He didn’t like spiders.
Positively hated hospitals.
This was not, he decided, going to be fun.
“Please disrobe down to your undershorts and climb up on the examination table,” the recruiter said, his attention on the command console before him.
Nate looked doubtfully up at the mechanical arachnid above the table and then back over to the recruiter. “Do you know how to operate one of these things?”
The recruiter slowly turned and stared at him.
Didn’t say a word; just glared.
Nate took the hint, disrobed, and climbed up onto the table.
In ten minutes he’d had his blood taken, his brain waves recorded, and been scanned all the way down to the molecular level. As he dressed he considered the fact that his new employer now knew everything there was to know about him physically; had the technology existed they could have created a physically identical body double.
Nate wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“This way, please.”
The recruiter led him out of the office and down the hallway to the same elevator he’d arrived in. Nate knew better than to say anything while out in public, where it might be overheard by any number of listening devices planted by competing organizations, so the short trip up to the ninety-seventh floor passed in silence.
They emerged from the elevator and moved down the hall to a door near the far end. A silver scanner was embedded into the wall next to the door. The recruiter fussed with the keypad for a moment and then stepped to the side, out of the way of the device. “If you don’t mind…” he said, looking at Nate expectantly and indicating the scanner.
“Of course.”
Nate stepped forward and placed his hand in the center of the scanner.
There was a sudden, sharp buzzing sound and a pale blue light flared briefly under his hand before the door beside him opened with the sharp click of a releasing lock.
With a wave of his hand, the recruiter—what the hell was his name anyway? — ushered Nate inside.
He found himself in a long hallway with doors on either side. The recruiter led him to the fifth door on the left where they repeated the business with the palm lock. The office suite just beyond contained a slim storage locker, a restroom, and a personal farcaster unit.
Farcasters had been developed ten years ago by the scientists in the Defense Research Agency and had yet to see even limited use among the civilian population. Owning one was a capital crime, punishable by forty years of hard labor.
The government gets all the cool toys, Nate thought with a smile.
The recruiter walked over to the locker and opened it. Inside was a change of clothing — a dark-colored suit, a shirt, tie, and dress shoes — hanging from the locker’s only hook. On the shelf above were a hypoinjector unit and a personal beeper.
“Listen carefully, please, as I’d prefer not to repeat myself,” the recruiter said, as he handed the beeper to Nate.
“Notification of a new assignment will come via this personal computing device, or PCD. You are to report to this room at the time indicated on the page. The farcaster will already be programmed with the proper coordinates and you will use it to travel to and from your destination.”
He reached for the hypo, handed that to Nate.
“Inject yourself with the hypo, then change into the…”
Nate interrupted. “What’s in the hypo?”
The recruiter seemed taken aback that he’d been interrupted. “Excuuuse me?”
“What’s in the hypo?” Nate asked again. If he was going to inject himself with something, then he wanted to know what the hell was in it. Seemed a fair question to him.
The recruiter’s nostrils flared in irritation but he answered the question nonetheless.
“Farcaster travel is… difficult. Traveling through the network without taking the proper precautions can leave an operator mentally disoriented, even physically ill. Reaction times and cognitive functions are slowed, sometimes drastically. All of which renders an operative unable to carry out their duties.”
The recruiter pointed to the hypo unit Nate was holding. “The injector delivers a semi-aqueous solution containing a potent mix of microbial nanoselectors and morphotic radioisotopes that counteract the adverse reactions associated with farcaster travel, allowing you to make the transit with your mental and physical abilities intact.”
“I… see,” Nate said, though he really had no idea what the hell the guy was talking about.
“Please note that the counter agent has been designed specifically for you and you alone based on the results of the medical exam you just underwent. Taking a hypo injection meant for another operative could result in severe injury, possibly death. The same holds true for the farcaster you will be using. It has been keyed to your personal DNA signature. Use by another individual could be deadly.”
Nate thought about the other rooms they’d passed in the hallway on their way to this one. Did each of those rooms contain a farcaster portal like this one? How many other hallways like that were in other buildings in this city? In other cities? Just how big was this agency?
He didn’t bother to ask. He knew the recruiter wouldn’t answer; that kind of information was well above Nate’s pay grade.
“Does that satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Benson? May I continue with my briefing now?”
Nate nodded his head in acquiescence.
“As I was saying, inject yourself with the hypo and then change into the clothes that have been provided for you. As with the hypo, they have been specifically tailored to suit you and help you look the part at your destination.”
The recruiter turned and walked over to the farcaster unit, a round metal dome with a door in the center and a maze of pipes and wiring coming out of the top. A small control panel was inset to the left of the door.
“When you arrive, your destination will already be programmed into your farcaster unit. All you need do is hit this button here…”—he pointed to a bright green button on the bottom right of the control panel—“and then step inside the unit. When you close the door, a countdown will begin. If, for some reason, you find you must abort the mission, you have exactly six seconds to do so.”
Six seconds? He stared at the complex locking mechanism on the inside of the door and shook his head. Better hope you don’t have to abort or things are gonna get ugly…
“Your PCD will deliver a set of coordinates to you once you exit the farcaster and can be used as a GPS device to locate those coordinates thereafter. At those coordinates will be instructions on what you are to do to complete the mission, as well as whatever specialized gear you might need to carry said mission out. You have exactly seventy-two hours in which to complete your assignment, not a minute more. When you have finished, you are to return to the same farcaster and use that to come home. Any questions?”
“No. I’m good.”
It was simple and straightforward, which Nate liked. He wasn’t thrilled with traveling by farcaster, but if that’s what the job required, he could live with it for what they were paying him.
And they were paying him a lot.
Nate’s PCD went off for the first time three days later at precisely 6:30 a.m. Nate glanced at the display, noted the report time of 10:45, and dragged himself out of bed. Fifteen minutes later he was stepping aboard a slidetrain, headed for the Limbus offices as he’d been instructed.
He used the employee identification card he’d been given to access the elevators and rode one straight to the ninety-seventh floor. Both the palm lock to the office suite and the one to the farcaster room opened at his touch.