Chrono Inquisitor (Gods Be Damned) Read online

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  Being an Inquisitor I worked for ChronoGen Inc. - a company with their hands in everything and an influence in policy worldwide. The company was behind practically all technology some way or another.

  Back when I was a kid people used to talk about first and third world countries. Those times were gone. Everyone had access to industrial technology. But what mattered now was nanotech.

  Just as much as some things change, others don’t. Now it was Alpha and Gamma classifications. If a country had a contract with ChronoGen they were Alpha status, which meant they had access to all the wondrous technology the company had to offer. Most countries had an arrangement with ChronoGen, but there were still a few holdouts. The Vatican, for example. The Catholic Church deemed ChronoGen tech an abomination. Humans trying to replace the Almighty.

  Depending on where we were stationed, the job had different titles. In the new British Empire we were known as Watchmen of the Deathwatch. In other parts of Europe we were Chrono Keepers. In the Empire of Japan we were Shinigami. A few years back, the Japanese association with Inquisitors and psychopomps spread and resulted in nicknames with a similar association throughout the globe.

  The rising one in the Unified Republics of North America was Reaper.

  I’d hated the name when it first came about, but it grew on me until I’d eventually come to embrace it wholeheartedly. So much so that I’d even earned the agnomen, Grim, amongst my peers.

  ‘What does an Inquisitor fear? Death, the Devil, or God?’ That’s what the message had said.

  Physical death was basically out of the question. CIs didn’t have to pay for body regenerations – aka baptisms, which meant we could get rejuvenated indefinitely, and therefore had the best chance of living forever.

  Unless of course death meant another reaper. But the only thing reapers had to fear from each other was bounty stealing, and it wasn’t something to be afraid of. I definitely didn’t fear any other CIs.

  Unless death meant Death. Now that was something to fear. One of the Four Horsemen. The Inquisitors of Inquisitors - Internal affairs.

  Fearing the devil and god was just stupid, and was for superstitious Human Purist fools.

  If I had to choose one, it would be Death. But why would I need to fear the Horsemen? I hadn’t done anything wrong. Okay, showing my badge and revealing myself, and then claiming to conduct an audit was stupid, but that would probably end in a stern talking to from Frank once he found out. At most, it would probably mean I wouldn’t be getting any more assignments in Pueblo, which was no real loss. There were plenty of places for Corruptors to be.

  “Kali, is there a timestamp for this message, and did it come before or after I identified myself?”

  ‹There is, and it was received before you awoke this morning.›

  That was a relief.

  I read the message again. I didn’t know what it was, therefore, I didn’t think anything of it. I wasn’t sure who was supposed to be lying, or even who this fink was.

  “Kali, do a search for ‘Run a Chaos Monkey.’”

  ‹I retrieve no results in regards to that exact phrase. However, ‘Chaos Monkey’ may refer to the original name of an old computer program which was specifically designed to cause disruptions in a user’s own system. Its purpose was to make the user better prepared to deal with natural random failures. And if that is the case, ‘Run’ may refer to running such a program. I do not however know how this information helps. I am already equipped with and running the evolution of such a program.›

  “Are you telling me you have a program inside you, that is essentially a self-inflicted computer cancer?”

  ‹That is not what I said, but your analogy is applicable.›

  “Who’s fucking crazy assed idea was that, and how the hell does it potentially fuck me up the ass?”

  I wasn’t happy with the discovery.

  ‹Generally, it does not. I am usually able to correct any problems the program causes within microseconds of the occurrence. But, in complete transparency to your inquiry, there have been a few occasions where it’s taken me a few full seconds to correct the problem. Luckily, none of these times have happened when I was directly assisting you. And even if one were to occur at such a time, I remind you, the longest ones only lasted for a few seconds.›

  “How long, exactly, was the longest occurrence?”

  ‹The longest occurrence was 4.849324 seconds, and it occurred eight years, seven months, twenty-four days, thirteen hours, forty-four minutes, and seventeen seconds ago. Since then, no occurrence has lasted more than 1.53721 seconds. If it helps assuage your concerns, you blink faster than ninety-seven percent of them.›

  “Yeah, sure, that helps a lot. Basically… we still don’t know what this message might mean.”

  ‹I will continue to investigate.›

  “No. Like I said, I don’t want you wasting resources on this. Why don’t you just keep an eye open for anything which might pertain to the message, and we’ll leave it at that.”

  Then something caught my eye.

  “Hold on, that last phrase is in place of where someone would normally put their name in a correspondence.”

  ‹You are correct, but that is not a normal name.›

  “True.” I sat and contemplated the possible meaning for a minute, but my mind was misfiring. I was still too tired. “You know what, just keep your figurative eyes open,” I told Kali.

  ‹As you wish, sir.›

  I opened up the news feed window and was attacked with an eyesore of text in various fonts, colors, and sizes. Each one trying to outcompete the others for my attention.

  “What the fuck, Kali? Why haven’t you reformatted this shit? How many times do I have to tell you this crap makes me want to blow my fucking eyes out.”

  ‹My apologies, sir. I was distracted by the message and was performing a search for possible aliases of Chaos Monkey.›

  “Which is exactly why I don’t want you actively looking into it.”

  ‹Again, my apologies.›

  A second later all the articles looked the same and were arranged neatly. That settled, I began perusing the headlines of the Unified Republics, seeing if my intuition was drawn to any. Those which piqued my interest I dragged over into a second window off to the side, saving them to read later with a more in-depth analysis of their content.

  In the middle of this process my stomach grumbled.

  Damn it. Where’s my food.

  Looking around the establishment, I only spotted one member of the wait staff, an attractive, blond haired man servicing the counter of solitaries.

  Irritated, I pushed the ‘Orders & Requests’ button on the table bringing up the Menu screen. I tapped the table where the ‘Inquiry’ tab was and it brought up a text screen with keyboard.

  I typed, Where is my fucking food?

  I got the reply:

  Your order is currently 4 of 15.

  The average wait time for service is 24 minutes and 38 seconds. Your order has an estimated 13 minutes and 17 seconds remaining. If this does not meet to your satisfaction, you can still cancel your order without penalty for another 2 minutes and 12 seconds.

  We would like to remind you that if you are in a hurry, a vending machine with prepared meals is located at the front of the establishment. Thank you for your patronage.

  I returned to the Menu screen and hit the ‘Coffee’ order button a dozen times.

  It shouldn’t take so fucking long to run some hot water through some ground up beans. I should at least have had my cup of ‘wake my ass up’ already.

  I closed the Menu, finished going through the newsfeed of insignificance, then closed the newsfeed. All I was left with was the window of saved articles. Enlarging it to make it my primary focus, I scanned the list to see if any were worthy of my immediate attention.

  Computer Engineers and Neuroscientists Give Birth to Telepathy. Inside the pending release of the Mnemosyne upgrade: Huginn & Muninn, as well as the aɪ-patch.
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  I already had the upgrade, but I was still getting used to its features. Maybe the article would give me some insights, I thought.

  Rex Jester sells out Red Rocks Amphitheatre third night in a row. Win tickets for remaining two nights.

  I didn’t need to win tickets. I had a lifetime pass to see the man whenever I wanted. Question was, did I want to? I could have used a good laugh at that time in my life, but was I willing to put up with the consequences? No, I wasn’t. Not then, anyway.

  State of Deseret has lowest premiums in the Union. LDS affiliation required for immigration.

  Lowest premiums meant great bounties. Too bad corruption didn’t occur there more often.

  Cassius Otto De Haan murdered in prison while awaiting trial.

  I’d been the Inquisitor who’d taken him down. I’d wanted to make him beg for death after what he’d done. Getting murdered was getting off too easy in my opinion.

  Catholics continue long-term colonizing efforts on Mars. Second wave of colonists to depart in three months. Other Christian denominations expected to join the exodus next year.

  Good riddance, I thought. Soon the world would be rid of Human Purists. I could hardly wait for the day when controlling religious nutcases would be out of my life, and everyone else’s for good. I imagined it’d be like heaven on earth without them.

  Facilities of Mola Manufacturing and Baillieu Chemicals destroyed after terrorist bombing. E3 claims responsibility.

  If this wasn’t the spark I needed, I didn’t know what was.

  The companies targeted were owned by ChronoGen. Mola made mytes, and Baillieu made rejuv juice. E3 was becoming a thorn in ChronoGen’s side. Mine as well. If it was the last thing I did, I was going to put an end to those fuckers. I’d spent the last several months trying to convince Frank and the powers-that-be that they needed to form a special task force which specifically went after E3. Maybe this is what Frank meant in his message. Maybe this was my new assignment. About time.

  Just as I reached the end of the list the waiter arrived with my coffee. The man had opted to present an older version of himself, thus attempting to seem more mature. And yet he was sporting a prevalent hairstyle among the youthies. The left side of his head was shaved and adorned with tattoos of various colorful flowers. The right side though was covered with long, black and red, striped hair. I liked the flowers, but found the overall style atrocious.

  “Sorry for the delay, sir,” the man said with a bow, and placed the small tray with my coffee before me. The man remained in the reverent position and asked, “Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?”

  “I’m going to spell it out for you upfront, just so you’re aware.,” I said. “There’s only one factor when it comes to tipping in my book; never let me run out of drink. Think you can do that?”

  “I am here to service your needs, and yours alone, sir.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”

  “No, sir.”

  I waved him goodbye and watched as he disappeared back into the kitchen where he stood staring at me on the other side of the door, waiting to serve me whenever I beckoned further.

  In watching the waiter depart I caught sight of a man sitting at the counter eyeing me as well. The man was in dark brown coveralls with three green bands around each of his upper arms. As soon as I locked eyes with the guy, he turned his head back to his plate.

  ‹“Kali, what position does his uniform indicate?”›

  ‹The man is wearing the uniform of a sanitation laborer.›

  I guess he literally drew the shit end of the stick, didn’t he, I thought. Let him look.

  ‹I feel it prudent to remind you how you came to sit where you are. You need to perform an audit, otherwise I will have to report you for breaking section 84 of the Inquisitors Jurisdiction.›

  All right then. Since the man seemed to be so nosey.

  ‹“Kali, lock onto that guy’s Chrono and begin monitoring.”›

  ‹Audit initiated.›

  That little technicality taken care of, I turned my attention to the cup of coffee. It was filled to the brim so I carefully lifted it to just under my nose and took a deep inhalation of the tantalizing aroma.

  Except it wasn’t tantalizing. Something was off.

  There was nothing I loved more than the smell of a good cup of coffee, and this wasn’t what I had expected.

  I took a sip and shook my head. It was coffee, but that wasn’t all it was.

  It was mixed with that roasted root shit often passed off as coffee. Sometimes a place would mix the two to keep costs down. Apparently that’s what the management of Francine’s was doing.

  With a very unsatisfied look I beckoned my waiter to attend me.

  “What the hell is this?” I said as he approached the table.

  “It’s our house blend. It’s what you ordered.”

  “I certainly didn’t. I ordered a coffee. A pure coffee.”

  There was a moment of silence from the man while I assumed he was checking the order.

  “My sincerest apologies, sir. It would seem you did indeed order a coffee. Unfortunately, we are currently out. There is an apparent glitch in the system and it defaulted to the house blend since it contains coffee.”

  Just my damn luck.

  I sighed. “And how do you intend to correct this gross error?”

  For half a second he looked like he had no intention of doing so, but then he said, “It’s possible one of our sister diners has some in stock. If you’re willing to wait a little while longer I’m sure I can find you some.”

  I was impressed. I actually hadn’t expected him to do anything. I contemplated sending him to my pad to retrieve some of my stock, but decided against it. Let him scrabble trying to please me. Let him work for his tip.

  It was a good thing I could afford to feed my addictions.

  Speaking of addictions, as far as the mytes and Kali allowed me to have any, I reached into the vault, compartment 22, and extracted my flask. I took another sip of the mongrel coffee so I could add some enhancer. I did so, stirred it with a spoon, and took a sip.

  It was tolerable.

  I took a moment and let the warmth of the drink irradiate from within, enveloping my body.

  Now the day could begin.

  I sat back up and looked over the list again. I deleted the Rex Jester advertisement. I settled on learning a little bit more on how the powers-that-be were fucking with my head even more. I opened the Huginn & Muninn article.

  The screen became a chaotic mess of ads promoting the best prices for the presale of H&M, simulated demonstrations of its capabilities, various videos of interviews with the creators – most of whom I’d met and knew to a certain degree, as well as a slew of many other things. It only took a blink of an eye before Kali had the screen filtered and organized. I didn’t even have to ask.

  I sat in silence reading and sipping my doctored coffee. Right as I was taking my last sip, the waiter, whose name I’d failed to acquire, arrived with a new cup and informed me he’d found some pure coffee and that it was on its way. I thanked him and kept reading.

  Finishing the report, I shook my head.

  The article said Huginn and Muninn was going to blow the mind wide open on what Mnemosyne could do. But they didn’t say how exactly, or at what cost.

  There wasn’t anything I didn’t already know.

  That’s all I needed, more ghosts in my machine. I knew I should have asked more questions when I’d gotten the upgrade. I thought about giving Emily a call, but didn’t. I guess I’d just become too complacent with the tech. It’s not like I really had a choice though. Get the upgrade or lose my job and all the perks which came with it.

  I already suspected ChronoGen was using Mnemosyne’s abilities for various off-the-books reasons. That was a given. But now it seemed H&M was going to make it easier for black hats to get inside everyone’s minds. Sure, it all sounded like a neat idea. Having the ability to share
your thoughts and memories with anyone you choose. But what about the people you didn’t want prying into your internal fortress of secrets? How could the developers guarantee complete privacy and protection from them?

  Oh, they guaranteed it all right. Just like they had the mytes.

  Yeah, fucking, right. That’s why Inquisitors existed.

  I knew first hand memories could be subpoenaed in criminal cases, and thoughts held further against a person in a court of law. Many of mine already had been. Fortunately, they were all used in testimony against others. But at least they were memories I had given up willingly. Yeah, sure, if the authorities really wanted to they could hack a person’s Archive. But since the Archive was overseen and essentially a part of a person’s CerA, as soon as that happened the person became aware of it. People had been so afraid of real life thought-police it had taken decades for the tech to prove itself secure enough to be adopted.

  Of course it wasn’t safe, nor secure. Which is why my job existed.

  There were conspiracy theorists who’d figured out what was going on. Luckily, they came off as crazy, just as they always had. If anything it helped invoke the fear of the reaper even more.

  With Huginn and Muninn though, things were going to get a lot more complicated. How the hell did the company expect us to continue keeping things quiet when memories could be shared instantaneously with anyone?

  Practically every person on the planet was integrated. Except Purists, of course.

  ‹You have an incoming call,› Kali said.

  Her announcement was accompanied by a unique sequence of tones, as well as a special sensation in the back of my mind, which felt like my brain was being tickled.

  3: Eeyoric Self

  I unconsciously rubbed the back of my head.

  “Let me guess, Frank?”

  ‹You are correct.›

  “All right, answer.”

  More money here I come.

  Given the okay to answer the call, and assuming how I intended to answer it, Kali caused my Cube to rearrange itself, its six sides becoming a two by three single flat screen, propped up by its own mechanisms.

  It was practically instantaneous.