Authors: Amelia Grace
As the sun started to set, and the trees cast long shadows on the lush green grass, I walked home at a leisurely pace. The world as I knew it was going to change, and dramatically for some. For others, life would remain the same, and they would remain utterly clueless as to what was going on in the technology and communications field. Blessed
are the pure of heart.
I continued to walk to my apartment, with the feeling that I was being followed. My life was not my own now, and never would be. I opened my apartment door to the smell of
roast chicken and vegetables.
‘Thank-you to whoever is making me the delicious dinners. You are spoiling me,’ I said out loud, knowing that the message would be passed on to the chef – woman or man I did not know. The more allies I had the better.
Play the game. Play it better.
I ate my meal at the dining table, cleaned up and then headed to the lounge
room and turned on the sport – football. Establish a routine. Stick to it. Arouse no suspicion.
It looked as though I was watching the football. I wanted it to look as though I was watching the football, but in reality I was not. I was planning the slow and unnoticed blackness of their eyes into my apartment – the security cameras.
At the end of the football game, I headed to shower, using ample hot water, fogging up the bathroom, and hence their security cameras. Under the limited vision of the steamy bathroom, I prepared for attack on security, drawing a detailed map, and listing the steps to freedom in black spots around my apartment. I must use the cover of darkness to accomplish this mission. They will have no idea that they are about to be beaten at their own game.
I climbed into bed, drew nons
ensical illustrations for their amusement, before turning off the lights – but not to sleep – to await the appointed time to attack, little by little.
At exactly 2:13 am, I dressed in black clothes under the covers of the bed – black long sleeved shirt, long black pants, black gloves, black balaclava, black socks. Only my eyes were possibly visible. I pulled my black permanent marker from my pocket and made my way to the very first surveillance camera, and carefully added one black dot to the edge of the rim of glass, three quarters around the edge of the circular camera. I then proceeded to do this to each camera, according to my calculations on the plan to create a black spot in their vision, where I could have invisibility in my own apartment, without their awareness. This way, I could come and go as I please
d, by walking in a certain area of the apartment. Thank goodness I had double doors at the entrance. One side would be visible, the other not.
Within the hour, I was back in bed, and this time
I went to sleep, very happy with my progress, and my defiance of CAI surveillance.
I hit the gym before wo
rk as was my routine schedule, showered at gym, headed to Café Ooh La Laa! for breakfast without surveillance and then called Max for my transport to CAI Headquarters. I efficiently hand scanned into the security system, and entered my room.
It had been tidied.
I was seething.
Now I would have to waste time tracking where my information was, and then get my head into the zone again before I could make any forward progress.
I would have to have a word to Mr B. Rubin. This was absolutely not acceptable.
I stormed out of my office and rode the elevator to the floor below.
‘Mia,’ I said curtly, not looking at her and assertively heading towards the doorway of Mr B Rubin’s office.
‘Mr Darcy…’ Mia squeaked after me. I ignored her. I had a bone to pick with the rude bastard.
‘Cohen!’ Mia called louder, all signs of her squeakiness gone, her voice a much lower pitch, normal even. I turned at once. I took her more seriously with her ‘other’ voice.
She lowered her face, frowned and shook her head quickly, warning m
e not to go into the office. I walked over to her, and stopped closely in front of her. I tilted my chin down and looked deeply into her eyes. She did not speak to me, but her eyes told me to step back. She was trying to tell me something, desperately trying to tell me something, but she obviously couldn’t. She was gagged for some reason.
Did she fear for her job, her safety, or her life? I wish I knew.
I stared into her eyes for a moment longer, and then stepped back from her and made my way back to the elevator. I must try to talk to her at some other time, away from the eyes of the security cameras, maybe in a park, or perhaps in a loud music environment, where our conversation could not be overheard.
I would slip her a note, as she did to me yesterday.
I re-entered my office and went about rearranging it my way, the way my brain and personality liked to work. Agitated, I sat down and tried to penetrate the design zone in my mind. It was not so easy once my feathers had been ruffled.
I pulled my iPod out of my pocket and loaded my ears with the
earphones. I found a very somber piece of cello music. Deathzone by Apocalyptica, closed my eyes and put my head back to dissolve into the melody to carry me to my creative place, my place of dark rainforest trees with swirling mist, a quietness akin to the premonition of danger lurking, upping the adrenaline surging through my body, alerting every sense, making my brain neurons fire with velocity.
I am ready. I am in the zone. The other Cohen is present.
I removed my music, and headed to the tidied working drawings, finding my detailed sketches of the working eye, and my pre drawn prototype of the eye to brain implant – some details missing at this point in time. I wanted to start to marry to two together. I needed to draw what I saw in my head. The A0 paper size was not large enough. In my anger, I screwed the paper into a ball and threw it at the wall, watching it bounce off and fall to the floor.
As this occurred, it sparked an idea. Use the
wall as my working drawing, my canvas, and attack it with passion, ensuring that exact details are meticulously drawn.
I knew that i
t would be deadly to miss any detail, no matter how insignificant it seemed. Every structure in the eye was vitally important to perfect vision.
I worked like a madman, seized by his all
encompassing passion and insanity.
At
8:30 pm, I left the office, exhausted, spent.
Max was waiting for me outside
the CAI headquarters, and greeted me politely before driving me home. I entered the apartment to the delicious smell of lasagna, called out thank-you and then tucked into it. The home cooked meal filled my ravenous stomach. One need is satisfied.
I ma
de myself a strong coffee. I can’t sleep yet. I have my routine of sport to watch on television, followed by my hot steamy shower to add progress information to my plan of altering their security vision, and then to wait for 2:13am to add more ‘graffiti’ to their surveillance cameras.
The next morning, I head
ed to gym as per my routine, stopping at Ooh La Laaa Café for breakfast.
I t
ook the table by the window. I had no choice. I felt a little exposed. So I buried my head in the daily paper to cover my identity somewhat.
I smel
t her sweet perfume before I felt her presence. Then she placed her warm soft hand onto my arm, my skin tingling under her touch. I took a deep breath before I looked up at her, and smiled coyly.
She sat opposite me.
‘You know you are being followed Cohen,’ Georgia said in hushed tones. I smiled to myself.
‘Yeah – by you. Who is stalking who now?’ I jeer
ed. I heard her giggle. It was nice to hear.
‘Seriously, see the man in the dark corner, dark glasses, his ear turned in our direction, as if he has bionic hearing? He followed you
out of the gym, keeping his distance, stopping when you stopped. I followed him, stopping when he stopped.
It was quite a fun game really,’ Georgia said in hushed tones, excitement plastered all over her face. I peered over the top of the newspaper at my tracker, committing his face to my memory. Then my eyes found Georgia’s and locked with hers.
‘You are playing a very dangerous game Georgia. You really should stay away from me,’ I said, my tone low and serious, warning her off. She stared back at me with a challenging defiant look in her eye.
Great, Georgia is as stubborn as she is annoying as she is beautiful
. What a mixture – an elixir.
‘I suggest you leave Georgia. It would be safer for you. I don’t want you to get involved
,’ I said, my voice stern. I did not make eye contact with her.
‘Leave now!’ I spat at her, venom in my voice. I stared into her eyes, warning her with mine, unsure of what she would do. She was so unpredictable. That mind reading implant would come in handy.
She tilted her head to one side, her eyes saddened. She looked down before she stood. Then she looked at me again despondently, before silently walking off. My heart hurt. I ran my hand through my hair, looked over at my tracker, and then decided to leave.
Max was waiting for me outside the café. A welcome sight.
Chapter 9
Oddness greeted me in the reception area outside my office. Once, the reception area was bare, just white marble floors, white walls, white ceiling, no furniture, no personality. Sterile just like the floor below where Mr B Rubin resided.
Today there were two white chairs, one occupied by a man, reading the newspaper. He was dressed in a black business suit, black shirt, no tie. His hair was dark, and he sported a manicured short growth of facial hair.
As I walked past him, he glanced up at me quickly, and then cast his eyes back to his newspaper. I scanned my hand and entered my office, and stood by the enormous glass window, my hands on top of my head.
More people seemed to be appearing in my daily walk of life, or was I imagining it?
I walked to my desk and found a small spiral bound notebook, the size of my hand, and started to write in it. I had to start listing my day to day walk in life. A log of peculiarities were popping up here and there. I would detail them in the notebook, and look for a pattern to appear, if there was any. I also wrote a detailed description of trackers, and other peoples who seemed suspicious.
Then I cut out a particularly small piece of white paper, and wrote a meeting time and place on it to give to Mia. I did not write her name on it, nor mine.
I exited my office. Black suit man was still sitting there reading the newspaper – same page?
‘Mr Darcy, good morning,’ Mia squeaked as I entered the 27
th
floor. I walked over to her.
‘Is Mr Rubin in Mia, and may I see him briefly?’ I asked, sliding my hand over to hers to pass her the small square of white paper. I tapped my middle finger twice when she didn’t follow my lead with the message passing. She looked at the computer screen, picked up a file and placed it where my hand was, covering the little note that I was trying to give her. She also spoke in a bubbly voice to Mr B Rubin, informing that I was here to see him briefly.
I heard the office door click, and then Mia indicated with her hand for me to enter the office. I nodded to her, and she tapped her middle finger twice as I did. I understood it as she had the piece of paper. She was smarter than she looked.
He sat in his
disproportionate red chair with the high back facing me as usual, and turned slowly to face me, his elbows resting on the arms and his hands together, only his fingertips touching.
‘Mr Darcy,
I have been expecting you. What seems to be the problem?’
‘Mr Rubin, my progress was considerably slowed yesterday because my office had been tidied. I request that tidying does not occur again, as I have a specific working arr
angement of my designs, research and notes. When you interfere with my office, you interfere with the flow of work, the amount of output. It is not to your advantage to intrude on my intellectual mapping in this manner,’ I said, my voice assertive, but not aggressive. I also wanted to know if he had people tracking me, but I wanted more observations of placement of people around me first. Perhaps it would be better to plead dumb in this area. The less that he knew what I observed going on, the better.
‘
Mr Darcy, tidiness of your office space is easier for security purposes. I am also offended by your use of the wall as a drawing area. It is akin to graffiti. I abhor graffiti. It will be cleaned off at 4pm today.’
I shifted my body weight onto my other foot. He was getting under my skin, rubbing me the wrong way.
‘Mr Rubin, if you erase my working drawings of the MR Implant, I will cease to work. Do you understand how much thought, energy, precise transfer of the anatomy of the eye went into that ‘graffiti’ as you call it? Did you even consider asking me as to why I chose to work on the wall?’ I challenged him, using my hands for added effect and persuasion as I spoke.
‘Humour me Mr Darcy. Why did you draw on the wall like a two year old with crayons?’ he retorted, belittling my work idiosyncrasy.