Chapter 50
Sunday, 13 March 2022 – 8:00 a.m.
SAST
Ramesh awoke refreshed and refocused. He had enjoyed a
restful night’s sleep. It was eight a.m. when he left his suite. The shops at
the Victoria Street Market would remain closed until ten. Sundays in Durban had historically been quietly non-commercial, but as tourism had grown in the area,
so had the pressure for the shops to remain open throughout the weekend.
Ramesh lamented the change for its cultural impact on the city, but recognized
that it allowed him to begin his search for Brad immediately.
He decided that he would likely need a car, so he made his
way to the concierge for directions.
“Good morning,” the pleasant young man greeted. “Goeiemôre,”
he repeated in Afrikaans.
“Good morning,” Ramesh replied establishing an English
conversation. “I need to rent a car.”
The concierge looked at Ramesh for a moment then smiled,
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were an American. There is a car hire desk
here at the hotel. Just there.” He pointed through the lobby to a desk that
was clearly marked.
Ramesh nodded. He heard the emphasis on the word hire
and he had caught the meaning. “Thank you.” He shook his head as he walked
across the lobby. Had it been so long that he had lived in the states that he
had become so American?
It took in inordinately long time to complete the rental
process, as usual, but Ramesh was eventually provided with a nice luxury sedan
and a courtesy map of downtown Durban. He still had some time to kill, but decided
to spend it re-acquainting himself with the city. The car had been brought to
the valet area. Ramesh climbed inside and sat for a moment. It had been years
since he had found himself driving from the right-hand side of the car.
He pulled forward slowly to distance himself from the valets
and other onlookers. He needed to take a moment to activate his implants and
select a Durban map. The map software provided him with complete information
about directions, distances and right-of-way on individual streets. In the
upper-right hand corner, a transparent compass appeared. Below that, an
overview map provided information about landmarks and primary streets.
The most amazing overlay was much more subtle. He blinked
as he stared out at the roads in front of him. There was a subtle graphical
overlay on each road providing the street name and direction of travel. He
turned his head and watched as new information came into view.
“Amazing,” he whispered to himself. He entered Victoria
Street Market into the direction finder. The overview map updated to show
the preferred route from his current location. He smiled and pulled out into
the light Sunday morning traffic.
Ramesh passed the hour driving around downtown Durban. He took in the sites, seeking out some of his favorite landmarks and stopping to
absorb all that was new. By ten a.m. he had found parking and was walking to
the market. The smell of curry hung over the air. The spice, fresh vegetable
and meat vendors busied themselves with their displays as Ramesh meandered
through the shops, enjoying the bustle.
Near the entrance that Ramesh had taken, he found a small
shop selling sundry trinkets, souvenirs and distinctly African artwork. He
stepped inside. It was a typical Indian market. There was a little of
everything in the shop, including hot samosas, biriyani and curry. Ramesh
stepped to the counter. He was not particularly hungry, but the scents drew
him in.
“Bunny chow?” he asked the older Indian lady who was still
busy setting out trinkets on the display.
“Sorry,” she replied. “I have only just now set the curry
out. It will not be ready for some time. The samosas are nice, though.”
“Yes, please. Two.”
The woman wore a dark sari that dragged slightly on the
floor as she walked. She selected two of the more plump samosas and wrapped
them. She eyed Ramesh as he passed a few crisp South African notes to her.
“You are from Britain?” she asked.
“The States,” he answered. “But born here ... in Chatsworth
... a long time ago.”
“Not so long,” she winked. “When you’re my age, then you
can speak of time. I’m seventy-three this past December and still well.”
Ramesh smiled. “Have you been here all that time?”
“Nearly,” she replied. “My mother’s brother sold spices
just there when I was a child.” She pointed out the shop and across the way to
a vacant spot in the marketplace. “I came with him for many years until he
passed. I have just come to this shop fifteen years ago.”
“Then perhaps you can help me find an old friend.”
“I never forget a face,” she quipped.
Ramesh withdrew a small photo viewer from his pocket which included
several pictures of Brad. He passed it over the counter. She gazed at the
images as they faded in and out on the viewer. She looked up at Ramesh
curiously. She knew the man in the photos. She also knew how much he valued
his privacy.
“This is a friend, you say?” she said, making eye contact.
“Yes,” Ramesh answered. He gazed back at her. “We go back
many years, but I have lost touch with him recently.”
“He comes here now and then,” she said.
“For a bunny, eh?”
“Yes.”
Ramesh could see she knew more than she was revealing. He
also knew that she didn’t fully trust him yet. “Keep watching the photos.
Soon you’ll come on some with us together.”
She looked down at the screen. There were several more
shots of Brad alone, some with Brad and another white man, then some with
Ramesh and Brad together. She smiled as she saw them together.
“You were close friends?”
“Very,” he started, “but we both had some personal events
... we grew apart.”
“When did you last hear from him?”
“Just after he married.”
“My niece,” she smiled.
Ramesh nearly stumbled backward. “How are they?”
“Oh they are fine, you know, so busy with their work and so
young. They were here just yesterday.” The shopkeeper continued to explain
about their volunteer work and their home and that they had no children. She talked
for nearly ten minutes pausing only to punctuate her story with a whistle or a
whoop.
Ramesh smiled and let her talk. By the time she finished, he
felt like a nephew himself. Brad had truly been living the way he had always
wanted. He had been doing exactly what he had said he would do.
“Can you tell me where they are?” Ramesh asked.
“Just now,” she answered and disappeared into a small office
space sectioned off by crates and old boxes. She hustled back with a scrap of
paper and handed it to Ramesh. “They have a nice house in Hillcrest. Oh she
is a lucky one that. Never had to worry about money when she met him.”
Ramesh smiled. “I suspect not,” he said. He thanked the
aunt with a hug and strode back to his car. He had not expected to find Brad
so quickly. He mapped the address on his way back to the car and within minutes
he was speeding toward Hillcrest.
Traffic on the N3 highway was very light. He made good
time. As he passed by Pinetown, the vision of his predicted death flashed
through his mind and his heart dropped. He checked the clock. It was still
early. He slowed.
He didn’t resume a normal speed until he had put Pinetown
significantly behind him. He had to force himself to relax and loosen his grip
on the wheel of the car. He played some music.
On arriving at Hillcrest, Ramesh felt himself finally
relaxing. He wound through the neighborhoods following the prompts of the
map. He slowed as he turned into a small dirt driveway, feeling a sense of
anxious excitement as he approached the small house. He hoped that they were
still at home.
As Ramesh stepped to the doorway of the small home, a
message appeared in his visual field, Urgent Message From Brad Harris.
Ramesh stopped. He had just reached out to knock on the door when the message
arrived. He opened it and a video recording of Brad began to play.
“Hello Quinn,” the message began, “I am surprised, but very
pleased that you are here. Unfortunately, the only way that this message will
be activated is if I do it manually. And I will activate it only if I believe
I am in mortal danger. When you see this, I will be dead.”
Ramesh stumbled backwards. He steadied himself against a
beam as Brad continued to explain the purpose of his message and the actions he
had taken. Ramesh learned that Brad had gone to Naidu Technical with Daniel
and Sireesha in hopes that they would help him develop a new device that he
called the messenger. He spoke of trying to correct the mistakes of his past
and of discontinuing their use of the futurestream. He had worked with them
for a little more than six months before he discovered that they had no
intention of creating the messenger and were using him for his business
contacts and his name.
He continued to explain that he had commissioned a friend
named Ravi who worked at Naidu to develop the messenger for him. It had taken
just eighteen months to finish the development then he resigned. He had always
feared that Sireesha and Daniel would learn of the device and come for it, so
he had it developed in two parts. He kept one part and sent the other away.
“I sent the messenger portion in two pieces to the most
ethical people I know. They don’t even know they have it,” Brad’s voice
continued. There was a long pause in the recording as Brad seemed to struggle
with what he was going to say next. “I’m sorry to have put you in this
position, Quinn. I would have left it alone if they had left me alone. But
they obviously didn’t. It is for the best, though, even for you. Be careful
old friend. Sireesha is evil.” Brad’s face grew solemn as he recounted the
atrocities that occurred within her company at her behest.
“I have left you with three choices. The first is to shut
down the futurestream subsystems altogether. This is the least you can do.
The second choice is to do nothing. In this case, the messenger subsystem that
is infecting your systems will continue to announce the existence of the
futurestream to the world at large.” Brad smiled. “I thank Ravi for that
brilliant idea. When everyone in the world has access to the future, it’s the
same as if nobody does. Each person trying to adjust the future, conflicting
with every other person. Chaos.”
Brad grew solemn again as he continued, “I know you never
believed the messenger should be built. And I understand your position now.
For two years after leaving Naidu I wrestled with the thought of activating the
messenger every single day. I was going to undo it all. Everything back to
the beginning. But then I met Anupama and I fell in love.” Brad’s face
softened. He showed so much happiness and so much sadness at the same time.
“And I couldn’t change that. I wouldn’t live without her ... even if I had
never actually known her in the altered timeline ... I would have missed her.
But now, I have nothing left to lose.
“I’m leaving the third option to you, Quinn. Locate the
messenger. You’ll know where to find it. Then undo it all. It’s the only
way.” Brad paused. He seemed to stare directly at Ramesh. He winked and
finished the message with, “All that time we spent discussing the agency delta
... it was me the whole time.”
The message ended. Ramesh stood in quiet shock for some
time. Slowly he began to return to the present. Hope caused him to believe
that the message may have been sent on accident. He approached the door
again. He knocked. Nothing. He turned the handle of the door and pushed it open.
A dark odor and unsettling stillness met his senses as he
passed into the house. The floor creaked in the entryway as he passed into the
living room.
“Hello,” he called out. “Brad, it’s Ramesh.”
Silence.
His heart throbbed in his ears. He walked toward what
appeared to be a bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. He peeked inside. It
looked empty. He held his breath as he pushed the door open.
In a split second, the entire world flipped upside down and
fear turned to horror as Ramesh found himself staring into the lifeless face of
his dear friend who was lying on the floor, his body strewn awkwardly over his
wife’s. Across the room an African was sprawled out on the floor, limply
clutching a pistol. Ramesh covered his mouth and nose, a reflex to the smell
that engulfed the room. He stumbled backwards and fumbled his way back to the
main door.
He rushed out to his car and tore out onto the main road.
He tried to compose a simple message to Quinn, but found it impossible to
concentrate long enough to finish. He had to get away. As he sped through the
neighborhoods, the narrow roads seemed to weave in front of him. A car
approached directly in front of him, in his lane, honking and flashing its
lights. Ramesh swerved instinctively, barely noticing that it was he who was
driving on the wrong side of the road.
Houses passed by in his peripheral sight with increasing
speed, then shops, cross roads. The world accelerated around him. Nothing was
familiar. Cars zipped by, street signs appeared and disappeared. Ramesh was
consciously aware of nothing. Pinetown. Ramesh jammed both feet onto
the brakes and jerked the wheel instinctively to the right. The car’s
anti-lock and anti-spin controls engaged. The sound of crushing metal and
screeching tires seemed distant and Ramesh barely perceived the spin as his car
flew wildly off the road into the median between both segments of the highway.
Ramesh sat alone surrounded by the protective frame and
collapsed exterior of his rental. He clutched his head – not in pain, but in
emotional anguish – and wept.
Several moments passed before he heard someone nearby asking
if he had been hurt. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure, but he felt nothing.
He felt nothing at all.
More than two hours passed before Ramesh was allowed by the
local police to leave the scene. Four cars had been damaged in the accident
besides the rental Ramesh was driving. It took longer than usual to complete
the investigation because the police were unsure what to do about the fact that
Ramesh was American. In the end they took down his passport information and
notified the rental car company and the hotel. Ramesh remained in an emotional
shock through the investigation, but was lucid enough to answer the questions.
He vaguely recalled several people had yelled at him for what he had done. He
watched as cars were towed away. He remained to the end. Someone had called a
taxi for him. When he was released he went directly to the airport.
He found a quiet spot out of the way and collapsed into a molded-plastic
chair. He stared out at the tarmac and watched. Life continued around him.
The world had not come to an end. Ramesh gathered his emotions. He had
suffered worse.
He sent Quinn a message.
Brad and his wife are dead. I am at Louis Botha for
return flight. Please get me out of here.