A story exploring time travel and societal issues in the wake of 9/11. This is chapter 30. See previous posts for chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, and 29.
Summer air shimmered above the pavement. Condensation rolled down Reed's chilled bottle of soda while he waited on a Miami park bench for his contact. The man who eventually arrived epitomized the nondescript. He was slightly graying, with tan skin, of average height and build. "Mr Johnson, I'm Mr Miller," said the man, sitting down.
"Finally," said Reed. "So do we have a deal or not? I demonstrated the technology. Are you still interested? Is Zee still interested?"
"You assured us that events would unfold one way," said Mr Miller. "That you'd be running a legitimate enterprise we could do business with. Instead, you're a fugitive trying to sell stolen tech, with a face that hasn't yet healed from recent plastic surgery. What would you have us do?"
"Don't tell me you've suddenly sprouted scruples," said Reed. "Even in suits, you're mercenaries. Maybe you're not as bad as that company that traffics heroin and systematically defrauds the government while operating an a virtual extension of the CIA. But you swim in those waters."
"If you say so," said Mr Miller. "Would you like to hear my offer?"
"I'm all ears," said Reed.
"We're prepared to offer you fifty thousand dollars cash for two headsets and the software to make them work as advertised," said Mr Miller. "We'd like to get this done today."
Reed scoffed. "It costs almost as much just to make each prototype," he said.
"Sixty thousand," said Mr Miller. "And an anonymous boat ride to Central America. Get you out of the country nice and easy. Final offer."
Weighing his options, Reed felt unprepared to start a new life in the south. Whatever happened here, he intended to return to his new home in Sacramento afterwards. Still, he needed the money. The law had made his funds largely inaccessible. "You know what?" he said. "Fine, but I'm staying in the States."
They met again, twelve hours later, and completed the exchange. Left sitting on a park bench with a paper bag full of cash, Reed watched Mr Miller walk away. Considering the implications of the transaction, Reed felt sick and hated everything. He'd given a powerful weapon to a company that might violate human rights. He himself had violated human rights, and would again. Ever since the T2 assassination, things had been going wrong for him.
Reed wanted to take it all back and knew that he couldn't. Giving no thought to his victims, he lamented the difficulties he'd begun to encounter as a fugitive. And now Reed resented Zee for taking advantage of him when he was down. Sixty thousand dollars wasn't nothing. But it wasn't generous, either.
Buying a cheap car and driving back to California, Reed wondered what his next move should be. All he could think to do was to keep working on the tech. He still had four NSEA headsets. When he got home, he began experimenting anew.
To attract subjects for his experiments, Reed made flyers targeting the New Age and wellness community. A 'revolutionary form of biofeedback' for an 'unprecedented meditation experience' is how he advertised what he had to offer. Instead of paying test subjects, Reed charged them fifty dollars a session, offering the first session for free. During this first session, he captured the subject's neural signature, adding to his growing library of such signatures.
One afternoon, after two of his new subjects had just left, there was a knock on Reed's apartment door. Assuming a subject had forgotten something, he opened the door. There stood a man in Brooks Brothers, with a distinctive gold chain around his neck. Before Reed could react, the man pushed him back into the apartment and closed the door behind them.
"Hold on," said Reed, panicking. "I think you must have the wrong apartment."
"Mr Johnson," said the man. "I'm Mr Tyler. You know why I'm here."
"Are you from Zee Corporation?" asked Reed, leaning awkwardly against one of two stools at his kitchen counter.
"Try again," said Mr Tyler. "You have travel luggage? Let's get a piece of that and fill it with all of the tech that isn't rightfully yours."
"But ... it is mine," argued Reed. "I developed it. I wrote most of the original code. I have as much right to it as anyone else."
"You seem like a man who keeps his luggage in the bedroom closet," said Mr Tyler. "Come on. Let's get this over with."
An idea came to Reed then. "Alright," he said, heading for the bedroom. "Alright, but you're making a big mistake."
When Reed entered the bedroom, he opened the closet, pulling his empty suitcase from its place on an overhead shelf. He tossed this on the bed. While Mr Tyler nodded approvingly, Reed drew a gun from its place in the closet. "Don't move," he said, pointing the gun like his firearms instructor had taught him, careful to keep his finger off of the trigger until he was ready to shoot.
"You seem confused," said Mr Tyler carefully. "I'm your only friend in the world right now. Why do you think it was me and not the feds that knocked on your door today?"
"I don't ... But I don't even know who you are," said Reed.
"I'm the guy that's in charge of cleaning up your mess," said Mr Tyler. "That cost me a pretty penny in Miami. Why don't we got to your office, where everything's set up. You can show me any codes or passwords I'll need to access your data."
"But I'm the one with the gun!" said Reed, who nonetheless followed Mr Tyler into the office where the headsets were set up.
As Reed entered the office, Mr Tyler spun around, taking Reed's pistol and slapping him hard with his free hand. "I don't like it when people point guns at me," he said. "Now, show me how to work your system here."
Defeated, Reed showed Mr Tyler the system, with Mr Tyler doing each stem himself before moving on. It took two hours to go over everything and pack Reed's four remaining NSEA headsets and computers into the large rolling suitcase on the bed. "Now the money," said Mr Tyler when they were done. "Whatever you've got left from Miami, and any other cash you've got squirreled away."
"But I, I need that," said Reed. "What do you expect me to do?"
"I saw a safe in your closet," said Mr Tyler. "Open it, give me the contents, and I'll be on my way."
Reed complied, hating himself for doing so, feeling like he was in a dream. Handing Mr Wachuski eighty thousand dollars and a Rolex worth another twenty, Reed began to understand that this was more than a robbery. Upon stuffing the money into the suitcase with the tech, Mr Tyler turned to face Reed, holding what appeared to be a flashlight in his hand.
"What's that?" asked Reed.
"The latest model of a gadget that kills without a trace," said Mr Tyler. "Don't worry. It's painless, which is better than you deserve after what you did to Mr Barabos."
(Feature image from Pixabay.)
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