A Stay of Execution

2

The next few hours were a blur for Stephen. It began with the message in the restaurant. He didn't panic at first; there was a security breach, but those could be handled. As more and more information became available, Stephen’s dread only increased until he got the news that he knew was coming.

His father was dead.

He sat in an uncomfortable chair in the lobby of the 22nd Police precinct of Orion City. One of the lights overhead was flickering ever so slightly, bothering his tired eyes. He idly noticed that it was oddly dark in the room, darker than he would have expected a police lobby to be.

Stephen was alone in the room, having made Ian leave a few hours ago. He knew Ian had to work in the morning, and he wanted to be alone for a while. He wished he could just go home, but the detective in charge thought it would be best to wait until they had inspected his home for anything that could explain the heinous act.

“Get your hands off of me!” a slamming door jarred Stephen from his thoughts. A young officer was pushing a man in mag-cuffs into the building. The man was trying his best to pull away, but the magnetic restraints were holding tight. Even with the assistance of the device, the officer was struggling with him.

“What are you looking at?” the man screamed at Stephen, who quickly turned away and sunk lower into the chair.

“I’m supposed to be safer here?” he whispered to himself.

After a few minutes, Stephen peaked back over his shoulder. The officer had already moved on, taking his suspect into processing. He was alone in the room again. Looking out the window, he could see that it was snowing lightly. It seemed like it had been snowing for his entire life, and he was forever waiting for the gentle calm after the storm.

When Stephen was nine years old, his mother abandoned them. His father had never really been the same after that. He was a loving man, always made sure Stephen had everything he needed, but what he truly desired was for life to go back to the way it was before. He now knew there was no hope for that to ever come to pass.

Thinking about his mother was saddening. He idly wondered if he should try to contact her to let her know. He scratched an itch on his forearm from wearing his Data-Pad all day. He turned on the messaging sub-feature, having turned it off earlier because of the flood of sympathy messages. One hundred twenty-four messages, mostly from people he’d never met. He almost started a search to look for a way to contact his mother, but thought better of it.

“Archive all messages,” his voice came out raspy. As soon as he spoke the command, the message indicator dropped to zero and he went back to disregarding it.

He stood, stretching out his sore legs. The muscles of his backside screamed in protest, sending a lingering ache down his legs to the back of his knees. He thought to himself that these chairs could be classified as ‘cruel and unusual punishment’.

Stephen walked over to the drink dispenser by the door. He took a moment to look over his selections, and settled on a simple, plain bottle of water. He pressed a button on his Data-Pad and the water container was dispensed.

“Omni Foods thanks you for your purchase,” Stephen dropped the bottle as the machine spoke; he didn’t expect it to be so loud. He picked his drink up from the floor and made his way out the door.

He immediately took notice of the piercing cold. He wished that he had something warmer than his leather jacket, but he didn't expect to be out all night when he'd left that morning. He crossed his arms, and made his way down the snow dusted path, leaving shallow footprints behind him.

Bright neon lights illuminated the street, giving it an unnatural multicolored glow. Though it was much later in the evening, It reflected off of the snow giving it a look of almost twilight. Stephen wasn’t sure exactly how late it was. A check of his Data-Com would provide the answer, but he didn’t feel like bothering with it.

Before he knew it, he was turning the corner, and was no longer on the police station’s property. He suddenly realized he was half a block away, but didn’t bother to turn back. The cold was adding to the numbness he felt.

He came up to the small twenty-four hour market. A bright orange sign glowed above the doorway, letting onlookers know that the Omni-Mart was always open to serve the community. Omni-Foods was by far the largest conglomeration of food producers and sellers, and one of the most powerful seats on the Council of Corporations. He entered the shop.

The middle aged man behind the counter eyed Stephen closely as he walked in, brow furrowed and scowling. One eye was slightly squinted, and his face was wrinkled and pock-marked. He acted as though he were reading an electronic magazine, but every time he looked in that direction he caught the man’s twitching eye glaring at him. The images on the e-mag kept right on moving whether he was looking or not.

Picking up a strange looking fruit, he turned it over in his hand. It was green, prickly to the touch, and smelled faintly of lemon. He’d never seen one before, and suspected it came from off-world.

“You better have money, kid!” yelled the man at the counter. “There are no free samples here!”

He waved the grouchy man off, not bothering to look at him. Still carrying the fruit, he moved on to the publications section. As soon as he saw it, he dropped the fruit and picked up the latest issue of Orion Weekly.

Stephen was not ready to see his father’s smiling face, waving at the camera on the cover. Blinking back tears, he scanned every micron of the moving image. It had been taken a year ago, during the press circus that surrounded the announcement of his father’s formula. His chest tightened, and all at once the despair he felt turned cold with fury.

His father was murdered and they were using his image to sell publications.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” Stephen spun around, nearly dropping the periodical.

“Who are you?” Stephen asked, confused. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking slightly. He was still furious with the news system, but he would’ve been lying if he said he was not a little afraid.

The young man standing before him was taller than he was, and seemed to be of Middle Eastern descent. He had jet black hair and brown eyes, but Stephen noticed a small dermal implant next to his right eye, the type that small electronics can be connected to. Dermal implants were fairly commonplace, for everything from fashion to function. Stephen didn’t think it out of the ordinary.

“It isn’t safe for you to be on your own right now, especially on this side of town,”

“I asked you a question,” Stephen demanded, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His eyebrow furrowed, jaw set.

“Isaac,” he said simply. “The problem isn’t who I am, it’s who you are. If I recognized you, I guarantee others will too.”

“What the hell are you two doing over here?” the man from the front of the shop shouted as he walked up behind Stephen. Stephen jumped, juice squirting out half a meter on the floor as his foot came down on the fruit.

The clerk wound up as if he were about to hit Stephen, but found himself staring at the bottom of Isaac’s boot. Isaac had thrown the kick so fast that not even a hint of movement had been seen, and he stopped it with such precision it was within a millimeter of the clerk’s face.

“That would not be wise,” Isaac intoned, his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.

Stephen stormed out of the store.

The snow on the sidewalk was considerably deeper now. Stephen idly noticed that the path didn’t have automatic melting devices, which were commonplace in all the neighborhoods he had ever visited. He turned the corner and Isaac stood in front of him, the snow contrasting against his dark hair.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” tears of rage flowing in rivulets down his cheeks, stinging slightly as they started to freeze in the cold. His voice cracked, his scream raspy with strain.

“To get you somewhere safe,” he said, no emotion registering in his voice.

* * *

Nicholas Klein sat at the conference table with a serious expression on his face. Beneath it, the man seethed, his head pounding from the injury he’d received. Across the table, Jack Dorian sat with a wide, perfect smile. Jack was the newly promoted CEO of Corona Medical in the wake of David Corona’s death. Sympathy for the company was in high amounts as of late, especially for the son he’d left behind. Klein knew that it was temporary; the media would soon swing onto the next story of the moment, as is common with the unending news cycle.

“Corona Medical has been eligible for this council for months,” the woman at the head of the table said. She was a thin, middle-aged woman, with streaks of white through her black hair. Her face seemed like it was chiseled out of stone, and her stare was intense, enough to make a weaker man crack under pressure. “Does anyone have sufficient cause to disallow membership?”

“I move to dismiss Corona Medical’s application,” Klein said, causing Dorian’s smile to vanish.

“On what grounds?” Dorian demanded, as murmuring spread around the table.

“First, the applicant who submitted the request is not present,” Klein began, meeting each incredulous stare head on. “Second, the only reason Corona has been considered is because of the Source Repair formula, which they have not produced.”

“You know better than anyone why David Corona couldn’t make it!” Dorian said.

“Nevertheless, the senator has a point,” the woman said. “If we bend the rules in this case, where does it end?”

She looked Dorian in the eye, her face as rigid as stone.

“At this time we have no choice but to dismiss the application for Corona Medical to join the Council.”

* * *

Later that evening in a dimly lit office, a man sat, staring at David Corona’s mobile computer. Inside this device was the research and the formula for Corona’s Source Repair, one of the most important breakthroughs in modern medicine. Its value would be nearly incalculable.

The computer would not turn on.

He was sure that it was charged, and he’d made sure that it wasn’t a faulty hologram emitter. After the fifth time pressing the different buttons on the surface, a simple line of code was displayed.

“Look inside, Stephen. You will find the truth.”

He leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin lightly.

“The boy knows,” he whispered. He moved David Corona’s computer aside, running his finger over the line of code as he did. He pressed a button on his control console in front of him, and the messaging hologram activated. He scrolled through the names until he reached one labeled ‘unknown’.

“Speak,” a heavily modulated voice commanded. There was no picture being broadcast.

“Only Stephen Corona can access the files,” the man then aimed the holo-cam at the line of text on the computer’s display.

“It will be handled,” if it was possible for a modulated voice to sound irritated, this one did. The connection was lost soon after.

“Charming as ever,” the man sighed.

* * *

Stephen was finally heading home. Not fifteen minutes earlier, he had signed a Release From Custody form at the police station. Apparently none of the officers thought it strange that a random bodyguard showed up unannounced to protect him. On the ride back to his house, he decided to use his Data-Com to research Isaac. He left the hologram screen turned off, choosing to view the built in screen on the wrist unit. It would be harder for Isaac to see what he was looking at.

He realized the futility of this when he realized he would be searching for “Isaac”. The man hadn’t given his last name. Stephen was busily trying to figure out a way to learn his surname without making it obvious he was searching him.

“Abraham,” Isaac said. Stephen looked puzzled for a moment. “You’re searching for me on that device. My name is Isaac Abraham.”

Frustrated that once again he was a step ahead of him, Stephen tapped the name into the search field.

“I wasn’t looking you up,” Stephen lied, convincing no one.

According to the search results, Isaac was a former soldier, having been discharged after an injury. Not long after he came back from the war, he became a full-time bodyguard with a small private security firm. It looked as though everything checked out.

“Where were you injured?” Stephen asked.

“I thought you weren’t looking me up?” Isaac responded with a smirk. Watching Stephen fluster for a moment, he decided to let him off the hook. “Multiple skull fractures on the right side and around my right eye socket.”

Stephen nodded, realizing this explained the dermal implant by his eye. An injury that extensive might have required reconstructive surgery.

As the vehicle got closer to Stephen’s home, the neon lights of the Orion City nightlife began to get more vibrant. Stephen lived in an upscale and busy part of the city; something was always going on at all hours of the night. It was difficult to see anything out the windows, as the snow had picked up again. All around them there were blurs of red, orange, green, and blue. Nearly every color accounted for, making it feel as though they were driving through a rainbow.

The vehicle turned onto a residential street, then slowed to a stop as it pulled up in front of Stephen’s home. He shut off the screen on his Data-Com, picked up his mobile computer, and stepped out of the car.

Walking through the front door of his house was a surreal experience for Stephen. The irrational part of his brain hoped he would find his father sitting on the oversized chair in the front room, but logic rendered this an impossibility. Isaac had entered the house first to make sure it was safe, which infuriated Stephen. This was his home. He barely knew this psycho, and for all he knew he could have been his father’s murderer.

The lights activated immediately on entry, causing Stephen to wince at the sudden brightness. He walked toward the basement stairs that lead to his room. Isaac moved to stop him.

Stephen shoved him into the wall, hard.

“Stop it!” he yelled at a very surprised Isaac. “I’m not some fragile little doll; I’ve taken care of myself for years so just back off!”

Before Isaac could do anything, Stephen rushed down the steps, slamming the door to his room like a petulant child. As he’d expected, no one was waiting in the shadows to jump out and attack him. After placing the mobile computer onto its charging base, he threw himself down onto the oversized bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes. Despite thinking that there was no way he would find sleep anytime soon, he was out in seconds.

* * *

The next day, Stephen was up well before the sun. He sat in front of his workstation, his mobile computer powered on and the holographic display showing him lines of code. He was determined not to think about the man who was in his home. In truth, he did feel slightly relieved that he wasn’t alone, but he would never admit it out loud.

On the display, he was going over Andromeda’s code. Line by line it scrolled by, an analysis program searching it as well. Anything different from the last time it was scanned would show up in red.

It would be simple if there was just one or two things different each time she was activated; but her external stimuli affected the code similar to the way humans are changed by what they see, smell, taste, hear, and feel. It seemed like there was red in every line of code. He would pause the readout each time he found a particularly large cluster.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to program the machine to only display larger changes?” Isaac asked from the other side of the room. Stephen nearly fell out of his chair.

“Don’t do that!” he yelled. “How long have you been standing there?”

Isaac was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed. He half-smiled as he saw Stephen try to change the search criteria without being seen. It really was rather obvious, as it immediately began displaying large blocks of red text.

“Now that you’ve narrowed the field, how long will it take to go through the entire code?”

His cheeks reddened, knowing he’d been caught. He quickly ran the math in his head.

“Fourteen months.”

Stephen linked his Data Com with the computer, and programmed it to alert if there was anything outside the parameters of the normal code. With a little luck, this would speed up the process.

“Have fun with that,” Isaac said, turning to walk back up the stairs.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” Stephen asked, irritated.

Before Isaac could respond, the door chimed signaling that someone was at the door. Isaac immediately ducked down, slowly and carefully climbing up the steps, being as cautious as possible. Anyone arriving unannounced was a potential breach in security.

Stephen pushed him out of the way and climbed the stairs.

“Stop being stupid,” Stephen sneered. At the top of the steps, he could see through the window to the front porch. He couldn’t make out who was standing there, but he could tell he was wearing a black suit.

Stephen threw open the door and Jack Dorian entered, hardly giving Isaac a second look.

“Everything is wrong now,” Dorian said, shaking his head as he collapsed into a padded chair. He let out a sigh of desperation, and Stephen’s stomach tightened in dread.