Author's Notes:
Welcome to what is, I believe, the first Hell: A Cyberpunk Thriller fanfic. Please let me know if there are any others so that I can read them! As always, both praise and criticism are appreciated. The milieu and characters of this fanfic are all property of Take 2 Interactive Software.
Night of the Resurrection
plot and script - Martin III
"Excuse me, Mr. Eshanti."
Gideon turned his head from the tomb where his true love lay. A man in military uniform was approaching him.
"The ceremony honoring you and Ms. Braque begins in ten minutes," he told Gideon. "President Burr is waiting."
"Thank you, sergeant. I'll be right there." He turned back to Rachel's tomb, not waiting for the sergeant to depart. "Well, we saved the world, babe," he whispered. "Sleep well. You've earned it."
A cold silence passed. Despite his words, Gideon felt not closure, but a heavy sorrow when he looked at her resting place.
"At least I know you're in Heaven... we've already survived Hell."
His heart was still heavy as he made his way to the square where the ceremony was being held, but he shouldered the weight. He and Rachel had accomplished a lot: freed countless souls from terror, vanquished despotism, and even saved a few lives. It was important to honor that, for Rachel's sake if nothing else.
He kept his face unsmiling but not unhappy through the ceremony. Though he couldn't forget what he'd lost, he kept what Rachel had done for the country foremost in his mind. The People shouldn't see a sad face at the ceremony commemorating that.
The time came for him to speak, and he marched to the podium with no hesitation.
"I want to thank you all for coming here," he said. "I only wish Rachel could be here as well. She would have been happy to see this, to see all the good her efforts accomplished. But mainly, I'm glad you're here because it shows your spirit for what we fought for: freedom and democracy. We must never again forget how important those two things are. If we do, the next tyrant who rules us will be even more powerful than Solux. You can forget me - heck, I don't even want to be remembered. You can even forget Rachel. But never forget the value of freedom and democracy."
Applause followed, though Gideon had his doubts if he'd done well enough. Even though he believed in all the things he'd said, he'd always considered himself a fighter - a protector, really - not a public speaker. He accepted his medal of honor from President Burr and stepped off the stage.
"Mr. Eshanti?" one of the president's aides called him. "The private reception is this way, sir."
Ah, yes. One last little formality... a private party with some politicians that I probably wouldn't know if I bumped into them on the street. Being a hero can be a bit embarrassing sometimes.
He held that thought until he stepped into the ballroom. Not with bitterness; he saw all this as his duty of sorts, and felt a sort of satisfaction in even these little gestures to advance Rachel's legacy.
But then he saw them. There, in the ballroom. He'd know them anywhere.
For a moment he just stared, wondering if this was a dream, and then they noticed him. They waved at him excitedly, then shuffled through the crowd to meet him. "Gideon!"
"Mom...?" he said. "Dad?"
"It's been too long, hasn't it?" his mother said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.
"Yeah... Yeah, it has..." When Rachel and I found out about the Night of the Re-entombment, that most of our lives were memory implants from the Hand of God, I started to doubt that I even had a family. Of course, Mom and Dad haven't had much to do with my rebel activities, either before or after my identity change. The Hand of God may not have needed to change my memories about them much. But... they called me Gideon...
"Ya done good, son," his father smiled. "You left hardly a dry eye in the place."
"Thanks, Dad. But listen..."
Before he could formulate the question on his mind, a hand fell upon his shoulder, and he heard another familiar voice. "How's it goin', Gid?"
Gideon froze. "Carter?"
"Hey, didn't you hear me, pal?" Carter spun him around and snatched his hand. "I asked how's it been goin'! Jeez, you look like you don't remember who I am!"
"Of course not, Carter," he said, returning the handshake with what he hoped was convincing vigor. "We spent too many years working together in ARC, not to mention the training school. But it's been a rough few months, you know?"
"I know it, Gid." Carter's expression turned serious. "You probably feel like I abandoned you, but honest, I never believed a word of those charges the Hand drummed up against you and Rachel. I knew it had to be a mistake - heck, it wasn't a mistake, but you know what I mean, I know you wouldn't do anything like that. But I didn't have much idea of where to even find you, much less help you."
"Well, naturally. Dante was giving us his place to stay at, and we weren't throwing our association with him out to anyone in ARC, not even friends."
They talked on, catching up with each other, Gideon introducing Carter to his parents, but all the while, his mind was racing in a near panic. Did the Hand of God really go that far - to assign real people to pretend to be my parents and longtime friends? Then they could have based my memory implants on those people, but... part of me can't believe I'm even thinking this. No matter how many times I say to myself "memory implants", I just know that these are my parents and one of my best friends. But then -
He froze a moment, his eyes captured by a figure across the room.
"Something wrong, Gideon?" his father asked.
"Is... Is that Mrs. Andrews?"
"Sure is. It's a teacher's prerogative to brag about her star pupil - are you all right?"
"...Fine, Dad. I think."
I haven't seen Mrs. Andrews since high school... years before my body and mind were supposedly restructured. Why would the Hand entrust someone to impersonate someone I'd never expect to see again? If they did this for everyone I've ever met, the chances of at least one of them getting too close to me and revealing the truth would be ridiculously high. More important, if they're imposters, you'd think they'd be in hiding now that the Hand of God has been overthrown. So either the story about the CFF commandos' fate is a fabrication, or the Hand wants me more desperately than I could have thought. Either way, I don't like the implications. And who put all these people on the guest list? I told President Burr about the Night of the Re-entombment, so why...
One thing was for sure: He needed to get out of there and find answers fast.
"Excuse me, folks, but I just remembered something important that I need to tell President Burr about. I'll talk to you all later, okay?" He forced his voice to be friendly despite his suspicions.
"Can't it wait?" his mother asked.
"I wish it could; I really do. But it's a bit urgent, and I'm not sure how long it will take me to reach her. Just hang in there, okay?" he said, moving into the crowd before they could raise any more objections.
He'd already spotted his target, Thomas Meaculp, across the room. President Burr wasn't around yet, but he should be able to tell him what he needed to know just as well, and he'd rather not bother the president with this anyway.
Meaculp was talking to another man about some programming development that Gideon couldn't understand a word of. "Hey Tommy, got a minute?"
He turned sharply. "Gideon! You look pretty serious."
"Well, I do have a potential catastrophe on my hands. Listen, tell me something: If I'm supposed to be Marcus Vanders, then what are all these friends and relatives of Gideon Eshanti doing here?"
"Ah. Well, shortly after the true story about you and Rachel was made public, your loved ones contacted the CFF, naturally wanting to get in touch with you now that they knew where you were. The CFF agents kept this a secret from you - for your own safety, you understand - and began investigating to see if they were who they claimed to be. Meanwhile, President Burr decided that it would be a good idea to hold off the reunions for this event, so as to surprise you, and convinced your friends to go along with her plan. I take it from your expression that you'd rather not have been surprised?" He scratched at the back of his neck.
"Not exactly. If these people are the real deal, if I'm not really Marcus Vanders, then there's a mystery that needs unraveling. I need to talk to someone who used to work in Transgressions."
"Now Gideon, you know well that I never had any connections to that department."
"No, but you know how to access the government's files better than I do, and I might need your help on this. I want you to find a computer, get online, and wait for me to get in touch with you."
"What? Don't you think you're taking this a bit too far?"
"No, I don't. Listen, this may be nothing, and I'll gladly owe you a big one if that's the case. But it could also be a serious threat to the nation, and we can't just sit here and let it go unchecked. Remember, President Burr considered those captured CFF agents to be crucially important - and now we have no idea what happened to them. I have to figure this out, for Rachel's sake."
"Alright, alright. Give me an hour."
Gideon logged in through a computer in a backroom government office. He'd had to use the old lockpick implant to break in, but he knew President Burr would have understood if she knew. And it was important for him to keep his location unknown, because if the worst of his suspicions were true, he was being targeted.
Meaculp was online as promised. Gideon didn't waste time, immediately asking him for the location of the one Transgressions agent (1)whose name Gideon knew, (2)who would likely remember details about the Night of the Re-entombment, and (3)who wasn't in prison. He tapped his fingers while he waited for an answer.
God, I'll bet anyone who saw me now would think I'm paranoid. But if this turns out to be nothing, then there's no harm done, and I'll be able to get to sleep. And I'll finally have the definitive answer to who Rachel and I are.
The answer came back shortly, and Gideon nodded. Good. Not too far from here.
"I had not expected to see you here, Mr. Eshanti," Jean Saint Mouchoir answered the door buzz, his broad face seemingly poised to swallow the video display on which he appeared. "At least not tonight, hmm? Come on up."
Gideon checked the charge on his gun before stepping into the elevator. He wasn't anticipating trouble just yet, but it didn't hurt to be careful. Even Mouchoir wasn't necessarily harmless; he'd been a genuine believer, but that also meant that he might hold a grudge against Gideon's bringing down the Hand of God.
After arriving at the right floor, he found the apartment number, and Mouchoir opened the door to let Gideon into his flat. The place was old, cheap, but kept meticulously tidy. Filing cabinets neatly filled up one corner of the main room; Gideon guessed that Mouchoir had held onto his old files from his office at Transgressions. That could prove useful.
"And what can I do for you, Mr. Eshanti?"
"Well, Mr. Mouchoir... I was wondering if you could help me dig up some of the details about the Night of the Re-entombment."
Mouchoir squinted at him. "Ah... And what exactly are you seeking?"
"Well, I'd like to start with the operation which led to the Night of the Re-entombment, the one where seven captured CFF agents were reprogrammed and inserted into new identities."
"That?" the former Transgressions agent said, his eyes twinkling. "Are you saying that you actually believe such an operation truly occurred?"
Gideon folded his arms across his chest. "So, you have a reason to think it's all a fabrication?"
"Oh, but of course! And so do you, my friend, ha ha!" Jean Saint Mouchoir's shoulders shook with his distinctive booming laugh. "You read the memo, didn't you? How else could you have even heard about this supposed operation?"
"Well, yeah, I did, but I don't see how that -"
Mouchoir was already sitting down at his computer and typing. "Well, come then, take another look! I still have the memo here in my files, to be sure. There!" He pressed a key, and the memo began printing. Gideon waited at the printer, and picked up the memo as it came out. "Now then, do you notice anything unusual about the way in which this particular government memo is written?"
Gideon began reading over the memo, studying the lines far more carefully than he'd done before. After only four sentences, it hit him. "My God," he breathed. "How could I have not seen it before?"
To be concluded next chapter