Shadows Beneath: The Writing Excuses Anthology by Howard Tayler Dan Wells Mary Robinette Kowal Brandon Sanderson
Ads: Link
find anybody here, not really.
Mo steps to the corner of the room where our cam dot should be. “It’s still there.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s no point sweeping the rest of the floor.” I holster my weapon. “Let’s see if the camera saw anything.”
I pull out my phone. Swipe, code, and then a tap on the spy app, whose icon looks like the one for a pizza place. I respond to the “ZIP CODE” prompt with an eleven-digit passcode, and up comes the video file. PLAY.
The video begins with the room lit only by the brightening sky through the windows. Then a human-size shadow dissolve-wipes into existence in the middle of the room, backlit by those windows so I can’t make out any details the moment it appears, but the lights come up very quickly.
“Holy shit,” says Mo.
Hooded and all in black, the stereotypical, iconic representation of Death, complete with a scythe, stands in the middle of the office and turns to face the camera.
We’ve got my phone casting video to the wall screen by the time Mr. Wollreich arrives in his office with Barry on his heels. Wollreich is flushed, there are bags under his eyes, and he’s angry. Barry has all the expression of a granite bust, which means Wollreich has been chewing him out on the way over here.
“Cole, how long have you been spying on me?”
“Since Monday morning, sir. I’m sorry, but it seemed prudent.”
“Prudent? After the lecture you gave me about the value of secrets? Spying on me is a lot of things, but prudent is not one of them.”
“With all due respect, sir, you called us in a panic, then lied to us. I made a snap decision in order to ensure that my team and I could keep you safe.”
“How come you didn’t tell me about it later?”
“Guilty conscience, sir. But I think you should watch this before we continue to discuss the matter.”
“Fine.”
I push PLAY, and Death appears onscreen.
Wollreich gasps. “That’s him. Hot damn, Cole, you got him!”
I push PAUSE.
“We did, sir, but he’s about to start talking, and he talks fast. You really need to listen to this.”
Wollreich nods, and I push PLAY.
Death is facing the camera, and begins to speak.
“Sinclair Wollreich and . . . friends,” he begins. The voice is deep, so it sounds masculine, but it’s almost musically artificial, like somebody auto-tuned Christopher Lee. “You must immediately cancel your organization’s life extension plans. Further, you must destroy the information related to it. Otherwise human beings will lose all access to the eternal realms.”
Mo and I have already watched the whole thing. I had to explain to Mo that yes, the company was going to be extending human life. I watched it a second time while Mo called Barry and told him to get the boss in here. Right now I’m watching Wollreich, who is sneering and eyerolling, giving the screen his this-is-bullshit face.
“The human spirit, or soul, is a turbulent waveform. At death, this turbulence allows the waveform to imprint across the boundary wave, transducing the wave to an eternal state with minimal degradation. As humans grow older, however, the turbulence is reduced. Some very old humans fail to imprint. Their original waveforms cease. In your terms, this means they die forever. Should human lives be extended to more than a century, very few humans will imprint successfully, and eternal life will be denied to your race.”
Wollreich’s this-is-bullshit face gives way to deep concern.
“You have the ability, Sinclair Wollreich, to end this project and save humans eternally. Act swiftly.”
Death vanishes. A moment later, the video shows Mo and me bursting through the office door. Mo reaches up to check the camera, and the image freezes because I’ve pushed STOP.
Wollreich is leaning against his desk, arms folded, head down.
“Cole, could this have been faked?”
“Probably. I’m not a video expert. But the second time I watched it I looked out the window. There’s a
Mo steps to the corner of the room where our cam dot should be. “It’s still there.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s no point sweeping the rest of the floor.” I holster my weapon. “Let’s see if the camera saw anything.”
I pull out my phone. Swipe, code, and then a tap on the spy app, whose icon looks like the one for a pizza place. I respond to the “ZIP CODE” prompt with an eleven-digit passcode, and up comes the video file. PLAY.
The video begins with the room lit only by the brightening sky through the windows. Then a human-size shadow dissolve-wipes into existence in the middle of the room, backlit by those windows so I can’t make out any details the moment it appears, but the lights come up very quickly.
“Holy shit,” says Mo.
Hooded and all in black, the stereotypical, iconic representation of Death, complete with a scythe, stands in the middle of the office and turns to face the camera.
We’ve got my phone casting video to the wall screen by the time Mr. Wollreich arrives in his office with Barry on his heels. Wollreich is flushed, there are bags under his eyes, and he’s angry. Barry has all the expression of a granite bust, which means Wollreich has been chewing him out on the way over here.
“Cole, how long have you been spying on me?”
“Since Monday morning, sir. I’m sorry, but it seemed prudent.”
“Prudent? After the lecture you gave me about the value of secrets? Spying on me is a lot of things, but prudent is not one of them.”
“With all due respect, sir, you called us in a panic, then lied to us. I made a snap decision in order to ensure that my team and I could keep you safe.”
“How come you didn’t tell me about it later?”
“Guilty conscience, sir. But I think you should watch this before we continue to discuss the matter.”
“Fine.”
I push PLAY, and Death appears onscreen.
Wollreich gasps. “That’s him. Hot damn, Cole, you got him!”
I push PAUSE.
“We did, sir, but he’s about to start talking, and he talks fast. You really need to listen to this.”
Wollreich nods, and I push PLAY.
Death is facing the camera, and begins to speak.
“Sinclair Wollreich and . . . friends,” he begins. The voice is deep, so it sounds masculine, but it’s almost musically artificial, like somebody auto-tuned Christopher Lee. “You must immediately cancel your organization’s life extension plans. Further, you must destroy the information related to it. Otherwise human beings will lose all access to the eternal realms.”
Mo and I have already watched the whole thing. I had to explain to Mo that yes, the company was going to be extending human life. I watched it a second time while Mo called Barry and told him to get the boss in here. Right now I’m watching Wollreich, who is sneering and eyerolling, giving the screen his this-is-bullshit face.
“The human spirit, or soul, is a turbulent waveform. At death, this turbulence allows the waveform to imprint across the boundary wave, transducing the wave to an eternal state with minimal degradation. As humans grow older, however, the turbulence is reduced. Some very old humans fail to imprint. Their original waveforms cease. In your terms, this means they die forever. Should human lives be extended to more than a century, very few humans will imprint successfully, and eternal life will be denied to your race.”
Wollreich’s this-is-bullshit face gives way to deep concern.
“You have the ability, Sinclair Wollreich, to end this project and save humans eternally. Act swiftly.”
Death vanishes. A moment later, the video shows Mo and me bursting through the office door. Mo reaches up to check the camera, and the image freezes because I’ve pushed STOP.
Wollreich is leaning against his desk, arms folded, head down.
“Cole, could this have been faked?”
“Probably. I’m not a video expert. But the second time I watched it I looked out the window. There’s a
Similar Books
