Memorite Rogue, Chapter 1, Scene 1

I wrote this novel four years ago and have only sold a few copies. Those who've read it liked it, but without the marketing push most publishers have, it's been impossible to actually sell many copies. So I decided to start publishing it in a serial format on my blog. There are 25 chapters, each divided into 4-6 scenes (I'm not sure what the word for it is, but it's the break which occurs when there's a change in time or location).

So I'll place the scene in sequence on my blog, once each Friday. I'll try to see if I can come up with a method of linking the posts, so that if someone wanted to come back to this one to start at the beginning, they can find the rest easily.

If you find it interesting and want to go ahead and get the whole book, both print and ebook versions are available through http://memoriterogue.com/

Memorite Rogue
Chapter 1
Scene 1

YEAR: Event+39

////1//15AM
///FROM//TODD/ENGSTROM
///TO//MEMORITE/PRIME/COUNCIL
///FOLLOW/UP/ON/PREVIOUS/REPORT
////LOCAL/SEARCH/CONFIRMS/SUSPICION///MAY/POSSIBLY/BE/IN/
IMMEDIATE/DANGER///WILL/REPEAT/CONTACT/AT/1//35AM////

1:32am

They weren't even sure he existed, these Memorites. That didn't stop them from relentlessly hunting for him any time they got the slightest whiff that he might still be alive. He'd used that to his advantage, only occasionally at first, but then came the plan. They proved too predictable, so he decided to use that against them. For six years he'd carefully laid the plan out, piece by piece. Each time they reacted perfectly, exactly as he knew they would. Now he was close to the end. Only a few more pieces and he could bring their entire world down around their ears. But he'd gotten careless. No -- he had to be honest -- it was arrogance. He'd danced right beneath their noses for so long, he'd assumed too much and slipped up. Now one of them knew, or at least suspected. If he knew, then all was lost. For what one Memorite knows, they all know. Like nasty vermin ants, he thought. A hive of mindless robots all duped into the lie that they were helping humanity. It was only through an accident that he himself had escaped. He again thanked whatever force or power there was that brought him to the truth as he tightened his grip on the rifle.

“Thank you so much for staying late to help me.”

The girl’s voice drifted across the grounds and echoed slightly from the surrounding buildings. The intervening bushes and trees as well as the distance muffled it even more. The cool of the night air brought goose bumps to his skin, but he remained motionless. He couldn’t see the girl nor who she was speaking to, but he knew exactly where they were, down to the inch. He could hear the girl’s heels scuff the bricks in the walkway and the almost imperceptible ruffle of her jacket as she drew it closer. The person she spoke to made no sound. His steps were carefully placed to minimize any noise. It didn’t matter, the girl provided more than ample clues to their position.

“I really hated to ask you, but this was the only time I could think of and I knew you didn’t mind awkward hours. I didn’t mess up your evening did I?”

They were walking from the east entrance of the building that housed the faculty offices to the parking lot on the other side of the next building. Their path would take them across a space of 75 yards that provided only three openings through the bushes and trees to the man listening, crouching unseen amidst the bushes, trees, and briars. He probably could have done the job with one opening. In fact the challenge of it piqued his interest, but he subdued his zeal and chose to be cautious. One opening to verify their position, another to take the shot and a third in case something interfered with either of the other two.

“No, I have a habit of keeping odd hours,” the professor said to his student.

Finally he spoke. That allowed him to further pinpoint their position. The professor was walking directly abreast of the girl, on this side. By the rhythm of the girl’s steps and the sound her voice made, she was walking slightly sideways in order to turn toward him as she walked. Their pace was even, perfectly even, which would be expected. They should pass the first opening in just under three seconds, or about six and a half steps. The bushes were thick but the branches separated just enough for a small peek of the side of the building at that point. It would barely be enough to see more than six or seven inches of their chests. That was more than enough for what he needed.

Two seconds to go and the he could now hear other voices coming from the breezeway halfway between the first opening and the second. The girl’s steps changed rhythm as she angled her body in the direction she was walking rather than toward who she had been talking to. The continued scuffing and clicking of her heals confirmed that their pace remained the same.

They passed the opening and he locked into their position. He calculated the time it would take for them to reach the next opening almost instantaneously. The internal rhythm he kept going in the back of his mind, a continuous mental humming of rapid beats, so ingrained in his training that it had long since become instinct, allowed him to time their movement as accurately as if he’d had a stopwatch. His confidence in his next move was such that after making sure the silencer was secure he took aim at the bricks opposite the second opening and closed his eyes. At the precise time they would pass the opening, and he would squeeze the trigger. He even took the effort to add the speed of the bullet to his equation.

“Janie! Hi!”

The steps halted.

“Kristy! Gary! What are you two doing out so late? Professor Engstrom, you know Kristy and . . .? What am I saying, of course you know them.”

The three students shared a burst of nervous giggling.

“Uh, we were just coming back from Terry’s party, which you blew off, by the way.”

“Well, I had some studying to do, and Professor Engstrom offered to help tutor me for the mid-terms.”

“This late?!”

“Well, Professor Engstrom’s really busy most of the time.”

“Well, you wanna go with us back to the dorms?”

“Sure . . . Uh, thank again Professor, you really helped me a lot.”

“Think nothing of it, Janie. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

The chorus of byes was accompanied by the sounds of several feet scuffing and clumping back across the walkway. The three students made enough noise that, had he needed to, the man wouldn’t have been able to lock onto the Professor’s position. But he didn’t need to. He had two openings remaining. Focusing on the second opening he waited. There, quickly, but with enough of him visible to calculate the target, the Professor passed the opening. While he couldn’t hear the footsteps, he had observed the Professor long enough to know the pace at which he always walked. But there was another problem. The position of the Professor’s arm was such that, given the number of steps between the second and third openings, when he reached the third opening his arm would be swung back, blocking a clean body shot. The odds were that the bullet would still do its work, but he didn’t like playing odds. He raised the gun barrel enough to point to where the Professor’s head would be in a few seconds. A headshot would be harder, but still not a problem.

Again he closed his eyes. He focused on the math. His internal rhythm feeling like a giant hand that grasped all the elements together, slowly squeezing tighter. In his mind he could see the Professor; just as sure as if his eyes were open and the bushes and trees had been removed.

Four seconds. He let his mind soar and looked down at the Professor. He’d watched him walk this same route at least a dozen times. Each time keeping exactly the same distance between the wall of the building and the edge of the walkway.

Three seconds. Holding the gun completely still he lowered his head. His eyes not needed, he relaxed and focused on where he knew the Professor was and where he knew he would be in exactly . . .

Two seconds. The intense concentration was exhilarating. The focus needed relaxation. The relaxation caused peacefulness and the combination produced a blissful euphoria the swept him from head to toe.

One second. His mind in an almost trancelike state, the gun, the opening in the branches, the Professor became one object, one fluid continuum encompassing time and space.

The bullet struck the Professor at the base of the skull and traveled slightly upwards. It expanded upon contact with the skull, and thus ripped a wide path of destruction as it pushed through. Normally such a wound would leave virtually no time for the victim to even realize anything had happened. But this was not an ordinary victim. While his thoughts grew incoherent, the Professor had a quick realization that he’d been shot, followed by a hazy curiosity of why, followed by a dimming idea that it was some mistake. He was dead before his body had had time to even fall.

Still holding the trigger in, the shooter shook himself alert. He slowly released the trigger, then turned, and slipped away along the edge of the bushes, being extremely careful to make no noise.

“God bless you” Kristy shouted.

“Who are you God blessing?” Janie asked.

“Whoever sneezed over there by the bushes.” Kristy stumbled and grabbed Gary’s arm.

“Who is it? I can make him out in the dark.”

“Isn’t that uh . . . oh what’s his name . . . Waltzer, Washer?

“Walser, yeah, I think you’re right.”

The three continued to walk as they peered through the dark at the figure of another of their professors, sitting on a bench near the bushes. They could just see him well enough to see him drumming the fingers of his right hand on his left forearm. Janie, for a second, thought she saw something move near the bushes, but she dismissed it as her imagination, and caught up with her friends.

Posted by Danny Carlton at August 24, 2007 7:54 AM