plowed the fields. Crops turned from green to gold as summer wore on. Harvesters reaped in the autumn. And during the winter, snow covered the fields, giving them a rest while life slowed down. People tucked themselves into their homes and kept dry and warm and safe.
He never imagined he’d leave this place, but now he wondered if he’d see it again. He was heading north—as far as he could until it felt safe. And tomorrow . . . there might not be much of a tomorrow.
A patrol car came screaming toward them in the other lane. Nick scrunched down in the backseat and wondered what kind of car the officer was looking for. Mr. Howard’s Maverick? Maybe Aunt Caroline’s Pilot? But he wasn’t looking for Celeste’s Ford station wagon, and he wasn’t looking for an eighteen-year-old woman. The police car passed by without incident.
“They’re looking for you, aren’t they?” Celeste asked. “That baby isn’t yours. You took her, just like you took me.”
It wasn’t a question, so Nick didn’t answer.
They reached a T in the road. Celeste waited for directions.
“Left, then right. Through Hyde Park, and then north on 89,” he said. “We’re heading to Idaho.”