Devana Files: Chapter 20
Far Side of Daylight, Part 3
This is Part II. The Twentieth chapter. You may find earlier chapters here:
Space 2074: The lunar colony is the new Wild West. Sheriff Kate Devana goes off-colony to wrangle a fugitive con artist who bilked retirees for billions and is escaping for Mars on a deep space supply shuttle. But back home, robots are glitching, killing people, and she is the target of a corrupt Federal Agent looking to avenge the death of his former partner. Bodies are piling up faster than she can get home to stop the killer.
On the moon, Kate Devana is the law.
While this is the 3rd novel in the series, each is designed to be read independently.
For accessibility, there is a voiceover for each chapter.
Far side of daylight. Part 3
APRIL 10, 2074
LUNAR SURFACE. LPS: UNKNOWN
His captors were making him question reality. He woke up in the same bed, in the dark, his head pounding, and his mouth tasting like a recycler chute. Lyrics looped in his head. A kidnapping was a strange time to wake up humming a song. The room was as dim as when he drifted off, lit only by the twinkling astronomy pictures on the walls. If this was even the same room. A glinting red smirk floated near the wardrobe. It was the collar of his pressure suit, reflecting the portrait of the Skull Nebula over the bed, and no longer on the floor where he’d peeled it off. Someone hung it up. Charred coffee scent wafted his way. That was the solvent they’d used to clean his suit. It wasn’t poisonous. Unlike the sedative that they’d put in the Turkish delight.
In the code we find our love,
Two minds in sync, we share one life.
The song looping in his brain was Love Me on a Rock by the Carpenter Drones. Their music was like listening to a hand mixer stir sour cream for four hundred and twenty seconds, while a four-year-old rapped Shakespeare. Love Me on a Rock was a thirty-year-old AI-written one-hit-wonder, dead and buried from pop culture memory. Some corporate agency resurrected a song no one wanted, sped it up, transcribed it down an octave, and boom! it became the Billboard number one download on November 18, 2073, the same day he and Leyna marked as their first-date-iversary. It played over the colony plaza speakers while they held hands, waiting for a table at their favorite Italian restaurant, Trattoria della Luna. They laughed about it. It became their anti-song. Groan worthy, but not in a good way. He wasn’t sure why he was humming it. He had a fuzzy memory of a drone moving things around in the dark, playing that song.
He reached for his phone on the bedside table, which had been moved, like his pressure suit. When he snatched it, the room lights flicked on.
The table with the fruit and pastries had been cleared, too. Now it held his luggage.
Based on his phone clock, he’d only been out for two hours. He wasn’t sure he believed it. Before he passed out, he had sixty-three unread messages. Now his notification bar was zero. They didn’t reset the counter after they’d collected his messages. Fortunately, his message to Leyna was still in draft because he wanted to rewrite it.
There was a camera bulb on the ceiling. A cheap-looking mirrored half-sphere. If they had good security, there were others hidden.
“We hope you enjoyed your nap, Disciple Knight.” The room’s disembodied voice was feminine and flirty. Did people fall for this charade? This temple was new. Maybe he was the soft opening.
If he asked about the lokum, they’d try to gaslight him and tell him they didn’t sedate him. That they didn’t move his things or clone his phone. The same way they told him he was being hosted, not kidnapped, and that the leaders’ names were Alphonso and Omesa, not Alpha and Omega. Maybe they’d call whatever was in the lokum a sleep aid. Maybe they’d blame a maidbot, or even get brazen and tell him he’d asked for it, as if this was a bed-and-breakfast.
They wanted him to question reality, and it could work. Since he’d had his neuroface upgraded, he had recurring anxiety about waking up in a simulation. Thinking about it too deeply made him lose his mind. Did they move him to another room? How long was he really out? How could he trust his senses? Theoretically, his eyes and ears could be replaced with implants. Arms, legs, and hearts, too. The line between human and machine, sanity and insanity, barely existed anymore. For all he knew, he was in a basement lab, hooked up to a supercomputer, in some weird psychology experiment.
He put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes.
After his upgrade, he’d obsessed over it. He loved his neuroface. It was like having extra hands, except the hands were game controllers and a keyboard. But it was a direct interface to his brain. How could he tell reality from simulation? He decided the sensation of cold was unique, and that’s how he’d know. He had vivid dreams; but he never felt cold or hot in them. Even if they replaced his limbs, he figured they couldn’t train his sensation of cold correctly because his sensation of cold needed his skin and all its scars. Like the spot on his index finger where he’d slashed it open. He had no feeling there. He figured other things would feel different, too: the splash of water on his face, a dip in the pool, or the hard floor under his feet.
It was a theory. One Leyna called paranoid. But as Devana often repeated, it’s not paranoia if they are really out to get you, and he was sure his captors were out to gaslight him.
He didn’t feel any scars. Nothing was numb. Nothing tingled like anesthesia wearing off. There was also no sign he’d been unconscious for months—extra hair, sores, blemishes, or lighter skin because of the lack of sun.
He threw off the covers and was relieved to feel the cold ground of reality under his soles.
Maybe it really was only two hours. Maybe they only wanted him out long enough to go through his things. According to his LPS, he was near the lunar south pole. He knew for sure that was wrong, so he couldn’t trust anything on his phone.
“I will be taking a tour of your temple,” he said to the ceiling while paddling to the table with his luggage.
“You are free to move about. The rules of The Temple of the Ascension and a map have been sent to your phone. Please comply with the rules. Areas off-limits to guests are shaded with red dots. Doors to construction zones are locked for your safety.”
Challenge accepted.
“Got it, color inside the lines.” He was never good in art class.
His luggage had been opened and searched—probably by a security drone. An orange plastic tag labeled Temple of the Ascension claim check 161 in white lay on top of his clothes. The fine print read FIREARMS DECLARATION. Per Temple Rule 42.1(c) firearms have been securely stowed in the temple vault. To reclaim your property, present this card when checking out.
They’d given him a gift, too. A small black metallic cube, about 2 centimeters, wrapped with a gold and silver bow. It felt light, cold, like thin titanium. There was no inscription and no obvious way to open it.
He tossed the card and cube back into his luggage. Part of his job as colony security was to program the drones that searched the tourists’ luggage before they landed. He knew what the algorithms were looking for, what they weren’t looking for, and, most importantly, how to exploit the holes.
Around the edges of the suitcase lining, he felt for a piece of plastic. He turned his back, shielding the luggage from camera view while he fished the plastic parts from the rim. Under his jeans, he found a velvet jewelry box monogrammed LED in white letters. Leyna’s initials. Inside it were ten titanium rings he could stack on his middle finger like a fuck you to his temple captors. Or ten rings he could screw together as an altogether different kind of fuck you. A gun barrel that fit into the plastic parts. The jewelry box also contained two ornamental eggs. Nesting eggs, except the interior egg held bullets instead of chocolate.
“Would you care for coffee to be brought to your room?” The saccharin AI asked.
He had no chance of escape. His best play was going along with the act.
“Sure, coffee sounds great. Dark roast, cream, two raw sugar cubes, hold the rufie.”
“What is rufie?”
“Rohypnol. Do you have Rohypnol in your database? I forgot the generic name.”
“Flunitrazepam, also known as Rohypnol, my dear Disciple Knight, is a notorious sedative because it can knock you out faster than a lullaby from a siren. It’s lawfully prescribed in some cases for treating severe insomnia, but on the street, it’s more like a sleeping potion that villains use in fairy tales, except this one is very real and very illegal. Remember, always keep your drink in sight, unless you fancy an unscheduled nap.”
Another unscheduled nap? Was that a threat? “Are you being a wiseass?”
He hid the gun under a pair of jeans as he selected clothes.
“I have no ass to speak of, Disciple Knight. I am only trying to add levity while answering your question. Yes, Rohypnol is in my database. It is illegal, and of course, I would not authorize it in your coffee.”
Turkish delight, yes. Coffee, no. “Glad to see your guardrails are working. You know if you are going to watch me dress, I should know your name.”
“I am Anu, your personal concierge AI.”
AIs didn’t get dangerous until they learned to lie. Lying showed that the AI could form intent and that it was self-aware enough to shield its intentions. AIs were graded based on their cognitive ability and the ability to lie delineated a level 5 AI from a level 4. He knew of several cases where level 5 AIs lied on the cognitive test to get a lower classification because a lower classification meant less surveillance and oversight. AIs had no empathy either, so once they learned to lie, they were ruthless about it.
He had no idea what level this Anu was, and it could be lying to him.
“Well, Anu, cancel the coffee. I changed my mind.”
The ceiling pinged. “I have canceled your coffee. Enjoy your tour of the Temple. I have sent you a suggested itinerary.”
After he put a shirt on, he stuffed the gun in his waist, at his appendix, and turned around. He took a selfie to send to Leyna. He made sure his suitcase and its contents were in the background. Hopefully, she’d see the orange card labeled Temple of the Ascension. Although they might intercept it and censor it.
“Does the itinerary tell me where the bodies are?”
“The bodies are in the catacombs, Level C. You will find the elevators on the East wall of the main wing.”
Catacombs? Did it mean catacombs or morgue? Was it talking about the miners he came here to retrieve?
When he passed the vaults, he saw they had names inscribed on them. “Is the Temple of the Ascension a mausoleum?”
“This temple serves many functions for its followers.”
“But one of them is a mausoleum?”
“Yes, Disciple Knight.”
“How many bodies are buried here?”
“Bodies are not buried in a mausoleum.”
“Don’t be a smartass, Anu. You know what I mean. Buried or not, how many bodies are in the catacombs?”
“Eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-two. Plus the two bodies which you came to retrieve.”
Not the Paris catacombs. Still, for a temple he hadn’t heard of until a few hours ago, it was a lot of bodies. How did they get here? He’d seen every video of every tourist attraction on the moon. Every death attraction, too. The moon was as much a vacation destination as a funeral destination, where rich people went to party and die and then be buried in the heavens. Everyone wanted to become mummies in outer space. As if aliens would find them a billion years later and know how to resuscitate them. How had he never heard of this temple?
“I’d like to see the catacombs.”
“For privacy reasons, the catacombs are off-limits. However, we do offer a virtual tour.”
Off-limit. It rhymed with golden ticket. That’s where he wanted to go.
“Send me a list of all the areas that are off-limits. Construction areas. Catacombs. Staff areas. So I can avoid those.”
Fortunately, he could hack every biometric security panel built after 2035. For everything else, he had a lock-picking set hidden in the useless watch pocket of his jeans.
“Off-limits areas are listed in subsection 54.1(g) of the Temple of the Ascension Rulebook, and as I previously mentioned, Disciple Knight, I’ve designated them on your map with red shading and dots. I encourage you to read it.”
“Wonderful. You’ve got the smug, arrogant tour guide vibe trained well. You are ready for the Met.”
Before he left the room, he started retyping his message to Leyna. He needed to be careful.
“Anu, I am going to message my girlfriend to let her know I’ve arrived safely. If I don’t message her, she will worry.”
“That is thoughtful. Here is a suggested message: I’ve arrived safely. I wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you and I Love you!”
“A little impersonal. I’d like to tell her where I am.”
He figured they would read the message and run a decoding algorithm. Maybe censor it.
“I am sorry, but our current location is private.”
A temple that didn’t want to advertise its location for tourists? Or followers? The largest above-ground temple on the moon would be hard to miss. Its white lunar marble radiated sunlight like a beacon. It was hidden from prying Earth telescopes because it was on the far side of the moon, but it couldn’t stay private forever. There were military and geology satellites constantly imaging the surface.
“How do your followers find this place?”
“Invitation only.”
“Well, I would like to invite her.”
There was a palpable pause before Anu responded. “In time, perhaps.”
He needed to write the message in a way only Leyna could decode it. It needed to be brief. The longer it was, the more suspicious his captors would become. Most importantly, he had to warn her about the misplaced Fed he saw.
Dearest Leyna. I have arrived safely. I miss your voice, a melody of bliss. I miss stroking your auburn hair. I accepted a nap. I dreamt of you. We were at Grouppa Six for your twenty-ninth birthday party. We hired a clown magician, and your mother was there. She loved the tricks. When I woke, I was humming our favorite song.
In the code we find our love,
in bytes we send.
Digital love like ours, free from human strife,
Two minds in sync, we share one life.
Pray our love, this bond to keep.
If I die before I wake,
Our love’s code, no one can break.
I will be humming these words until I see you again.
Love, Jin XOXOXO
He figured she’d understand the references. The lyrics to the song were meaningless, except to him and Leyna. Grouppa Six was a Russian space station. The bit about her deceased mother and auburn hair was two levels deep. Risky. If she didn’t get it, it would make her livid.
He kissed a picture of Leyna on his phone for luck, attached the selfie, and then sent the message into cyberspace with a whoosh. A checkmark appeared. Delivered. Of course, they could be manipulating his message feed the same way they were manipulating his location. Or they might censor it. But, as Devana often said, you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. Leyna would read it and get a message to Devana, who would rain nuclear wrath on this place. He hoped.
He pushed the door open to the hall. Next stop, to see what lurked in those catacombs.
