S.W.A.T. (book 2 of the hexology in seven parts)

“Oh gawd I hope she doesn’t pick me, imagine my stripes on her thighs.” Sam could hear the two garments, as they talked about the girl in the booth next to Jessie’s. The curtain whooshed back, and a red-faced teen handed the offending items to the assistant. “I don’t think these will do, too much of an attitude.” She explained as she strode off. Just then Jessie’s curtain pulled back, and Sam took on a look of deep interest. “What do you think?” Jessie asked. Sam took a deep breath. “I think it’s perfect.” But from a speaker secreted in the garment came a monotone voice. “Analysis of subjects voice patterns, suggest a seventy five per cent chance of lying.” Jessie pursed her lips and turned on the spot. The curtain swished close behind her. And Sam was left cursing the lie detector app preinstalled on the dress.

The Versony Corporation sure had reinvented the clothing industry. Weaving soft technology in to garments and powering them off infrared collectors, so the wearer’s body heat powered the devices. They never ran out or needed recharging. Soon accessories became teched up too, with earrings worn dangling from a discreet earpiece, which could stream a phone conversation or your favourite tunes. Smart glasses gave a full view of the world, whilst displaying a heads up of any texts sent or your favourite video clip. Just like an old time fighter pilot. There were even wrist keyboards, so you could type away wherever you were. This latest trend of virtual personalities took little time to sweep the globe, and beyond. All the best shops on Earth, Mars and even Europa stocked the latest in Tecnofashion.

When Jessie emerged seconds later Sam took a deep breath, and tried to appraise the monochrome design his girlfriend was quizzing him on. “Not bad” Sam ventured. And when this garment made no comment, Sam inwardly thanked the designers for not revealing his confused indifference. Jessie finally re-emerged with both dresses, and bought the first one, while Sam idled the time away browsing the accessories by the till. “Who’d want a fur lined tea cup?” He mused to no one in particular. After leaving Jessie at her mom’s, Sam headed home. The day hadn’t been a complete washout, as he had got Jessie to come to a party round at Barry’s next Tuesday. Jessie was such a stop at home girl, Sam sometimes wondered how he’d ever managed to get her to go out with him in the first place. He was kicking a can down a side alley, while catching up on the latest Astroball scores, when he noticed the hat. It was quite a nice baseball cap, sat on a bollard. “I wonder who’d leave such a good hat” Sam mused and he picked it up. There was no one about, Sam made sure of that. He tried shouting “anyone lost a hat”; there was no reply. So he put it on.

Instantly he was on top of a tall tower. Sam pulled it off, and he was back in the alley. “O.K. its some sort of 3D viewer. That can’t be cheep.” So he carefully folded it up, and stuffed it in a pocket. Then he ran home.

In the safety of his bedroom, Sam sat on his bed and removed his find from his pocket. The cap was dark blue, and had a symbol on the front in gold stitching. It was a circle, with a vertical wavy line running through it, with two dots to the left of the line. Sam waved his wrist scanner over it, and put his Visi-specs on. The search engine threw up a lot of similar symbols. Which Sam scanned through, until at last he found an exact match. He clicked on it, and up came a page about the cult of the Crab with Golden Claw. There was a whole bunch of stuff on this ancient sect, and their mysterious rights. Sam came off the site. The designer had obviously nicked the symbol, thinking no one would know what it was.

He picked up the cap again, it was in good shape, and so he tried it on again. He was back on the tower, but this time he was watching two well-dressed men from the vantage point of behind an extractor vent. They seemed to be arguing. The taller of the two was pushing the other back, as he spat out. “The time is not ripe, I need to have full control. Long gone is the time when you ordered me about.” The shorter one finally stood his ground against this assault. “You are only what we made you.” He began to push back, but less effectively. “We can bring you down just as easily. The order had worked for many generations to bring this about. We have always been in the shadows. Now release the virus, so we may take our place as the true masters of the planet.” The taller man considered this argument for a second. Then he lifted the other man bodily off the floor, and dangling him over the edge coldly informed him. “Farley your services are no longer required, I will lead the order from now on.” He let go, and Sam saw the other man plummet to his doom.

The man on the roof turned to go, and just then there was a noise from behind Sam. The killer stared strait at him. Sam whipped the hat off, and was relieved to find himself back in his room. With his knees drawn up, Sam stared at the cap, as it sat innocently on the floor. He wondered what he had seen, and what it was all about. Just then his mom called up from the bottom of the stairs. “Tea’s ready love.”

Sam tore from the room, glad to be free of the reminder that still lay on the floor, of a horrendous killing. On the sofa, Sam sat between his parents, as they ploughed through chips and Lasagne. The T.V. spat out various news reports, while to either side of Sam comments like, “shame” and “they shouldn’t allow it”, augmented his viewing experience. Then a new story came on. There on the screen was the tall man. Sam’s concentration switched from his tea to the screen. “Senator Tingle of the Republican party and hopeful presidential candidate had swapped campaign managers. After the mysterious disappearance of his previous one, John Farley.” There was an inset picture of the shorter man. Sam spat out a chip, almost choking. “Careful with your dinner dear”, his mother patted Sam on the back until he had recovered. By then the news had moved on to another story, about a robbery.

After tea Sam made his excuses, and headed back up to his room. There on the floor still sat the hat. He picked it up tentatively, and placed it once more on his head. With a shock, there was a squat Korean man staring back at him wearing the same hat. Then Sam realised he must be looking in to a mirror. In fact the man was in a lift. Sam realised to that he was talking, so he concentrated on the think accent. “Note to self” the man had begun. “I have just witnessed Senator Tingle ascending to the head of the order of the Crab with the Golden Claw. It is the usual method of ascension.” The man shuffled about in the lift, and Sam saw the sub basement button was lit. “He must be heading down there” thought Sam. Then the man in the lift began to speak again.

“Given my recent encounter with the new leader of the order of the Crab with Golden Claws, I had better leave a record of my adventures. My name is Simon Kenwee, and I am an investigatory reporter. I infiltrated the order a year ago. I will not give you the details here, as all my notes are hidden in a file on this hat’s memory. Needless to say I have had to do a lot of skulking about to witness the meeting on the roof.” He looked up. Suddenly the lights went out, as the lift ground to a halt. Sam had been plunged in to darkness. But that only accentuated the sound of someone knocking open a roof hatch, and climbing hand over hand up a cable. The effort made the man’s breathing a pulse for Sam to follow. Finally a slit of light opened, and Sam was glad to see the image of two hands pulling the lift door open. It slid shut behind him, and Sam flinched at the noise it made.

Perhaps the volume was turned up, or Sam was attuned to this drama unfolding. But the figures Sam could make out standing throughout an office, seemed unaware of the fugitive crouching behind a desk. Then the reporter ducked down, and Sam had to rely on sound alone to tell him what was going on. Finally the sound of boot falls fading away, told Sam the pursuers were continuing their relentless search else ware. Sam sat transfixed, fearful of discovery himself. Then he was taken across the room, and through a door to a stairwell. Cautiously looking up and down the void, Simon was satisfied it was safe to descend, and he dashed down the steps. Each one jarred Sam, with the sound he was sure would alert the pursuers, and bring imminent death. “Sam, have you put the bin out?”

The noise broke in to Sam’s consciousness, and almost falling off the bed again, he took the cap off. His mom’s head was poking round the door. “I don’t ask for much, but you can at least do that” she chided him. Sam slunk past her on his way to do the chore. He rattled the bin down the path, and left it for the bin men tomorrow. Sam was acutely aware of any unusual sounds from the shadows. They were the same ones he’d always known, but somehow even those familiar surroundings took on a chilling new tone. So he retreated back in to the safety of his home.

Then bolting the door, Sam dashed back to his room. The hat sat on the bed like some portent of doom. Wasn’t that supposed to be bad luck? He went over to it, and put the hat on once more. Instantly he was in an alleyway. Panting noises of an exhausted Simon resounded through Sam’s earpiece. But all too soon the clatter of boots set Simon running again, in his vain hope of eluding his pursuers. Sam cringed, as the unseen assailants grew closer, by the ever-increasing noise of their boots. Then a gust of wind caught the cap. And sailing over a low wall, it tumbled down to land with a thud, on the bollard Sam had found it on. Out of sight and out of listening range, the disoriented Sam would never know its erstwhile owner’s fate. For the hat’s sudden flight and tumble, had almost sent Sam reeling off the bed. But he had little doubt of Simon’s fate; his pursuers couldn’t have been far behind the reporter, who must be run to ground.

Intrigued to see his encounter with the hat from when he found it, he put it back on. But instead of a rerun of Sam’s past few hours, he found him self in an undefined white space. “Second stage initiating,” boomed out a voice. And Sam suddenly realised Simon was stood in front of him. Sam panicked. “What am I doing here?” But Simon just smiled. “Your not, what you perceive as your body is an avatar, a computer representation of yourself. Created from images of you. There were a lot of reflective surfaces you passed, not to mention the mirror in your bed room.” Sam took a sigh of relief. “But aren’t you dead, or did you escape those men?” This time Simon looked a little perturbed. “I don’t know, the real Simon’s fate is unknown to me. I am only an artificial representation of his personality and memories. I only exist in and through this hat.” He gestured to the empty space about them both. “And that Sam, is where you come in.”

He fixed the lad with a steely glare. “You’ve seen the film, so you should know what’s at steak. People could lose their lives, lots of people. Will you help me to stop these evil men before they carry out their plans?” Sam backed away, shaking his hands as if in defence. “You’ve really got the wrong guy. I’m a nobody, this sort of thing doesn’t happen to people like me, I’m no hero.” Simon considered him for a moment, and then as if deciding to appeal to Sam’s sense of duty would be pointless, tried a different tack.

“O.K. so you’re not the stuff of legends, but I’m stuck with you. And I think you’ll find you’re stuck with me.” Then Simon took out a mobile phone, and dialled a number on it. “Sam is that you? I though you were in your room.” Came the voice of Sam’s mom. The amazed Sam stood dumfounded, as Simon began to speak in to the phone in Sam’s voice. “Yea, I’ve just got to tell you I broke our new plasma television, sorry mom.” Sam dived at the phone before he realised, “we don’t have a plasma T.V.” “And that wasn’t your mom. But just think what I could do in the real world, and don’t think I can’t. How do you think I got your mom’s number?” Simon held the Mobil up for Sam to read the screen.

There was a text clearly marked for sending to Jessie. Sam read it, “Wednesday night was great Sarah. I didn’t know you were so flexible, but don’t tell Jess. She thinks I was ill in bed, and it would devastate her. After all she is your little sister, love Sam.” He looked up, “but I was ill in bed.” Simon let the extent of his powers sink in to Sam’s confused mind. “So are you going to help me? After all it’s for the good of Humanity.” Sam cast him a black look. “I suppose I’ve got no choice, Good night.” Then pulling the hat off his head, Sam settled down for a restless night.

“Wake up sleepy head, time to save the world.” Sam was up and in the shower, before he realised what was coming next, then he slowed down. It was an electric shower so he wouldn’t run out of hot water. He decided to take his time. Then his mother’s voice came through the door. “Sam don’t you be wasting electricity, and you promised to vacuum the stairs.” Shook from his bastion of safety by parental order, he finished up in quick time. And was just towelling down when he saw the clock. It was half past ten, and his mother would be at work. He scowled at the hat. “Now get dressed we’ve got work to do”, came Simons voice out of it.

The cap directed Sam down town, to a spot not too far from where he’s found it. “Now you see that shop over there”, came the eerie sound of Sam from on top of his head. “Why are you using my voice?” “Basic psychology, folk ignore people who talk to themselves. Now go in that shop and buy a ball of string.” “Is it a code to get us in to a secret section in the back?” Chuckling, Sam’s voice from above continued. “No it’s just a ball of string.” Sam did as he was told, and was soon stood in an ally nearby, that the hat had directed him to.

“It’s hardly super spy equipment” complained Sam. “I bet James Bond would kill for a bit of string. Now tie one end to your wrist.” As Sam made the knot secure the cap appraised his work. “Very good, now tie the other end to my adjustment strap on the back.” A man stood at the end of the alley, having just witnessed this bizarre double act. “Are you all right lad?” “Yes I’m just taking my hat for a walk”, cut in the cap before Sam could reply. The man fumed off muttering, “comedian.” “I thought you said folk don’t pay attention to people, who talk to them selves”, Sam accused the hat. “No I said they ignore them, and there’s always an exception to the rule. Now lower me down the drain.” Glad to be rid of the clever pants hat, Sam played out the string, as the cap descended in to the dark. He had a sudden idea, that if he undid his wrist knot he would be free. As if in answer to the guilty thought Sam’s phone rang, and on the other end Simon spoke. “Even down here, I’m able to call out, so don’t be picking at your new wrist band. Or who knows what text might be sent.” Cursing Sam continued to play out the string until, “Stop there I’ve got a signal.” And then Simon rang off. Bemused by this enigmatic message, Sam wrapped a loop of the string round his hand and held it tight, in this strange game of drain fishing. In about ten minutes when Sam was getting board, the phone rang again. “O.K. pull me up.”

Sam stared down at the now mucky cap. “I’m not putting you no, you look rank.” “Just brush it off simple lad.” So following orders, Sam was pleasantly surprised to find the hat looking good as new. “Static dirt repellent? That Tec doesn’t come cheep.” “Quality has its privileges. Now put me on, we’re going clothes shopping.” But Sam stood his ground, “Why the fishing stunt first?” So through Sam’s earpiece, Simon filled him in on the plan so far.

“That drain is an air shaft for a secret underground hideout, for the Order of the Golden Crab. The hideout is shielded, so I couldn’t penetrate its communications by normal means. But I could just get a signal right next to the air vent. I found the real Simon.” “You mean he’s not dead?” Sam startled a passing boy with his outburst. “Yes, but he’s in a bad way. But I don’t think he’s talked, or they would have killed him. So using their system, I gave the guards orders to transfer him to another of their locations.” Sam stopped in his tracks, whispering this time. “I’m not going to spring him in transit. I might get killed.” “You don’t have to. The order uses commercial couriers to move prisoners. I found that out from their records.” “Isn’t that kind of risky. Hasn’t anyone twigged they’re transporting people?” “No, the victims are drugged and crated. They even have oxygen masks so there’s no need for holes.” “But Einstein, won’t the courier just take the crate to where the order sends them?” “That’s where progressive technology comes in. The delivery address is stored electronically. So I just reroute it for you to pick up at a shop we’re going to.” “Smart, so that’s where we’re going now?” “No we’re going to get some clothes like yours,” replied the hat.

Sam didn’t like the way the cap had intoned like yours, but he said nothing. Content only that shopping was considerably less dangerous, than what he’d though he’d have to do. After getting a full outfit in sizes Simon ordered, Sam stood at the till. He whispered “I hope you know I can’t go buying stuff all the time.” But in his earpiece came the curt reply. “Quit complaining, you’ve got three hundred in your account.” “I wish you’d stop prying in to my affairs” Sam blurted out. It got him some funny looks off the assistant, as he sheepishly paid. While unheard by the cloths shop employee, Sam heard Simon laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m a journalist. It comes as second nature for me to pry. But the next purchase is on me.”

Next he directed the bag ladened Sam to another shop. “Let me do the talking,” explained Simon, as they got to the next shop’s collection desk. “I’ve got a delivery for Fred Wallaby.” The clerk didn’t even look up as he checked the screen. “It’s a big one, you’ll have to go to the back. There’s a roller door. Ring the bell and they’ll open it.” So off Sam strode, and was soon stood before the metal slats as they rolled up. “It says here you’ve got two packages,” the burly man said. Then he handed Sam a sheet to sign. With that done, he helped Sam get the two packages down to street level. And then he left, shutting the door down behind him.

One package was big enough to hold a man. The other was considerably smaller. “Quick open it up, he must be squashed in there.” So Sam did as he was ordered, and soon the real Simon sat dazed on the crate, as Sam helped him on with the new clothes. A cab pulled up near by, and the cap called out “Pick up for Jones.” The cabby waved back. Sam helped the injured man in to the back, and then he got the second package. The hat gave the cab driver an address, and off they sped. In Sam’s ear, he got more instructions. “We’ll take Simon to a safe house. Then you can witness the end of the villains who did this to him.”

The mist swirled about over Dunwich swamp, as the black limousine drew up, and three men got out. They were the sort of men you didn’t mess with. Big yet cat like in their movement, every inch a trained killer. They scoured the perimeter of the car with high Tec goggles. Then one put his hand to his ear and announced, “All clear sir.” The car door opened a second time, and out got the taller of the two men Sam had seen on the roof. A lesser man might have looked worried, but not presidential candidate Tingle. His steely eyes took in the scene, as he called out in a bold tone. “Back form the dead Farley?” The mist seemed to deaden his voice, but from some ware in the haze came a faint reply. “You always underestimated me Tingle. Do you really think you could kill me by just pushing me off a rooftop? I always have a plan to escape.” The big man by the car was unimpressed by this speech, and motioned to one of his bodyguards. “Go finish him for good this time.”

The three men advanced in the direction of the voice. “Can’t get a heat trace on him.” “Must be wearing a body suit.” Then the first of the three fell in to the swamp. There was a sucking noise, and then there were only two pursuers. Each lost in the mist, desperate to find their prey. “Behind you” came a voice just behind the leader of the group. There was a burst of gunfire as he got his target. Then rushing forward he found his fallen comrade, gunned down in the sucking mud. “Didn’t do too well with that one” came the taunting voice by his left ear. Spinning round he dove his knife in where he knew by instinct the speakers windpipe was. But encountering only empty space, he over balanced and his leg sank. He tried to pull it free, but the swamp had taken hold of another victim. And he slowly sank too beneath it surface.

On the bank, senator Tingle had heard this macabre game of cat and mouse play out. No one got the better of him. He drew out his gun and hollered. “It’s no good trying to hide that reporter, he’ll never live to testify, even if you did get him out. But why did you turn traitor at the last moment? You know we had a man close to the president if I lost.” He scanned the mist ready to fire when Farley replied. But the traitor remained silent. Perhaps he was dead though Tingle, but how to be sure. If Farley thought he had more men in place around the president, he’d dare not act. “You know Venowich isn’t our only man?” “Venowich is the traitor?” came the voice of Simon for the mist. If they were both here, perhaps this could end now. Emptying his clip in to the mist he advanced, almost manic.

Then stopping to reload he heard Farley’s voice again off to his left, so he ran towards it. He’d see the traitor’s eyes when he gunned him down. But too late, his foot sank. And pinned to the spot, he emptied his last clip at the voice as it laughed at him. Tingle was up to his waste now, and in desperation he threw his gun at his unseen tormentor. It was only then that he noticed it. Hovering just out of his reach was a small toy drone with a cap taped on top of it. “Smile you’re death will be on candid camera” came Simon’s taunt. Then it watched senator tingle sink beneath the mud, a final hand grabbing at the air in defeat, as it too sank and disappeared.

Sam emerged from his hiding place when Simon called him. “It’s all over, the head of the beast is cut off. Time to go home.” Sam found out the full story of what he had witnesses out in the swamp from TV news. The real story was covered up, but you can’t hide a presidential candidate’s mysterious disappearance. The news claimed he had been blown up with Venowich and Farley by terrorists. And the various arrests were not cult members, as Sam suspected. But the very terrorists responsible for the atrocity committed on home soil. Sam had made the cap promise to keep him out of it all, when he left it at the safe house with the real Simon, who was recovering. And true to the hat’s word, Sam’s life returned to normal. Except for one little thing. An anonymous well-wisher had deposited a fair amount in Sam’s bank account.

This made him make his decision. And at the party on Tuesday Jessie was pleasantly surprised, when on bended knee Sam had asked her to marry him. “Let’s go to Mars, and start a new life.” After all thought Sam, the head may be cut, but it might grow another.