Raymond had some time to kill in Manila before his BPI induction began. He was staying in a hotel, a glass and steel monstrosity which towered over the historic Spanish district, the walled Intramuros. The contrast couldn't be greater. The hotel was eighty stories of air-conditioned class and high-tech comfort, gleaming with glass and chrome. Populated by wealthy tourists, business people and tattooed gangsters. Raymond's window looked down on the ancient walled city. Built by the Spanish occupiers over five hundred years ago to keep foreign invaders out.
He had read a little of Manila's tumultuous history, particularly the bloody final years of the second great war when the American army had shelled the walled city, reducing it to rubble and killing over sixteen thousand Japanese troops inside. Since then the historic core of Manila had been restored, meandering around the old walled city was like stepping back in time.
Raymond was supposed to start his induction with Benevolent Progress Inc. immediately on arriving in Manila, but when he arrived at head office he was told there had been a delay. He had the impression something was not quite right; there was a hint of emergency in the air. He was told to come back and see Lance the next day. This suited Raymond, time to prepare himself for the new phase of BPI infiltration. Visiting head office gave Raymond a clearer impression of the size of this company. The building was huge. The head office was a fortress, surrounded by layers of checkpoints, drones and security guards. Not the infamous Masama but regular human guards, mean-looking men and women with unnaturally large muscles and big guns. Raymond couldn't imagine them being overly busy, no one would be stupid enough to invade the skyscraper on foot.
Inside the third checkpoint, steep levels of concrete tapered upwards into a towering skyscraper. The tallest building in Manila, its highest reaches were lost in the giddy haze. Rumour had it Lago Santos lived at the top in a luxury penthouse above the smog. Raymond had been preparing for this final phase of his mission. He was inching his way closer to Lago and had been imagining scenarios where he might get close enough to complete his mission. Assassination was the impossible plan and looking at the size of this building and the thousands of BPI employees he would have to deceive, Raymond realized the enormity of the task. He knew if he even came close to completing his mission there was a strong possibility he would not survive. He would need to be careful and convincing.
Raymond had a day off to relax and be himself for a change. He had been stuck in the claustrophobic confines of the factory ship for too long, immersed in Rutger Hendrick he had almost forgotten his own identity. He still talked and acted as Rutger, just in case he was being watched and being the boorish dolt had become familiar. Walking the city streets, he remembered who he was and gained a fresh perspective on his mission. He had questioned whether killing Santos would make any difference to Earth's wellbeing. History had shown there would always be another megalomaniac despot ready to step into the shoes of the last one. Also, for the first time, Raymond wondered if BPI was actually that bad? There had unintentionally been some positive influences on the planet from their printing operations.
The need for raw materials to feed the 3D printers meant the huge rubbish dumps around the world were being processed and recycled. If this Moon mining operation also proved to be successful, there could be access to clean, limitless and safe fusion energy. Although Moon mining would undoubtedly be destructive to the lunar surface, raising environmental concerns about the cultural artefact that is the Moon, Raymond found he just didn't feel as outraged about destructive mining practices far away on the Moon as he did on his own planet. The prospect of clean energy from the Moon was certainly a better option than plundering Earth's dwindling reserves of fossil fuels.
During Raymond's training with Black Robin in Canada, before he boarded the Hanjin Harmony, they had talked about moments of doubt. Moments when he questioned the morality and ramifications of killing Santos. He was taught to remember three things about Santos.
Firstly, his personal history with BPI, the death of his parents and his futile vandalism in San Francisco. Secondly the polluted environments and millions of dead creatures, species made extinct and destroyed habitats around the globe wherever BPI had been. San Francisco Bay, the Philippino archipelago, the Arctic, Antarctic, and the Caribbean had all suffered terribly from toxic wastes produced by BPI industries. Thirdly, Raymond had been shown photos of the bodies dismissively discarded in waterways and building sites around wherever Santos was staying. The young teenage corpses showed horrific signs of torture and abuse. He would be doing the planet a favour by removing Santos from it.
The BPI skyscraper dominated the Manila skyline; it seemed to defy gravity disappearing into the grey haze above. It was dangerous to be out on these streets after dark, so Raymond made his way back to the hotel and watched the big red sun as it lowered itself below the horizon. The apocalyptic blood red skies made strikingly dramatic by the ever-present layers of smog in a sunset of toxic beauty.
Raymond got to the BPI building early the next morning. This time he was quickly ushered through the checkpoints. The array of security cameras identified him as an employee instead of a visitor. He was escorted to an armaments room in the bowels of the building where Lance was waiting.
“Rutger. Welcome to Manila. I hope your accommodation was comfortable.” Lance was obviously not interested in Raymond's comfort levels and he carried on without waiting for a reply. “I am sending you out on a security detail, nothing serious, just the change of shift out at the elevator.” The hex triplet ethereal lenses Lance wore made his eyes artificially bright.
“Elevator?” Raymond looked blankly at Lance.
“Yes, the elevator, the orbital elevator we are constructing. You must have heard about it?” Lance didn't bother to hide his exasperation. “The cable is woven graphene, created by 3D printers, twelve of them. Each one printing its own cable, each printer suspended above the cable supported by a network of drones. Its weight supported by the drones until it reaches the atmosphere. We are taking BPI into orbit Rutger. We are an ambitious company. Ambitious, efficient and results driven. There is no place for passengers here.”
Raymond met Lance’s gaze. His glowing eyes and wide-eyed stare gave him a slightly mad look. Neither man blinked as they stared at each other. Raymond watched the rectangles of light play across Lance's eyeballs. “What’s my job description?” he asked, unfazed by Lance's gaze.
Lance broke off the staring contest with a smile. “Today is purely observation for you; we have a small team of Masama to oversee security at the site. One twenty-hour shift is finishing, another about to start. You will accompany the new shift of eight Masama. They will introduce you to our security protocol, some of the technology we use, and give you an idea of how they operate. Ultimately you will be co-coordinating a group such as these.”
“From what I have heard they don't seem to need any coordination, and I don't imagine they would take kindly to me telling them what to do.”
“You won't be giving them orders Rutger, you’ll be more of a tactical advisor reporting to Goran and myself. Your job is to keep an overview of any particular operation while the Masama are more concerned with the hands-on approach.”
“Are you expecting any trouble at the elevator? Why do you need security?”
“Standard practice at all of our sites, there's never any trouble because of our vigilance, but one can't be too careful. Although you would have to be insane to take on our Masama.” Lance smirked. “They would love a bit of action; they are rarely challenged and they have to fight among themselves to keep in shape. Ah! Here they are now.”
Both men turned to watch the Masama as they entered the armoury and made straight for the weapons racked neatly along the walls. This was Raymond's first ever up-close encounter with the notorious Masama. The stories he had heard about their appearances appeared to be accurate. No two were alike, some more human than others, but all were heavily armed and augmented. Their snakeskin armour was multi-coloured but morphed to blend in with the background. They clearly registered the presence of Raymond and Lance but there was no formal acknowledgment.
“Ask as many questions as you want,” Lance said quietly. “But don't expect much in the way of conversation. They communicate telepathically.” He tapped the side of his head.
Raymond sat in the back of the groundcar with the Masama. Traffic in Manila was notorious for its eternal gridlocks. Most cars were cheap electric hybrids, but they were forever running out of power and stalling. The trucks still ran on diesel which was the major contributor to Manila's pollution problem. He looked out the grimy window at the thousands of little powered bikes and pedal bikes weaving through traffic like schools of fish. Even a few hover-bikes flew dangerously low, skimming over the rumbling traffic, clipping aerials along the way. The heavily armoured groundcar forced its way through the traffic towards the ports. Cars had to make way or be shunted aside. At the port, they transferred to a quickcat ferry and were soon blasting across the harbour.
As the quickcat approached the construction site Raymond was amazed by the scale of the project. It was an island of industry. There were cranes all over the platform. Huge pre-fab printed panels were being fitted into place around the edges of the massive floating circle. The air was full of sea spray from the hundreds of boats buzzing around the factory ships that were moored to the platform.
Raymond had a basic idea of how the orbital elevator would work. A cable running from Earth to the outer atmosphere, attached to a space station in geostationary orbit. Elevators would run up and down the cable delivering materials and people. The theory being it was an effortless way into space without having to burn millions of litres of expensive fuel in huge rockets.
Raymond looked out the window as they drew closer to the platform. He could see the cable emerging from the centre of the platform, a straight line of steel dividing the blue skies. It was impossible to tell just how high it was, but Raymond could just make out a buzzing blur of drone activity high in the sky, like a hive of angry bees. The cable looked insubstantial and it was difficult to get perspective on its size. It was as if someone had drawn a vertical line through his field of vision.
Raymond understood the theory of the orbital elevator, but he had no idea exactly how it could be built. He glanced at the Masama soldier next to him.
“Would you trust that thing to get you into space?” he asked.
The soldier shifted his weight around to face Raymond. He had a wide bony head and muscular neck. He had no exoskeleton; he did not need one judging by the size of his muscles. Raymond thought the soldier would have embedded visual augments and was surprised when he lifted the dark glasses to study him, slightly unfocused blue eyes beneath scarred eyebrows. The weathered skin was also marked with scars like a roadmap across his face.
“Trust? I trust nothing but myself,” he responded gruffly.
“Looks like it might collapse at any minute, hope they know what they are doing.” Raymond tried to coax the soldier into conversation.
The Masama soldier spoke slowly and used his big hands to explain.
“The cable needs to be strong all the way up to the big satellite. Needs to be strong to withstand the storms.”
“The tropical cyclones? This elevator can travel through them?” asked Raymond sceptically.
“Hopefully,” The soldier muttered.
“And the whole thing can move right?”
“Propellers underneath. When finished this will be a massive deep-water port.”
“And out at sea in International waters means no laws, no rules or interfering Governments.”
The big Masama nodded.
“How will the elevators move up and down the cable?”
“Mag-nets,” the soldier had trouble with the word. “Magnets.” He said again more confidently. With power from the Moon.”
“You mean the Moon mining? BPI business interests stretch a long way.”
“BPI own the planet, why not own space too?” the soldier smiled revealing jagged brown teeth.
“I suppose.” Raymond frowned. Something was not quite right about this huge ponderous soldier. “Thank you for the information, I am Rutger.”
The soldier gave him a nod and lowered his dark glasses. “Batac,” he rumbled. “Where you from?”
“South Africa originally.”
“White South Africans, racist motherfuckers,” snarled Batac.
Raymond thought better of arguing the point and silently looked out the window. They docked next to one of the giant factory ships and climbed up through an aperture to the deck. The surface was higher than the sea platform and afforded a panoramic view of the activity. The artificial island was more than a kilometre across. There was a forest of cranes shifting panels into place, buildings taking shape even as Raymond watched. Housings for giant 3D printers were dotted around the platform and conveyor belts were transporting graphene substrate to the transport drones. A procession of drones buzzed up and down the central cable, following it straight up into the clouds. Raymond scanned the horizon. He looked back at Manila but all he could see was a brown haze where the city should be. A rotten stain obscuring the Philippine landmass, surrounded by blue sky and the dazzling blue ocean.
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Raymond walked down a ramp onto the platform with the Masama. They moved with arrogant nonchalance as if hoping people would notice their indifference, but no one was watching. They made for a security building. It was a calm day with a lazy ocean swell which the quick-cat had skimmed over easily. Raymond knew from his time on the Hanjin Harmony even the smallest ocean swell was noticeable but, on the platform, he could feel no movement.
They made their way along the walkway, passing construction workers. Raymond paused to watch a scruffy labourer shuffling along under a hood. He was sweeping the pathway with a broom. An ancient looking wicker broom. He supposed even modern construction sites still had a need for cheap labour but sweeping with a broom? There wasn't anything to sweep, certainly no dust. Raymond dismissed this curiosity, turned and moved on.
At the security station, they found the eight Masama they were relieving. A couple of them were watching screens but the rest looked as if they had been sleeping. They made their way, stretching and yawning out into the bright sunlight without saying a word. Raymond presumed there had been some sort of telepathic exchange about this, but he couldn't be sure. The newly arrived soldiers took up the same positions as the previous ones had. He looked around at them, but no one acknowledged him. “Shouldn’t we check the perimeter or something?”
Raymond’s proposal was treated with obvious disdain. “You can check your perimeters,” snarled Batac. “We will sleep. Nothing ever happens here.”
Raymond went back outside and made for the central area. He wondered about the nonchalant attitude of the Masama. It was a dereliction of duty, the type of thing he would be expected to report on.
There was a pathway around the circumference of the cable and Raymond strolled around looking up to where it disappeared into the clouds. Up close the graphene cable looked solid and indestructible. It grew out of a complicated looking support structure and was circled by gantries. It was perfectly linear, piercing the sky and dividing it into left and right hemispheres.
Raymond was intrigued by the general activity and the cable growing before his eyes. In this central area, there were fewer construction people in hard hats. They were controlling things from a distance but there were a couple of scruffy looking labourers loitering around the base of the cable. Raymond stopped to watch one of them attach what looked like a rusty metal tank to the side of the cable support. Puzzled, he continued around the pathway and noticed two more labourers doing the same thing. The tanks they were fiddling with seemed to have nothing to do with the cable construction. They looked primitive and out of place next to the gleaming graphene. Raymond thought about asking someone what they were doing but decided not to. It was his first day with the Masama security, his first day with BPI and he was supposed to be part of the security team. But as he watched a labourer finish attaching his tank he decided to intercept him as he made his way back to the pathway.
“Excuse me but what...” The labourer pushed roughly past him. “Hey!” Raymond shouted as the furtive figure scurried away.
Raymond didn't know whether to give chase or not. He looked at the primitive rusty tank the labourer had been working on then back at the retreating figure. He decided to head back to the security station and question the Masama about the incident. He was halfway back to the security building when there was a massive deafening explosion behind him.
Raymond wheeled around and witnessed the cable disappearing behind a wall of flame and smoke. The gantries were engulfed in flames and collapsed while a few burning drones crashed down around the cable. A huge pall of acrid black smoke was rising from the destruction. Raymond had felt the platform shudder slightly when the explosion had gone off, but it remained solid beneath his feet. He watched as a faint tremor vibrated up the cable into the skies above. The graphene was scorched and blackened but remained straight and solid. Within seconds of the explosion, the Masama burst from the security building and raced past him towards the roaring inferno.
Batac stopped in front of him and stared, open-mouthed. “What did you see?” he roared above the noise.
“Those labourers, I think they must have planted bombs!”
“Fuck... where did they go?” Batac gripped Raymond's arm.
“That way.” Raymond pointed back down the pathway. The soldier turned with blinding speed and disappeared down the pathway. Seconds later four more Masama flew past him in the same direction.
Raymond turned back to the explosion which was now a mass of rising flame and smoke. Emergency drones were spraying foam all over the central cable area and they quickly doused the intense heat of the flames leaving a steaming bubbling mess at the bottom of the cable. Raymond had spotted a couple of construction workers on the gantry before the explosion that must have been burned alive. As the smoke and steam began to disperse, drifting away in the light sea breeze, Raymond had a view of the damage. The beginnings of the cable did not appear to have been damaged at all; its structure was intact, only stained by the black smoke. The graphene was impervious to the intense heat, but the gantry and support structures had collapsed all around the cable in a tangle of melted steel, plasticrete and burnt drones that littered the wrecked construction site. The damage was repairable, the drones could be replaced, and the cable wasn't damaged.
This could not have been a Black Robin action, they were far more subtle. These bombs were primitive. The main damage had been caused by the heat of the blast. There was modern ordnance available that could have caused much more widespread destruction. These terrorist labourers with their antiquated combustion bombs were well behind the times. This was a minor setback in the context of a big operation, but Raymond knew BPI would treat it seriously.
The remaining Masama emerged from the smoke, marching three sorry-looking labourers ahead of them, exoskeletal hands clamped around their necks. Raymond followed them back to the security building where the captives were tied to chairs with plastic cufflinks. There were several stressed looking construction supervisors all talking grimly into their consoles. Batac returned with a hooded captive and two more scruffy looking saboteurs. They were tied to chairs, their heads bowed, awaiting their fate. Raymond overheard the Masama telling the BPI supervisors they had shot four more labourers after they had jumped from the platform into the sea.
Raymond knew this did not look good for the Masama he had accompanied. They were supposed to provide security for the platform and its workers and yet these crude terrorists had managed to land on the platform and plant bombs right under their noses. The Masama had smugly assumed their presence alone would be enough to prevent any form of sabotage judging by their casual attitude on arrival. There would surely be repercussions from their superiors. Lago and Goran would not be happy.
The Masama finished conferring with the construction supervisors and stood in front of their captives. They were a motley looking bunch, ragged dirty clothes, greasy hair and wide, fearful eyes. Batac stepped forward and grabbed one of them around the neck. He dragged him forward, chair scraping over the floor then tipped him back, stooping over him, staring down into his eyes.
“Who are you. Who you work for.”
“B...b... blasphemers! You will be judged!” choked the prisoner.
In one quick motion of measured violence, Batac put his foot on the chair between the legs of the captive and pulled the man’s head clean off his shoulders. He kicked the chair back and stood there holding up the dismembered head looking into the dying man's disbelieving eyes. Part of the spinal column twitched below the neck hanging from Batac’s bloodied hand. The headless torso quivered in the chair, pumping blood over the floor, legs twitching for a minute, then motionless. The rest of the terrified prisoners were screaming, and the watching supervisors looked as if they were going to vomit. Batac showed no reaction at all. He tossed the head aside, moved to the next captive and clamped his bloodied hand around the man’s neck.
“Your friend was lucky this happened quickly, with you I will be much slower. Who are you? Who you work for.”
“We...we...we work for no-one but the Lord our God, we are the Babelists! Therefore, is the name of it called Babel!” The prisoner shouted, eyes bulging, spittle flying. “Because the Lord did there confound the language of all the Earth! And from thence did the Lord scatter them abroad upon the face of all the Earth. What you are doing here is an insult to God!”
Batac looked around at his companions with a tired expression, rolled his eyes and turned back to the Babelist, hand still clamped around his throat. “Babelists... never heard of you. Why try to destroy the elevator?”
“Aa...a... accck.” Batac relaxed his grip on the man’s windpipe. “And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men in their folly builded! And the Lord was not pleased and there confounded their language! That they may not understand one another’s speech! So, the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the Earth! Therefore, is the name of it called Babel! because the Lord did there confound the language of all the Earth!”
“You have not answered my question. Why did you try to destroy the elevator?” growled Batac.
“This monstrosity you are building up into the heavens is an insult to God the Almighty and He will punish us all for your vanity! One day we may be chosen to ascend but until then our place is here on the Earth, not in the heavens.”
“Which God are we talking about?”
“The only one true God!” The Babelist’s eyeballs were almost popping out of his head. “There is only one true God and we are his unworthy servants.”
Batac released the man and turned to the supervisors. “God-botherers, all fucked in the head.”
One of the supervisors had been typing furiously on his tablet. “I've found a description; Babelists, a neo-Luddite group of religious fanatics who shun modern technology and believe in a return to pre-industrial times. Responsible for several attempted sabotage acts on industrial installations around South East Asia and the Americas. Would be more dangerous as a terrorist group if it wasn't for their incompetence and unwillingness to use any modern technology. Named after the biblical tower of Babel, book of Genesis. Babel means confusion in Hebrew.”
“Don't you see! we are trying to protect you from God’s wrath!” the Babelist screeched. “Once the Lord saw his people building a tower and he was not pleased! He scattered his people to the four corners of the Earth and made their tongues speak many languages for their folly!” The man was wide-eyed and spraying spittle as he rocked back and forth in his chair.
“Fucked in the head,” Batac repeated as he stepped away.
Raymond watched as one of the supervisors approached. He was sweating profusely. “Our work has been set back at least a week, the time it will take to clean up this mess and install another support structure around the base of the cable. Not to mention the cost!” The man’s anger at this setback had overcome his fear of the Masama. “How could you let a bunch of incompetent troglodytes such as these onto the platform?”
“They were here when we got here,” muttered Batac.
“I don’t care! You are responsible, and your boss will be getting a detailed report on this whole debacle!” The supervisors filed out the door leaving the Masama alone with the Babelists.
Raymond went to follow the supervisors outside but one of the Masama slammed the door and stared at him challengingly. “You're with us.”
The following carnage was the most distressing thing Raymond ever had to do but it was imperative he keep in character. Rutger would not mind a bit of blood on his hands, he had to join in with feigned enthusiasm. The Babelists were not overly dangerous, just mentally deficient misguided fools but they had made the Masama look incompetent and now they would suffer for it.
Raymond had never killed a man in cold blood. Some of his more extreme eco-terrorist acts may have indirectly resulted in death but Raymond had never been there in person to witness the event. Never made to feel any guilt or remorse. The Masama were mercifully quick murdering the poor Babelists. Raymond had to participate. He swallowed the horror and nausea he felt and showed no outward signs of distress. But he knew his conscience would not let him forget he had murdered a man, broken his neck with his bare hands. That would be with him forever now, no matter how much he tried to lock it away.
It was a subdued trip back to Manila on the quickcat. The Masama, as usual, did not display any emotion but Raymond could sense their mood was dark. Back at BPI headquarters, they went their separate ways, the Masama disappearing into the bowels of the building to an unknown fate. Only Batac seemed unaffected and stayed with Raymond. Waiting in the huge air-conditioned lobby Raymond could almost be fooled into thinking this was a normal corporation. Office workers, power dressers, secretaries, receptionists going about their business, striding purposefully towards another important appointment. Cogs in the machine, he thought.
Raymond was still shaking inside from murdering the Babelist. He kept hearing his victim's deranged, desperate pleading and he wondered if these sharply dressed office workers had any idea of what went on within their own company. Big business was no stranger to corruption, intimidation and murder, BPI had no moral conscience at all. Raymond felt a steely resolve to see his mission through to the end.
Lance eventually appeared from the swarm of suits and sat down next to Raymond. “Trouble at the elevator?”
“I assume you’ve had a full report on what happened.”
“Yes, but I would prefer your version, Rutger. This will be one of your tasks, going forward, to report on any unforeseen events pertaining to operations you are involved in and to provide solutions to increase efficiency and productivity.”
“My impression was the Masama I was with did not expect any sort of action at all on the platform. They acted as if they had performed this security detail many times before and nothing had ever happened that needed their attention. Some of the group they were replacing appeared to be asleep when we arrived. They were not vigilant, too casual. They were not paying attention. We even walked past one of the Babelists on the way to the security building.”
“As I thought. Well, they will be reminded there is no place for complacency in BPI employ. Sometimes the Masama can be too arrogant for their own good. They might feel superior to those of us less modified; they need to be reminded who their master is.”
Batac sat next to them in stony silence, giving no indication he was listening to their conversation.
“How did the Babelists get onto the platform?” asked Raymond.
“Paddled out in kayaks at night, would you believe. Threw grappling hooks onto the platform and climbed up with their brooms and their petrol bombs.” Lance shook his head.
“I know It is difficult to gain an impression of the Masama given their lack of vocal communication,” said Lance. “It must have been difficult for you to communicate with them at all, but don't worry we will soon fix that.” He smiled out at the spacious lobby.
“What do you mean?” asked Raymond. “How can you fix that?”
“Oh, with their damned telepathy, hard to know what they are thinking but we will get a transmitter implanted in you soon, then you will be on the same wavelength.”
“What?” Raymond was taken aback. “No-one said anything about a transmitter.”
“Oh, it's nothing. You won't even notice it's there, you will be able to tune in and read their thoughts and communicate with them just by thinking. You will report to me daily with updates on your impressions.” Lance was offhand in his response.
“And will they be able to read my thoughts?”
“Of course.” Then seeing Raymond's look of concern, “Don't worry about your past, we all have skeletons in the closet, especially Masama. The implant will make communication and reaction time lightning fast. It’s what gives the Masama their competitive advantage.”
Raymond said nothing. This was a problem. If the Masama could read his thoughts, would they see he was not who he said he was? Would they be able to see he was an impostor and discover his true identity and purpose? Raymond had no idea just how deep the telepathy went. He had buried Raymond under deep layers of Rutger but would the Masama telepaths strip that back? He had been safe inside his own head, but his one and only private sanctuary was now under threat along with the entire mission.