the ladder - synapse city (part 5)

The Ladder – An experimental web-only fiction series that spans multiple story lines and characters…Tune in every Wednesday for a new installment!

A squawk on the radio, cryptic nonsense words lost in static.

“I think that means we’ve been spotted,” the Equation says.

“I’ve got it covered,” the Engine says, stopping the Slicer nose-to-nose with a beat-up dumpster that looks like it hasn’t been emptied for months. One look at the Effect and she nods her understanding. She unbuckles her seatbelt, grabs a small black knap-sack, and exits the car into the lightless gloom of the alleys. The Equation’s face bends into a tight smile, but he keeps fiddling with the console.

“Delphi analyzed radio and sensor data. There are 37 cops deployed on foot, roadblocks on every street around Lumen’s lab, and 1 helicopter.”

“My kind of odds.”

The Engine, with a flashy white grin, pushes a small black button on the dashboard. The Slicer’s black exteriors gradually turns to rust and peeled silver paint; a classic jaunt turned wrecked jalopy. While the Slicer undergoes its urban camouflage, the scientist studies data readouts on the screen, schematics, plans. He thinks of the strategy behind the show of force. Police Commissioner Evelyn Grant Warren must have deliberately started the chess game. The prize: answer to the disappearance of Synapse City’s foremost metafictional physicist. And power. Always power. Because Dr. Artemus Lumen, whom the Equation studied with at the Synapse City University, studies phenomena that can alter the very fabric of reality. The Equation is, perhaps, the only to truly understand Dr. Lumen’s work. But to people like Commissioner Warren and her pet mobsters, like Boss Marcone, what counts are the results. So: a massive show of force to draw out the Equilibrium Trio. Possible scenario 1: create enough holes in the net to let the Trio into Dr. Lumen’s lab, find what everyone is looking for, then close the holes and set the trap. Possible scenario 2: blockade the lab and hold it hostage to force the Trio into some kind of action.

Or maybe the Equation doesn’t have enough to properly theorize. The only solution is to wait for the Effect to do what she does best: discover information that people don’t want discovered. Thus: scientist and commando wait in the camouflaged car, eyes open for movement against them, eager to move into action.

the ladder - synapse city (part 4)

The Ladder – An experimental web-only fiction series that spans multiple story lines and characters…Tune in every Wednesday for a new installment. Better yet, subscribe by eMail to ink [and] ashes and get The Ladder delivered fresh to your inbox!

Note: I will post an organized list of links to all episodes of The Ladder to date next week so you can revisit episodes you may have missed or catch up if you're new to the series. As always, I appreciate your feedback and comments.

Though the Equation knows something about Dr. Lumen’s work he doesn’t elaborate, citing instead the need to gather confirming evidence. His partners, frustrated but accustomed to the Equation’s caution, leave him poring over the holographic display with a notepad in hand. Yawning, The Effect takes to the kitchen, raiding the fridge for a bottle of Chardonnay, and heads off to her sleeping quarters to read a science-fiction novel before going to bed. The Engine works out for an hour, lifting weights that would make most men squirm, then settles on the red leather sofa in front of the large flat-screen television. He doesn’t tune in, however, choosing instead to slip on earphones connected to a portable CD player. French lessons.

Shortly after midnight, however, an announcement on the police scanner catches Delphi’s attention. The hypercomputer promptly notifies the Equation, who sits at a console analyzing data from Dr. Lumen’s information map.

The radio, with a scratchy woman’s voice: “All units converge to 221B Cooke Street. Possible break-in in progress. Over.”

Various police patrol cars check in. The Equation, thunderstruck, hits the alarm button and the Equilibrium Trio’s headquarters fills with the two tones – one bass, one high – of the emergency call to action.

“What’s going on, doc?” says the Engine, who wakes up from his improvised nap on the couch like a panther ready to pounce.

“I’d like to know too,” says the Effect, who has traded her dress for black jeans and a turtleneck. “And thank goodness that chard tasted terrible.”

“Gear up and I’ll explain on the way,” says the Equation, already headed to the equipment lockers.

The Slicer cuts through the city night, a black phantom automobile that people only seem to register in their peripheral vision. Synapse City is asleep, but with one eye open. Characters lurk in the shadows.

“Cooke Street…that’s Dr. Lumen’s lab.”

The Equation looks at the Effect and nods his head. “Without the disc, they’re getting desperate. Dr. Lumen didn’t leave any hint of his whereabouts…we know that much. Either they learned something new, or”

“It’s a trap,” the Engine says, gritting his teeth as he takes the Slicer around a tight turn.

“Probability favours that scenario, yes.”

“So what’s the plan?”

The Engine offers another question: “What was Dr. Lumen working on?”

“That map,” says the Equation, “contains all known metafictions. He was sorting them, looking for something…but what…I don’t have enough information yet.”

A sudden deceleration sends them into their seats. The Engine reverses gear, backs up, then puts the gear in forward as he drives the Slicer down an alleyway. The radio scanner goes crazy with traffic; roadblocks, helicopters, the thin blue line gotten a whole lot thicker.

“There are more cops here than cavities on children’s teeth after Halloween,” the Engine says.

“Quite,” says the scientist. “But we may have to risk it. If we’ve missed something, if there is some clue as to where Dr. Lumen has gone, we have to take it. The consequences otherwise…”

“Speculate?” says the Effect.

“Dr. Lumen was, of course, known for his work on teleportation,” the Equation says. “A breakthrough, combined with the metafictional map…”

“You mean…”

The Equation nods his head again before turning his attention to the computer console. “A breakdown of barriers.”

the ladder - synapse city (part 3)

The Ladder – An experimental web-only fiction series that spans multiple story lines and characters…Tune in every Wednesday for a new installment.

Headquarters; in a derelict industrial park of broken-down verses, rhymes of questionable character, and few residents save for sour-faced workers and visiting truckers. Parked on the street, The Slicer would stand out like a polished gem in gravel. But a quick turn into a small warehouse - off an alleyway and wedged between a shoe polish factory and a shoe - and navigation through carefully arranged shipping containers makes standing out a moot issue. The Engine drives inside a container deep in the maze; hydraulics lower the floor, car and all, to a basement wonderland of technology.

Parking the Slicer in a cradle of battery chargers and computer diagnostics, the Trio emerges from the vehicle grateful to stretch their legs. Through the biometric security door in a heavy steel and glass wall, into the main space divided into key functions: research and library, command and control, armory and equipment, living quarters. It’s retro sci-fi wood, cold steel and glass, but everything is precisely designed and engineered, functional and comfortable. The Engine heads for the armory for the post-mission ritual of checking, recharging, reloading, storing and, if necessary, repairing equipment. The Effect heads for C&C’s rows of monitors, radios, and computers orderly laid out in a semi-circle. The Equation walks to a semi-translucent blue cube standing on its corner atop a sleek steel cabinet of blinking lights and controls that straddles C&C and the research section. This is DELPHI: quantum hypercomputer and non-sentient artificial intelligence.

“Decryption is complete, Doctor,” Delphi says, synthetic voice rich and androgynous.

The Equation smiles, a fish in the water of book stacks, computer terminals, and a pedestal on top of which is a translucent dome surrounded by an array of touch-screen controls. “Best display for the results.”

A three-dimensional image forms in the dome; lines of different thickness and colours, dots both fat and tiny. The display coalesces into a web of connections. Manipulating the controls, the Equation discovers the data set associated with the dots: six digits grouped in threes.

“Nothing on the police scanner,” the Effect says. Gone is the sexy red number; in its place is a comfortable pair of faded black jeans and a white t-shirt strategically emblazoned with the Superman S. “A few muggings, some domestic disturbances, nothing major. Looks like Boss Marcone isn’t making a fuss for his pal.”

“It’s a bit of an embarrassment,” the Equation says with divided attention. “The Police Commissioner doesn’t appreciate trifles.” He frowns.

“What is it?

Still frowning, the Equation makes adjustments, moving dots and lines around the display. “Delphi: confirm origin point.”

“Origin confirmed. Synapse City marked at coordinates zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero. Recenter display?”

“Please.”

The dots and lines move in a wild frenzy until settling with a large glowing red dot marked “Synapse City (0,0,0,0,0,0)” at the center of the holographic display. Leaning over for a closer look, the Effect studies the beautiful construct.

“Hey, what is that thing?” booms the Engine, joining the Equation and Effect in the research section.

“An information map,” says the Effect. “Right?”

“Yes.” The Equation manipulates the display one more time, zooming in on the Synapse City dot. “Delphi: any other information encoded on the disc?”

“Negative.”

“Can you cross-reference map data with last known locations of Dr. Lumen?”

“Negative. Insufficient information.”

The Engine with an exasperated look on his face: “So, Doc. The trail’s cold?”

“No,” the Equation says. “I think I know what Dr. Lumen was up to, more or less. And that, I believe, can lead us to him.”

the ladder - synapse city (part 2)

The Ladder – An experimental web-only fiction series that spans multiple story lines and characters…Tune in every Wednesday for a new installment.

They call it the Slicer. A Studebaker Phaeton. Black with white wheels, bug-eyed headlamps, heavily modified with an armored chassis and bullet proof glass. It’s more like a sleek cruising tank. The Engine, set to drive, disables the security system and the Trio get in. The Effect rides shotgun – manning the Slicer’s defenses - while the Equation sits in the back at a computer console. A roar, power coiled within the Slicer’s deep rumble. The Engine takes the Slicer to the streets like a pro racer, enjoying the quiet streets.

“Disc, please,” says the Equation.

The Effect reaches into her bra – the Engine chuckles – and pulls out a small square piece of plastic. “Can Delphi work with it?”

“Undoubtedly. I’m uploading now. The question is whether it will lead us to Dr. Lumen.”

Eyes in the rearview mirror, a telling side-glance from the Engine. The Effect opens viewscreens on the dashboard in front of her. She clicks her tongue. “We’ve got a party.”

Behind them, gaining, a forest green speeder, slim and low, with guntoting men hanging out the backseat windows. Assumption: Boss Marcone’s alleyway snipers, after recovering the eyesight overwhelmed by the flashbang, set out to hunt.

Gunshots. Wild starbursts. The Engine grins at the futility. Then he doesn’t. “Uh-oh.”

“A rocket launcher?” says the Effect. She pulls out a control console from beneath the viewscreens. Buttons marked SPIKE, GRAPPLE, and others. A pristine manicured finger aims towards the SPIKE button, but the car suddenly veers right. A parked ice cream truck explodes to their left – fireball and smoky-black cloud. The speeder punches through. Sharp left turn, sharp right. Zig-zag. Whoever drives the speeder is good – better than good. The Engine is as impressed as he is annoyed. Studying her viewscreen, the Effect waits until the speeder is in the best position and pushes the SPIKE button. From below the Slicer, dozens of sharp jacks spill onto the road. The Speeder avoids most of them, but even the driver isn’t good enough to escape them all. A jack, glimmering from the streetlamp, cuts into rubber. The speeder’s left rear tire goes flat. But the driver doesn’t lose control, not enough to go swerving through a glass storefront or into one of the parked cars lining the gritty streets. He does slow down. The Engine savours the victory. Then another car, a boxy green sedan turning right from 31st street, takes up the chase from the speeder.

“Effect…” says the Engine.

“I know, I know,” she says. “But we can’t shoot up the neighbourhood!”

The Equation, meanwhile, looks up, interrupting his work coordinating the data upload with Delphi. Sighing, he reaches below the seat for a small, bulbous pistol. He winds down the window, waits for a break in the bullet hail, sticks his head and arm out. A brief moment to aim and he pulls the trigger. Ever-expanding concentric rings of electric blue energy swallow the pursuers. Electrical wires shorts. Batteries die. Nervous systems become disrupted. The sedan dies, slows to a stop. Thugs fall unconscious likes babies after milk.

“No time for trifles,” the Equation says. “We have bigger problems.”

Pouting, a dog deprived of its favourite chew-toy, the Engine drives sedately. Mumbles. “You could at least install one of those things on the car.”

The Effect smiles - regret or relief? And the Slicer cuts through the heavy summer night air on its way to headquarters.

the ladder - synapse city (part 1)

The Ladder – An experimental web-only fiction series that spans multiple story lines and characters…Tune in every Wednesday for a new installment.

Synapse City. Metropolis of mixed metaphors and literary allusions both respectable and dubious. New York density in an LA sprawl. A forest of skyscrapers, jagged skyline like broken teeth. The light is blinding, here, and shadows stick like tar. Fog rolls in like hard liquor and crawls out like a hangover. Everyone can hear you scream. Few people care.

63rd and Motter Avenue. Background noise: car honks and sputtering engines, two hobos arguing over a half-empty bottle of whiskey found in a trashcan, a chain reaction of barking dogs, a man and woman having loud sex like they’re reliving a ‘70s porno. The alley is dark and empty except for a large green dumpster that stinks up the dead-end with week-old food and other filth. Trash from a diner and the building of interest, a five-story brick Georgian that houses the Flowers nightclub. A door, gunmetal grey, in the wall under watch. A bald man standing still against the wall, in a shadowed corner, late thirties, thin, hallowed cheeks and pointed chin. He wears a fitted white leather smock-like jacket, asymmetrical black buttons. Black leather gloves like a second skin. Black pants and heavy-duty boots. Goggles with lenses that glimmer with the red of infrared sight. This is the EQUATION; scientist, inventor, cold-minded but warm-hearted, and de facto leader of the EQUILIBRIUM TRIO. Next to him a man built like construction equipment; tall, muscular, square-jawed and black-haired, dark-skinned, midnight commando garb with bandoliers of flash-bangs and grenades, holsters for various weapons and knives, goggles. This is the ENGINE; martial artist, special ops, expert tactician, and a penchant for playful pyromania.

They watch the door, the alleyway, the sky; everything and anything that might disturb their mission, even when they’re playing the waiting game. If there are stars above, they can’t see them. Synapse City spills light into the sky like a john spills himself into a cheap hooker.

“The metaphor is crass,” the Equation observes.

“But it’s true,” grins the Engine.

And they wait, nerves tense, muscles at the ready. Then a clank as the door handle turns, a mousy squeak as the door opens. The two men prepare for the worse, then relax slightly. It’s a woman. Buxom and curvy, a well-proportioned wet dream. Long wavy brown hair. Red dress. Strappy black stilettos with lace ribbons wrapping her calves. Face like a porcelain doll, soft, no edges, innocent, flashing green eyes, perfect makeup of rouge lips and kohl eyes. She looks around, sees the men, sighs relief.

“I have it,” she says. This is the EFFECT; spy, infiltrator, psychologist, seducer of men, women, and machines. The Equation pulls a pair of goggles from his pocket and quickly tosses it to her; she catches it smoothly and puts them on. Then, around the corner at the alleyway entrance: clicks on concrete sidewalk, footsteps. A tuxedoed figure cuts around the corner – suave, cool, but not flashy or arrogant. A stab of streetlight reveals his hook-nosed, masculine, movie star face. Thick eyebrows above serious brown eyes. Also: the cocking of guns from well-dressed goons at his sides, and more goons from the diner’s low-slung rooftop. This is Vitti “Boss” Marcone, an escapee from a Batman comic who set up his own Roman mob in Synapse City after taking out rival sharks with smaller, blunter teeth. He speaks at a measured tone, loud enough but not too loud. The Trio watch him, their goggles make them look like robots or insect. While the thugs are intimidated, brandishing their Tommy guns with a slight tremble in their hands, Boss Marcone is unfazed.

“I figured someone would make a play,” he says. “I even half-figured it would be you three.” A soft chuckle. “Did you think I wouldn’t plan ahead?”

A brief, subtle hand motion from the Equation; all three flick a button on their goggles while, a split-second later, the Engine presses a button on the remote concealed in his hand. A startling thunderclap and blinding lightning flash. Marcone and his goons put hands to eyes in a futile attempt to rub away the silver stars and blackness. The Engine then moves forward, a flash, and disarms the thugs. A few well-placed palm strikes to the chest, elbows to the jaw, and nerve attacks to pressure points on the neck sends Marcone and his muscle to the ground. The Equation smiles slightly - that alone is a magnificent display of emotion – and steps over the unconscious men out of the alley, the Engine following two steps behind. Hearing a groan emanate from Boss Marcone, the Effect lingers just long enough to crouch down, pat Marcone on the cheek in a gesture more sarcastic than sweet, and say with a smoky, caustic, sex-infused voice, “We plan ahead too, darling.” She pronounces it “dah-ling.” The Engine looks back as the Effect leaves Marcone to his appointment with a future headache, grins again, and repeatedly taps the side of his head with his index finger. “They’re crazy, these Romans.”