Dorian acted without thinking. If this man was threatening his daughter, then this conversation was over. He grabbed the pen off the folder, clicked the nib out, and in one fluid motion, slammed the pen through the man’s eye.
It would have been a devastating blow that would have launched the writing implement right into the man’s brain. Killing him, and likely sending Dorian to prison, except that there was no eye for the pen to meet. Instead, it traveled through the man’s grinning face, to sink deep into the patent leather headrest.
For a second, Dorian didn’t breathe. The weight of the motion resonated in his soul. His arm still felt the muscle memory of the strike, as the horror of what had just happened hit in a wave. The pen quivered in the leather, and yet there was no blood or body, only laughter.
Dorian’s pulse slowed as the hammering inside his skull continued. Adrenaline pounded against his temples.
“Oh, you’re going to be perfect!” The man’s laughter was not the sound Dorian had expected. He thought there would be screams, not patronizing humor. “You are going to help us write a great story. Your protective instincts are off the charts. If a good man will murder at the hint of danger to his daughter, what will he do to really save her?”
Dorian had defended clients who’d killed in panic. He’d told juries about reflex, and about instinct overriding reason. Now he’d lived what that meant.
When he looked up, the man was still smiling, untouched, and Dorian felt something colder than fear. There was no dead man here, and he had not missed. The truth was, there was no man here. What was next to him was something else entirely.
Dorian looked down at the folder, still clutched in his left hand. He could see it shake as the adrenaline left his body. The world was going to end, and while the folder might give him some needed details, he no longer needed it for convincing.
It wasn't one thing that had met the burden of proof.
It was the man's flickering body. The frozen parking lot with his car's unblinking clock. It was using a name no one else could have realistically known. It was a feeling that had been creeping through him for some time now. That the world was on the precipice: a world filled with terrible people about to meet a terrible end.
What does murder matter when the world is ending? The moral and cognitive dissonance made his guts twist. Was it really that easy to turn a man into a monster, to make a defender into an attacker?
Dorian looked again at the folder. He no longer needed it to tell him what was happening; the world as he knew it was coming to an abrupt dead end. Dorian exhaled once, steadily and deliberate. As a lawyer, he knew when a case was made.
Reality had changed, and the evidence was conclusive.
“If you hurt Bea, I will find a way to actually plant that pen in your eye,” Dorian said with a hiss.
“I have no doubt of that now,” the man replied. “I also no longer just want you in the Crucible; I need you in there with your brother!”
Dorian could see how relaxed the man was. He lounged in the chair as if he had nothing to fear from Dorian, and that pissed him off more than he could describe. He promised himself he would make this thing, whatever it actually was, understand what happens when you face off with Dorian Page.
“But don’t worry, Dad. I can see your heartbeat, and that is not great given your cholesterol. Rest assured, I’m not going to hurt her—her death has been pre-programmed by something bigger than me. I’m actually here to help you keep her safe.”
He had Dorian’s attention. “Explain.”
Archie’s smile deepened into the expression found on photographs taken on courtroom steps, on the faces of men who had just won their verdict.
“It’s simple,” he said, voice soft enough that Dorian had to lean in to hear. “Those selected to champion the Crucible can save all the people who are connected to them. In this case, you and Bea will be saved as soon as your brother gets advanced to a primary thread. As long as he stays viable, then so do you. So good news, you are already not going to be deleted and stored like most of humanity.”
Dorian could feel his wits returning. “So let me get this straight. We are safe because you want my brother in this thing?”
“More or less,” Archie said.
“So if we are already not going to be deleted, then why do I have to agree to anything?”
The man tented his fingers, bringing his tented fingers to his lips. “Well, technically you don’t. When the Crucible begins, you both will be backed up and stored. There is more to it all. I explain it in the folder. An NPC offer might happen, but none of that really matters right now. What matters to you is that you can just wait it out. We have a nice place for all of you to live where you can simply wait it out.”
Dorian’s brows lifted. “So again, what is my incentive for entering if Bea is safe?”
“Well, that is the thing. She is safe, for as long as Remi has a viable story. So I guess it really boils down to how much you trust your brother to keep your little girl safe. Do you trust your brother?”
He felt as if he had been slapped. He knew as soon as he’d been asked, the answer to that question. I’ve been an idiot! Dorian’s resolve steeled; he needed to get to his brother.
The man seemed to take Dorian’s silence as permission to continue.
“So the question is really whether you are going to help his story? Or not?”
Dorian calculated quickly. This man wanted him involved, but he didn’t realize that his decision had been made. That was leverage he could capitalize on.
“No, I think I’m good. Bea and I can enjoy whatever time we have left together, unless…”
“Unless what?” Archie replied.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“You offer me some guarantees. Sorry…what was your name again?”
The man grinned. “What is it with the Page family’s fascination with names? Your brother and I just chatted about that.” He looked at his watch, which seemed to count down to something. “He called me Archie. A name between friends. So I think my bestie’s brother can call me that too.”
“Okay, Archie,” Dorian plastered on a fake smile. His best grin, the one reserved for prospective clients, practiced to perfection to ooze warmth, security, and friendliness.
“If I decide to come out and play, with you and Remi, what happens to Bea when I’m gone?”
“That is complicated. It is probably easiest if you read the brief. Flip to page 52; it details what happens with secondaries. We can spare a few minutes.”
Dorian flipped to the relevant section and read what was there. The more he saw, the more his decision was confirmed. He had the information he needed.
“I will agree on one condition.”
Archie’s smile similarly morphed. It was a perfect imitation of Dorian’s own. It was unnerving to see your countenance reflected on the surface of someone else’s face. “Are you negotiating?”
“Always,” Dorian said.
“Terms?”
“I want you to guarantee that if I go in, neither you nor the system you apparently seem to represent will ask for Bea’s involvement in any way.“
“I’m not sure—.”
Dorian slid in before Archie could disagree. “I see she will be safe. I see she will also have a version of me with her. What I am asking for is the NPC clause, but I want it applied to her. If I go into the Crucible, then she doesn’t have to. You get what you want—me. I get what I want, here to stay the hell away from whatever is going on in there.”
Archie considered. “That seems reasonable. If you agree to enter the Crucible, then your daughter will not be entered by system directive, nor compelled to take part under my authority. She will not be used as an NPC. Do we have an understanding?”
Dorian nodded in acceptance. “Yes.”
“Perfect.” Archie once again tapped the folder. The dash of the Mercedes lit as a thin, semi-transparent rectangle unfolded, to settle over the radio display.
Dorian scanned it quickly.
CONSENT FORM — CANDIDATE THREAD CR-002-Dorian.Page
Archival Retention Authorization
Accept Terms: [YES] [NO]
Authorization: Biometric confirmation required
The cigarette lighter popped out. Archie reached down and retrieved it. He flipped it over, and Dorian could see that the coils inside appeared to be in the shape of a thumbprint.
“It’s crude,” he said. “But a quick press is likely easier than a retina scan.”
“What is archival retention?” Dorian asked, taking the lighter.
“Nothing really, standard record keeping permission,” said the AI.
Dorian knew that was some straight-up bullshit, but he didn’t have the time to dig in and litigate the clause. He was being screwed; he knew it, but there was nothing he could really do about it. So he shrugged and put his finger into the waiting opening. As his thumb touched the coils, they flared to heat; he screamed as his flesh sizzled. He pulled his hand away, clutching his hand to his chest reflexively.
Strange words flashed in front of his vision, in an orange font.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Consent recorded — Candidate Thread CR-002-D
“Good,” said Archie in response. “Consent recorded in flesh and blood.”
Dorian looked at his finger. It was red and throbbing, with a blister already forming.
“For what it’s worth,” the man said, “I’m glad you found a way that didn’t make me force you to do what I wanted. It is always better when people feel like they have a choice.”
“Don’t be salty you were out-negotiated.”
The hologram flickered, its face suddenly sad. “I had established coerced consent before we even met. I’m just glad I didn’t have to use it.”
“I’m not sure how you think you could’ve blackmailed me into this thing.”
The man’s face was grim. “I’m not proud of it, but we needed some assurances that certain people would agree. If I’m honest, I was going to use it on your brother.”
Dorian’s face twisted in confusion. “How?”
The man pointed at the folder in Dorian’s lap. “It’s all in there. You really should have taken a closer look at the sleep protocol. You were right; I didn’t visit your dreams. You were right; that did urgently necessitate our meeting today. But you were also wrong. I might not have visited your dreams. But I visited hers.”
The satisfaction Dorian had felt with his negotiation suddenly evaporated.
“Did you know, she’s been having nightmares,” the man continued, “for weeks now. The same one. A world made of paper, one where she could help.”
The panic almost made Dorian pass out. He was an expert in using questions to trap people on the witness stand. He could lead a witness into a trap, and snap it closed, holding a confession before they realized they’d even stepped into it. Which is why he recognized the net closing in on him. He didn’t understand it, but the prey never does; it just winds up ensnared.
Dorian opened the document again. He’d skimmed the protocol section earlier and had noted it was mainly boilerplate. There was nothing that had seemed urgent; it detailed how consent would be obtained from Crucible prospects in their dreams. Now he flipped back to it; his irritation flashed into unease. At the bottom of the first page, buried beneath a block of dense text, was a footer he had missed: Page 1 of 3.
He turned the page.
SLEEP AGREEMENT PROTOCOL — Page 2 of 3
PURPOSE: To ensure viable candidate participation where direct consent is unlikely or refused.
METHOD: Minor dependents of targeted candidates will be contacted during REM-state suspension. Consent will be obtained from minors, as they are more malleable. They will be assigned a TERTIARY THREAD designation. Minors enrolled under this protocol are to be leveraged to secure PRIMARY THREAD compliance.
ACTIVATION CONDITION: Tertiary threads are promoted to SECONDARY STATUS upon Primary Thread collapse OR parental refusal of substitute designation.
Dorian could feel his neck muscles tighten. He turned to the third page, knowing what he would see there, but still had to see it with his own eyes.
SLEEP AGREEMENT PROTOCOL — Page 3 of 3
CANDIDATE: Beatrice Page (Minor)
THREAD TYPE: Tertiary (Dependent)
STATUS: Consent recorded — REM-state interview.
Agreement gained = “Yes, I want to help Uncle Remi. I love him.”
GUARDIAN OVERRIDE: Available.
Dorian stared at the page. “When?” His voice a whisper.
“About a week ago, give or take,” Archie said. “She’s a brave little girl. Asked a lot of really solid questions before agreeing. You and Remi would’ve been proud.”
Dorian closed the folder. His burned thumb throbbed in time with his pounding heart. “You would’ve used my daughter to force my brother, or me, to enter your Crucible.”
“Of course,” he said.
The desire to stab this thing with a pen violently returned. “I promise,” Dorian hissed, “you will regret this some day.”
“Unlikely,” the man said. “But if it helps, we weren’t trying to trap you. Your brother was a real wildcard, so assurances needed to be made.” The man’s tone was almost apologetic—almost.
“It doesn’t.”
“It is lucky for everyone that you made it easy.”
Dorian said nothing, but his blister pulsed. The heat matched the rage he felt.
“So, sadly, you didn’t outmaneuver me, Counselor Page. Better luck next time.”
Dorian clutched the folder tightly, resisting the urge to cram it down the man’s sanctimonious throat. His hands shook with barely contained fury. The blister throbbed one last time, and burst. Ichor splashed onto the folder, spotting the manila paper in blood. He kept his eyes locked on the system’s proxy. “So now what? I go to my trial?”
Archie looked intently at Dorian. “Funny you should say that.”
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Secondary Thread Evaluation — Pre-System Layer Review
Authorization pending adjudication
JUDGE: Redaction
PETITIONER: Archival Intelligence
SUBJECT: Dorian Page
NOTICE: Candidate will be summoned for formal examination prior to admittance into the secondary pool.
Dorian looked at Archie. “What does all that mean?”
Archie’s look was grim. “It means you need to bury your anger, because that—that is going to be the hard part.”
>>> <<<
