“I didn’t say that.”
“Look,” I said, hoping to reason with her. “All I did was miss a very important date with my wife, because of a situation I had no control of. And she’s probably worried sick about me, but I can’t tell her I’m okay because my comms aren’t working. I don’t know shit, and I’m stuck in a room with a woman who basically told me to run over myself with a bus!”
“I’m sorry, but we have no time left.” She tapped impatiently on the table. “But remember, you have a choice now. Should you decide not to clear yourself, you need to say the words Karma Chameleon.”
“Say what?”
“Karma. Chameleon.”
Where the hell did she come up with Culture Club? This can’t be an arbitrary cosmic coincidence. Was IT spying on my comms right before I got here?
“Like the 1980s song?” I asked suspiciously.
“Yes, I think”—she hesitated—“it’s definitely a song. One that you …” She shook her head, apparently unsure how to finish her thought.
“Yeah, but how do you know it?” I insisted. “Nobody knows Culture Club.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just say those words if you want to leave. Got it?”
“I guess,” I said. “So, if I don’t want to be cleared, I just utter Karma Cham—”
“Don’t say it now!” she cautioned me.
“Why not? And how will saying it save me? And why should I trust you?”
Another sigh. This time accentuated by an ugh of frustration.
Now might be a good time to mention that Sylvia and my mother are unique among women, in that they happily put up with my—shall we say—special snowflake charm? Pema, however, was clearly not a fan.
“You don’t have to. You don’t have to say the words. You don’t even have to be here right now. Go ahead and run out that door. I suspect you already know what you’ll find on the other side. However, if you do say those words, then those nanos that held you down earlier will restrain Bill and me,” Pema explained. “You’ll probably have two, maybe three minutes before someone resets them. You’re lucky that they all but emptied the floor to deal with you and security is down in the lobby.”
Don’t want to run into any more of them.
“Your best bet is to take the stairs,” she continued. “Make a left at the door. Count four doors on your right. The exit is a green door. Take the stairs up. We’re on the ninth floor—”
“Wait, you want me to escape by going up?” I interrupted.
“Shut up and listen! Yes, your natural instinct will be to go down the stairs, but the lobby is crawling with security. Your only chance of survival is to go up to the thirteenth floor.”
Thirteenth floor? Not the roof?
Pema’s words were faster than my train of thought. “Getting them to open the door is going to be your problem. I can’t help you there.”
“Who is ‘them’?”
She leaned forward, her eyes locked on mine. “Please understand, Joel: I am not your accomplice. Nor am I your ally. I’m simply here to give you a choice you would have otherwise not had. This is all the help I can offer you. I will be equally incapacitated if you say those magic words—”
“Karma Chamel—”
“Stop!” She was getting flustered. “For the last time, don’t say them now, or ever again in this room unless you opt to flee. They are active now.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “So, what do we do now?”
“Do not turn to me for help from here on out. Outing me will only make things worse for us both.” She looked toward the door. “I’m going to go through the motions with Corina, but she will have likely already made up her mind. And as I said, they have a good point. You may even find yourself agreeing with them.”
“Agree to clear myself?” I said in disbelief. “Good luck with that.”
She nodded, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It’s the absence of choice I disagree with. But please, act surprised when they tell you. I don’t want her thinking I fed you any details.”
“Don’t worry—you didn’t.”
“Gong-da, Joel,” she said solemnly, completely missing my sarcasm. I didn’t need working comms to know she was apologizing. “I know it is confusing, but now is not the time to pity yourself. Now is the time to be wise. It’s hard to talk to you like this, because you don’t know anything. There’s really no good choice for you or Sylvia. What she’s been through, I just can’t—” Her voice cracked. She stopped talking as tears welled in her eyes. A few wound their way down over her angular cheeks.
I realized then that I barely knew anything about Sylvia’s work life. Sure, she complained about “Bill” and shared the occasional “funny coworker” moment, but I didn’t really know who was in her social circle at IT. Maybe this Pema was one of Sylvia’s closest friends. She certainly seemed to know me pretty well. But still, it was weird that she was acting like she was at my funeral when I was sitting right in front of her.
Footsteps sounded outside the room. Pema quickly wiped her face and made her expression impassive.
The door opened and Bill Taraval entered the room. The top of his head seemed more bereft of hair in person, but otherwise he looked just like his projection from earlier.
“Mr. Byram,” he said, breathing heavily. “A thousand and one apologies.” He exhaled. “Welcome to International Transport.” He greeted my pseudo-savior with barely disguised distaste. “Pema.”
“Bill.” She was all business now, cold and haughty. “Would you care to explain why a man with no comms claiming to be Sylvia Byram’s husband is being held hostage in a conference room on an R&D floor? Where is security?”
“A moment, Pema,” Taraval spoke softly. Then, turning to me, he said, “You’re a difficult man to pin down. First you escape the Escrow chamber, then the car I sent—”
“I had other things on my mind,” I said. “Like, why am I here instead of Costa Rica?”
“Ah yes. Well, the situation has—shall we say—evolved. Thankfully, you inveigled your way inside the building. In here, on this floor, you are under our jurisdiction. Our headquarters is sovereign International Transport territory.” Pema pursed her lips, but said nothing. Taraval coughed, then continued, “Do you know what an ayah is, Mr. Byram?”
“No idea.”
“It’s what the Gehinnomites would call you. You would be their perfect ayah, if they knew you existed.” He paused again, I imagine for gravitas. “Before the Last War, the Muslims regarded their holy book, the Qur’an, as an ayah. It exemplified what they believed were Allah’s spiritual messages to mankind. And just as the Muslims believe that every ayah is a sign from Allah, the word ayah in the lexicon of the Gehinnomites has similar meanings: ‘evidence,’ ‘sign,’ and ‘miracle.’ You saw their message to the world on the way over here, I’m sure. Their inclusion of the phrase ‘We will show you Our signs in the horizons until it becomes clear to you that they are the Truth’ was most telling. They’re looking for proof, Joel. Irrefutable evidence from God that teleportation is a sin. And you, I’m afraid, would be that proof.”