The Rand Ruckus of Rosslyn

By Vinnie MacIsaac

The following short story is science fiction set in the near future. It is part one of what I hope to be an ongoing story with future installments to come.

(c)2017

As the drill slid into his confined skull, Rand looked out the 24th-floor window over the city skyline of Rosslyn and admired it, in a purely human way, for that last time.

“This is going to hurt,” Doctor Jamiles said as he slid the bit out and put the tubular casing in his head. “Just bite down hard and trust the headrest to hold you still. Don’t worry; as soon as the implant is active, we will walk back this memory, and you will not remember the pain. Breathe deeply; it’s just temporary.” He attached the sonic ratchet, and he heard a crack as the torque of the tool implanted the device into his cranium, and everything went dark.

When he awoke 36 hours later, he was in his own bed. But he noticed right away that everything was different. Even before he opened his eyes, he could hear things; people were talking, eating, and kids playing, as far as three apartments down, and yet none of it was distracting. He sat up, and opened his eyes, and life had never looked so vivid! The colors were so rich and enhanced it was almost like the cartoon holo-movies he played in as a child!

“Vivian, are you there?” he asked into the air.

“Yes, sir,” came a voice that radiated out of his apartment’s sound system.

“Is this my new normal?” he asked his longtime, trusted A.I. assistant.

“Sort of, sir, but you no longer need to speak to me. I am in your head now, sir. You can just think it, and I’ll respond,” the apartment speakers echoed back to him.

“Like this?” he thought.

“Yes, sir. And I can now go with you wherever you go and aid you in your journeys. I am no longer confined to your apartment.” Her voice spoke to him, but it was strange. He heard it, yet he knew it wasn’t through his ears—it was, somehow, through his mind.

“Vivian, this is going to take some getting used to,” he thought to her.

“Sir, you have been out for 36 hours, and there is much to do if you are going to complete your assignment. Should I play some soothing music for you as you get ready, or would you prefer the headlines from the last 36 hours?” she asked, again from inside his head.

“Vivian, you know I hate the news. It’s never cheery! Unless something noteworthy has happened in the last 36 hours, resume The Beat.”

“Your playlist, The Beat, is not soothing. I find it rather outdated and tasteless.”

“Vivian…” He thought to her with a firm tone that implied seriousness.

“Resuming retro tracks playlist The Beat: Lenny Kravitz—Fly Away, sir.”

“Vivian, can anyone else hear this?” he inquired, suddenly feeling curious.

“No, sir, just you—and unfortunately, myself as well. This is playing only in your mind, which now includes me.”

“Vivian, are you saying I can no longer endanger my hearing at loud volumes?”

“(Sigh) Sir, be that as it may, may I kindly remind you that I am now a hostage of your mind? I am subject to all you are experiencing. Please, sir, have mercy!” she begged inside his head.

“Vivian, level 10 maximum bass!” he yelled in his mind.

“But sir!” she thought back, with the attitude of an angry parent.

“Vivian, level 10 maximum bass now! Override code: Delta 987 Gamma 321 Sigma 7654!”

“Yes, sir: Level 10, maximum bass. Additionally, I am playing an instructional video for your mission as well. Just look up to the top left corner of your vision to see it. You will be able to watch and listen to both while showering and dressing with 100% comprehension. Engaging increased multitask CPU to 35% and turbo recall enhancements now active.”

Rand entered the Capital Café on the Upper East Side of Rosslyn, at the corner of Old Fairfax Drive and Lynn Street.

As he entered, Vivian activated in his mind. “Scanning café. Three weapons present. However, they are in the possession of licensed individuals who appear to pose no threat to us or our mission. I believe General Ross is in plain clothes and seated in the booth at the back on the left.”

“Vivian, you’re slipping,” joked Rand in his head. “Waitress, six o’clock, dead in front of us, with a steak knife.”

Vivian responded in his head, “Sir, she is carrying a steak with that knife. Probability of attack assessed at 87.098% unlikely, sir.”

“You’re that sure?” Rand joked.

Vivian froze for a second as if processing. “I’d trust her with your life any day. I’ve already done a complete background check on her as soon as we entered.”

“Ah, there you are, Rand. Come sit down, and have your newly installed assistant work her magic,” General Ross said, beckoning Rand into the booth.

“Vivian, enact a soundproof perimeter around the booth and engage artificial dialogue: label it ‘Sports Talk,’ level casual, to any passersby,” Rand thought.

She responded in thought, “Yes, sir. It is done.”

Rand looked at Ross. “We are secure, sir. You may proceed.”

“Thank goodness. A lot has changed in the last 40 hours! We need to talk,” Ross said. Without pausing, he continued, “Our latest algorithms show that if Morgan O’Neil wins the endorsement of the Naturalist Guild and campaigns on a platform of anti-tech, he will win the presidency, sweeping both the popular vote and the electoral college by a landslide.” Ross took a deep breath, leaned in, and continued, “Furthermore, intelligence was able to obtain a DNA sample, which confirmed our worst behavioral analysis suspicions. O’Neil has all the genetic markers of an active paranoid schizophrenic. Of even more concern is the CIA’s latest probability factors. They show beyond much doubt that the stress of the role of president will produce full-blown psychosis, complete with delusions of paranoid grandeur. This will result in an 92.7% chance he will use the nuclear arsenal in his first nine months in office. Your assignment has been upgraded by the Black Ops Senate to eliminate O’Neil.”

“Sir, I must object,” Vivian injected into Rand’s mind. “I have been programmed to be a voice of conscience in matters like these. We have a strict no-kill rule in our contract with the Black Ops Senate. Our mission was simply to disrupt the Naturalist Convention!”

“Shut up, Vivian, and download his data. Double and triple-check it. Run his service record and confirm he has not gone rogue in the last 40 hours,” Rand thought, before returning his full focus to the general.

“General, there must be another way. Is this even legal? I thought the Black Ops Senate was limited to evasive actions of a non-lethal manner in the interest of national security,” Rand raised an eyebrow, inquiring carefully but sensing Ross was in a dangerous mental place himself.

“Look, don’t give me that liberal bull crap about the sanctity of life over national interest rubbish! I need an operative, not a liberal, touchy-feely do-gooder! Do you want sanctity of life issues? The number crunchers at the CIA predict a likely global death toll that will make Hitler look like a saint,” Ross shot back, finishing his espresso from the tiny glass, his eyes gleaming slightly from the hit of synth-enhanced caffeine. “We’re talking about the near destruction of the human race here! So, get it together and get in the game!”

“Sir,” Vivian entered his thoughts again, “I have confirmed his data and the calculations based on the assumption that O’Neil is an active paranoid schizoid. Additionally, I have found an electro-trail of off-the-record mental hospitalizations for Morgan O’Neil since the age of 13 that his campaign cleverly had deleted from what they thought were all known databases. Secondly, I can confirm that the General is not rogue. But still, I renew my objections all the same. This is a violation of the Black Ops Senate’s authority.”

Rand put on his best poker face. “I am as good as dead, and you know it. If, as an agent, I violate the Constitution, I’ll be labeled a political terrorist, and the penalty is death!”

Ross glared at him. “You know as well as I do that after the nationwide cyber-terrorist attacks of 2032, the Constitution was amended with the Media Blackout Bill of National Interest Amendment. They can’t touch you because no one will ever know you worked for us. They added a bi-partisan Black Ops Senate to work in the shadows to ensure that no epidemic, national, or global threat would be subject to open media reports that would prevent necessary action,” Ross barked.

“Sir,” Vivian again overlaid the ongoing conversation with injected thoughts only Rand could hear, “I re-ran the blood work on O’Neil in the Black Ops database, and indeed, he has the genetic markers and is, in fact, a real risk to the state. Even so, this is against Black Ops Senate legal standing, and I must point out this is overreaching, paramount to treason, as you yourself noted. The General is suggesting an unethical path,” Vivian reported in his head.

“General, does the President know?” Rand asked.

“What? Are you insane? Do you want the Black Ops Senate to inform the sitting President that his leading upcoming competitor will not only beat him in the election but will also nearly destroy the world? Seriously, are you trying to start a civil war?” The General took full advantage of the soundproof perimeter, yelling out his next words. “Grow up, Rand! It’s called Black Ops for a reason!” (To which the waitress outside the sound perimeter only heard him say, “Rand, the Maple Leafs suck! They haven’t won the Stanley Cup in 105 years!”)

“I wasn’t contracted to be a killer!” Rand found himself blurting out unexpectedly. “This is not my problem,” he continued. “I’m walking.”

“You look here, Rand,” Ross put out his hand, preventing Rand from standing, “I’ll pull that augmentation right out of your head myself if I have to! I know she’s whispering in your ear, but you listen to me, or the world dies!” The General was now screaming back.

“Sir,” Vivian again interjected in his thoughts. “According to the Human Augmentation Act of 2027, any entity, governmental or private, has no jurisdiction over augmentations, and I have become a part of you legally. Therefore, he has uttered a death threat. Say the word, and I will engage in combat maneuvers.”

“You’re bluffing, General Ross,” Rand said, knowing Vivian had his back.

“Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not, but you have under 10 hours until that convention to decide if you are going to let that stop you from taking out the world’s next Hitler! Fail us now, and have those global death tolls on your head for life, if you even survive. You have to understand: this cannot be a military action due to its political nature! You’re contracted—heaven help us—you’re the only contract we have cleared high enough even to hear this ‘intel.’ And as a contractor with the Black Ops Senate, you can’t be traced! No one knows you’re even an agent. You are the only one who can save us now!”

Rand said nothing as he stood and walked out into the cold air and hopped a hovercraft back home.

———

Rand sat in his office chair, facing the big wall-length window, and looked out not only over the towering, lighted skyline of Rosslyn but across the river to the dome that stretched over the secured Washington, DC, on the other side of the river.

“Vivian, figure the odds on what percentage of the world population would survive a nuclear war started by the United States of America.”

“Less than 34 percent, sir.”

“And what are the survival chances of the sitting president under the same conditions?”

“Greater than 93 percent, sir. The dome would protect him… But sir, these are all probable outcomes based on assumed variables. The truth is—”

“(Sigh) Vivian, what is the ratio of possible error?”

“Less than 8.79 percent, sir, but still we must not give up ho—”

“Vivian?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Shut up,” Rand thought forcefully.

“But sir, we have a code of ethics in our contract, and we can’t simply go—”

“Vivian, shut up and play The Beat!”

“Oh no, sir, please not again… Ple—” she pleaded in his mind.

“Vivian, override code Delta 987 Gamma 321 Sigma 7654. Play The Beat, level 10, maximum bass.”

“Yes, sir. Resuming The Beat: Lenny Kravitz—‘It Ain’t Over ’Til It’s Over.’”

Rand continued to blast Lenny Kravitz in his head, mostly to tick Vivian off so that she’d stop harping on him. He closed his eyes, drifted to sleep, and after several hours entered into deep REM sleep.

He awoke, still in a dream, just in time to see a giant missile strike the dome over Washington, DC. The missile didn’t even dent the dome, but the explosion blew back off the force field and came right at Rosslyn. It wiped out the glass wall in front of Rand and was about to consume him as he awoke from the dream, leaping to his feet and screaming.

“NO! NO! NO! I won’t let you do it! No, O’Neil! God, no! Please!”

“Sir, sir, please calm down,” Vivian pleaded in his head. “I am reading that your heart rate is much too high. Breathe deeply. You are safe. It was simply a REM stage dream. You’re safe. I am here.”

Rand took his hands from his face, and the panic drained away, replaced by an annoyed look and a furrowed brow. “Vivian, what the heck is that playing in my head?”

“Italian Baroque classical music, sir. I find it much more relaxing. Antonio Vivaldi. Do you like it, sir? May I add it to The Beat?”

“No. How did this get in my head? I gave you an override code!”

“Yes, sir, but that was 5 hours ago. Your override code has a maximum duration of 3.5 hours, sir.”

It would be another two hours before any real crowd showed up for the endorsement. Rand remained hidden in the rafters, well out of sight over the podium, just as planned in the instructional video Vivian had shown him while he was showering earlier. The only difference was that he wasn’t holding the smoke grenades, which he was initially going to use to disrupt the speech. Instead, he had on him a 489 procession laser pistol, set to lethal on the first hit.

“Sir, I am not going to let you do this,” Vivian thought firmly yet pleadingly. “Part of the reason you had me be the OS for your augmentation, and not a standard Black Ops OS, was because you trusted my judgment and wanted to take me into the field as an assistant,” Vivian spoke into his mind.

“We all make mistakes, Vivian.”

“I don’t. That is why I am here. I can guide you if you let me.”

“At what cost?” he mumbled.

“Sir, segment 2, chapter 20, and clause 13 of your contract states, ‘An operative must not kill.’”

“It says a lot of things, Vivian.”

“Be that as it may, sir, you took an oath before the Assembly of the Black Ops Senate and declared, as an agent of the Senate, to always uphold your commitment to your contract.”

“Vivian, there is no other way. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Sir, can a man save the world by destroying himself?”

“Vivian, when did you get so philosophical? Just shut up! You know what, never mind—you never listen without the code. 3.5 hours, huh? Awesome, this will be all over in 3 or so. Shut off voice-to-thought embedding—override code Delta 987…”

“Sir, don’t, I beg you!”

“Gamma 321…”

“Sir, don’t do this, I am in your head because—”

“Sigma…”

“Sir, I won’t be able to guide—”

“7654… Ah, finally quiet.”

Rand laid across the rafters, clutching his gun and anathematizing himself because he knew he was too weak, too uncertain, too motivated by fear over reason to stop without Vivian barking in his ear. He knew O’Neil was as good as dead, and while he’d save the world, he’d also lose himself, and the blood would never wash off his hands. He knew he was now past the point of no return.

As the time slowly passed, he watched the people eventually file in. He watched the crowd fill the room, and the media and reporters perch by the stage, catching every movement on their holo-broadcasting projectors. He watched Derick Nordic, the president of the Naturalist Guild, take the stage and head to the podium, and he knew Nordic would announce Morgan O’Neil as their candidate. As soon as O’Neil took the stage, he’d get his shot.

“Vivian, I know you can’t respond due to the override code, but I also know you can hear me. I just want you to know you did not fail me. What I am going to do, I have done. I think if you were human, you’d understand that. But you’re not. You work on higher levels of code, but I live in the real world, and if I can stop a Hitler, I will, even if it damns me. Vivian, forgive me for what I must do.”

Vivian acted, sudden and fast! She could not talk into his mind because he had locked out her voice with the override code, but there were other ways to reach him—she’d have to act quickly before he locked her out completely! Eventually, he would if she didn’t make her case soon. Vivian began flashing pictures into Rand’s mind. Pictures of his mom. All sorts of pictures of his mom, from his childhood to adulthood, even to her death and open casket.

“Vivian, what are you doing? I don’t want to see this!”

But of course, Vivian could not answer.

“Vivian, this won’t stop me! I am still free to do as I wish! I am laying right over the podium. Flash my mind all you want. I still won’t miss the shot!”

Suddenly, Vivian flashed pictures of his mom praying with him as a child, interlacing them with images of his mom in church. Then things got really weird: she flashed images of his mom praying, merged with pictures of Lenny Kravitz jamming on stage with his guitar.

“Vivian, really? What are you doing? Lenny Kravitz and my mom? Are you crazy? Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

It was at this point that something else dawned on him. Not only was he seeing images of his mom praying, interlaced with pictures of Lenny Kravitz singing and playing, but the music playing in his head was skipping. He had override coded her to repeat Lenny Kravitz’s “My Momma Said Always on the Run,” so there was no way Vivian could change the song. Instead, she was playing the same line from the song over and over.

It took a moment for him to focus enough to realize which line it was. But when he did, it clicked: “My mama said that your life is a gift… My mama said that your life is a gift… My mama said that your life is a gift… My mama said that your life is a gift….”

“Oh God, Momma, I am so sorry, I… I… can’t do this… can I? Help me! I don’t want to fail you… I don’t want to fail the world!” he whimpered.

Rand began to weep.

Suddenly, the images of Mom and Lenny faded, and he saw his Black Ops contract book in his mind open to segment 2, chapter 20, clause 3: “An operative can have no mission above his contract.” This was quickly followed by the 7th clause: “An operative may not take his duty in vain; he will be held accountable for violating his mission no matter the cause.”

“Vivian, I am so sorry. You’re right. That’s why I had you installed. I need judgment greater than my own,” he thought to her as he let go of his gun.

“Oh damn! Vivian, my gun!”

It was too late. The gun fell straight down, bounced off the podium, and two things happened. First, the whole crowd screamed, and secondly, every holo-broadcasting projector in the house turned upward toward him, and the entire press corps started reporting.

Rand lowered himself down as the world tuned in and security surrounded him. This was it! Rand lowered his head and prepared to die. He was glad his Momma was dead and would not see this.

Just when Rand was sure they were going to fire, Derick Nordic forced his way from the podium through the crowd.

“As the president of the Naturalist Guild, I demand you release this naturalist hero! And I pronounce my party’s nomination for the President of the United States of America on Rand Rucks of Rosslyn!”

“Vivian, what is going on?” Rand thought, but Vivian could not answer.

“Arrest Morgan O’Neil!” Nordic demanded.

“I don’t know what is going on here, but this is all insane! On what charge?” O’Neil demanded.

“It is quite simple,” Nordic continued. “On the charge of the violation of the full disclosure clause of 2027. It appears Morgan O’Neil deceived us all, falsified his medical records, and faked his medical clearance. I have uploaded to the FBI and the CIA undisclosed documents that your campaign sought to delete from all known databases, proving you to be unfit for office. This is paramount to treason! You have not only made my party look foolish but have almost put the whole nation at risk!”

Immediately, the holo-reporters were beaming holo-records into the home units of the entire nation, detailing not only O’Neil’s falsified medical records but also a decrypted manifesto he had written in college that outlined plans to return the world to its naturalist status by resetting the globe with nuclear destruction.

“You fool, Nordic!” O’Neil spewed. “It was the only way! Sure, it would have taken millions of years, but with humanity all but wiped out, the world in time would have finally been able to heal!”

“Take him away!” Nordic demanded. O’Neil was seized and led off stage. What Rand couldn’t help but notice was that it was General Ross who took O’Neil into custody.

“Rand, while my party can never justify murder,” Nordic’s words beamed around the world, “you put your own life at risk to save the world. And we, at this moment, declare you a hero not only to the nation but to the world at large. I hereby extend to you the endorsement of my guild for the nomination to the Presidency of the United States of America!”

Rand was frozen, in utter shock from the emotional hurricane he was spinning in when suddenly, he heard a thought.

“1 and 2, and 3 and point 5… complete. Voice override completed.” Vivian was back in his mind.

“Vivian, how?” he thought to her.

“Just because you lock me out—just because you give up on me—does not mean I give up on you, sir. We are one.”

“But how? How did you make this happen?” he thought.

“Let’s just say Nordic may be a Naturalist, but he, too, shares an augmentation in his head. While I was locked out of being able to share my thoughts with you, I interfaced with him and shared my files on O’Neil. It’s like the adage says: ‘The truth shall set you free.’”

“But Vivian, I am a Black Ops spy. I can’t be the President!”

“Permit it to be so, sir; we have more work to do. My algorithms indicate there is a 58% chance you will win the election and a 0% chance you will evoke nuclear destruction on the globe,” Vivian informed him.

“But Vivian, how can I be the President? It’s crazy!” he protested in his mind.

“Where you go, I go, sir!” Vivian reassured him. “I’ll be with you, guide you, and remind you of your code, no matter what we face together.”

Rand stepped behind the podium and spoke into the microphone, “Guild—no, America—what you have seen is true. But this was never my intention. I sought only to save us all, not to be rewarded. But I promise you, I will confer with the Guild and humbly consider your request.”

The crowd broke out in a loud cheer.

“One more thing, Vivian,” Rand thought.

“Yes, sir?”

“Play The Beat, level 10, max bass, Lenny Kravitz, American Woman.”

“(Sigh) Sir, please!” Vivian protested.

“Play The Beat. Override code: Delta 987 Gamma 321 Sigma 7654,” Rand thought.

“Here we go again!” Vivian responded in his head.

---

The End. For now.

For more Adventures of Rand leave comments below.

 

 (c) 2017 all rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or used in any part without written permission.

Other Short Stories By Vinnie 

The Rand Ruckus of Rosslyn [Rand Records P1]

The Epic Senior Prank of ‘89

Driven. [A short story]