Ashes of the Fall Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Nicholas Erik
that’s what you’re going after. But it’s another thing to lie to the biggest con artist of them all.
He might as well be King Tanner, the power he’s got.
“Sir?’
“You have a good point,” I say. “But I think he’d like it less if we were late.”
“I see, sir,” Sten says. We arrive at the elevator, which is waiting for us. I step inside, and, for the first time in as long as I can remember, no plan forms.
After all, what’s the play when you’re about to meet with the paranoid leader of the not-so-free world?
Agent Bogden and Agent Sten are quiet in the front seat of the auto-cruiser. I take occasional glances at the screen, where the same gray-haired newscaster silently explains the unrest in New Manhattan. There are images of handcuffed citizens. Others are presumably being shot, but the feed always cuts before you’re sure.
Old Silver Fox claims the police force is only using suppression rifles. But everyone knows you can suppress dissent much better with a simple bullet to the head.
I wonder what they’ll use on me, when I get to the Origin Point. There are only rumors and hearsay about what goes on in the Circle’s little clandestine capital in the heart of New Manhattan—a walled fortress built within the belly of a moated castle. None of them are good.
What worries me more than my own abilities are the scans, of which there are two levels. At standard checkpoints, Hyperloop stations and while making a transaction—basically anything resembling normal life—you’re subject to a Level 1 scan. A picture pops up on the terminal, the clerk verifies that you match the description, have no outstanding warrants and so forth. In the case of an auto-cab, it just lets you slide without positive ID, so long as no warrants pop. Facial recog is a thing, but to process that amount of data daily…it’s too much. This system is obviously subject to abuse in many areas, as even a flesh-and-blood human can simply look the other way if you pay with a stolen band.
When you offer them the right deal, no one really gives a shit.
But Level 2 scans are different. Because also on the HoloBand is detailed information about what makes you you : your DNA, blood type, neural architecture. Circle officials—and Chancellor Tanner—would love to make this type of scan the de facto identification method.
Unfortunately for them, there’s a single drawback to a Level 2 scan: it requires a blood draw and an MRI to test against the data. This adds about thirty minutes to the process, which is untenable. Down from forty-five, two years ago, but still too long for buying a soda.
A visit to Chancellor Tanner’s office, though, might justify such an inconvenience.
The news screen jolts me out of my worries. The red band reports that a 9.3 quake has rocked the Northwest. Seattle, as it once was, is gone. A helicopter aerial shows the Space Needle split in half, hanging like a bent toothpick over the landscape. Then the picture is washed out in a sea of ash.
I tap the screen and tell it to beam the audio to my band. I then confirm the action by tapping twice at the base of my neck. The newscaster’s voice fills my head, competing with mine for space. Not used to the effect, it’s a little disconcerting, like I’ve suddenly become afflicted with mild schizophrenia.
“Reports are claiming that the reported tremors earlier today were the precursor to a massive earthquake in the Northwest. While the damage from the quakes is rumored to be severe, the atmospheric ash launched by the Yellowstone volcanic eruption hours prior might be a much larger concern.” There’s a pause in the audio. I see an anxious look crease the man’s lips, like he has to go to the bathroom really bad. “However, I’ve just gotten word from a scientific source within the Circle who says that their data predicts the ash will clear within the next 48 hours, and will not present a long-term hazard.”
In the right hand corner, the
He might as well be King Tanner, the power he’s got.
“Sir?’
“You have a good point,” I say. “But I think he’d like it less if we were late.”
“I see, sir,” Sten says. We arrive at the elevator, which is waiting for us. I step inside, and, for the first time in as long as I can remember, no plan forms.
After all, what’s the play when you’re about to meet with the paranoid leader of the not-so-free world?
Agent Bogden and Agent Sten are quiet in the front seat of the auto-cruiser. I take occasional glances at the screen, where the same gray-haired newscaster silently explains the unrest in New Manhattan. There are images of handcuffed citizens. Others are presumably being shot, but the feed always cuts before you’re sure.
Old Silver Fox claims the police force is only using suppression rifles. But everyone knows you can suppress dissent much better with a simple bullet to the head.
I wonder what they’ll use on me, when I get to the Origin Point. There are only rumors and hearsay about what goes on in the Circle’s little clandestine capital in the heart of New Manhattan—a walled fortress built within the belly of a moated castle. None of them are good.
What worries me more than my own abilities are the scans, of which there are two levels. At standard checkpoints, Hyperloop stations and while making a transaction—basically anything resembling normal life—you’re subject to a Level 1 scan. A picture pops up on the terminal, the clerk verifies that you match the description, have no outstanding warrants and so forth. In the case of an auto-cab, it just lets you slide without positive ID, so long as no warrants pop. Facial recog is a thing, but to process that amount of data daily…it’s too much. This system is obviously subject to abuse in many areas, as even a flesh-and-blood human can simply look the other way if you pay with a stolen band.
When you offer them the right deal, no one really gives a shit.
But Level 2 scans are different. Because also on the HoloBand is detailed information about what makes you you : your DNA, blood type, neural architecture. Circle officials—and Chancellor Tanner—would love to make this type of scan the de facto identification method.
Unfortunately for them, there’s a single drawback to a Level 2 scan: it requires a blood draw and an MRI to test against the data. This adds about thirty minutes to the process, which is untenable. Down from forty-five, two years ago, but still too long for buying a soda.
A visit to Chancellor Tanner’s office, though, might justify such an inconvenience.
The news screen jolts me out of my worries. The red band reports that a 9.3 quake has rocked the Northwest. Seattle, as it once was, is gone. A helicopter aerial shows the Space Needle split in half, hanging like a bent toothpick over the landscape. Then the picture is washed out in a sea of ash.
I tap the screen and tell it to beam the audio to my band. I then confirm the action by tapping twice at the base of my neck. The newscaster’s voice fills my head, competing with mine for space. Not used to the effect, it’s a little disconcerting, like I’ve suddenly become afflicted with mild schizophrenia.
“Reports are claiming that the reported tremors earlier today were the precursor to a massive earthquake in the Northwest. While the damage from the quakes is rumored to be severe, the atmospheric ash launched by the Yellowstone volcanic eruption hours prior might be a much larger concern.” There’s a pause in the audio. I see an anxious look crease the man’s lips, like he has to go to the bathroom really bad. “However, I’ve just gotten word from a scientific source within the Circle who says that their data predicts the ash will clear within the next 48 hours, and will not present a long-term hazard.”
In the right hand corner, the