The Decoder - Chapter 1

I slammed the door and ran down the path. The twilight cool swirled around my face, even though the long-gone heat of midday had melted the tar road, which was slightly warm and sticky under my pounding feet.

“Esme!” I heard someone yell, followed by the usual “Come back!” and “Stop it, Es!”.

I didn’t care. The anger was a raging inferno in my chest. How dare they? I had to run it out, or kill somebody. But running was what I usually did. My frustrations had driven me through months of training, through triathlons, through ultra marathons. How dare they! The flat slap of my bare feet disappeared; I was on grass. Thorns and rocks stuck to the tar on my feet, but I didn’t care. My mother was re-marrying. She hadn’t even told me! Clouds boiled in the darkening sky, mirroring my mood. I cleared a grassy hill and hit a road. Posters on the lampposts stared at me. I caught something about wanted. My insides twitched with curiosity, but I smothered it under a blanket of pure wrath and ran on. I passed more posters. They were all the same. Wanted. Something or someone. Just don’t stop, I reminded myself. The sun was rapidly disappearing over the horizon, but I wasn’t worried. I had some money and could overnight at an inn. Running along the road, I reached the next grassy stretch upwards. This one had concrete steps built into it. I scaled them two at a time. It was working. I was calming down, gradually. Looking up, I spotted a strange group walking with flashlights along the path above me. They wore oriental clothes, which did not go with the HID-torches and other expensive gadgetry in their hands. My first guess was that they were a small fancy-dress party or a group of themed picnickers. The woman in front was obviously the leader, her large light making a jerking oval on the ground before her. She was talking urgently to the group surrounding her. I strained my ears inquisitively, but could make out no more than a constant babbling with a few distinguishable words in-between. I discerned the topic of conversation.

“-must find it...the decoder...invaluable...said...dropped here...” She swept her beam over the ground.

So they wanted to find the decoder, whatever that was. I watched, intrigued, as the searchers continued and I ran up to meet them. Then the leader stooped suddenly and when she appeared again, she was holding a small block in one hand. She raised it with reverence, her delicate features twisted by greed to an ugly snarl. To me, she looked exactly like the evil villain holding the weapon of mass destruction – it was straight from the movies. Then, with just meters between us, the vision shattered. The woman crumpled, her hands empty, there was a glint of light, a gentle clatter and suddenly the decoder was lying at my feet and I was blinded as all the lights swung to me. I stopped instinctively and stooped to pick it up. The object was a small, white square rather like a Lego block, but quite smooth and solid. I took my time to look at it, feel it in my hand. When I looked back up, squinting into the beams, the woman was staring down at me with murderous rage in her eyes. I took one look at her and her party wearing similar expressions – and fled. Don’t blame me for this. I wasn’t thinking at that stage, I was running on automatic. And my automatic said run.

They were all behind me, chasing, lights jumping around me, but none seemed to have trained for an ultra marathon before and when I turned off into a heavily-bushed footpath that snaked and twisted through the hedgerow, I left the lights and trampling feet behind me. Soon I was setting into a comfortable rhythm in utter, lonely silence. My breath misted the air, my blood thumped reassuringly human through my body. And all the while, I clutched the decoder tightly in my fist, the edges gouging furrows in my palm.

I emerged from the bushes onto a road and followed it into town. I intuitively headed for the nearest inn, with the small roll of bank notes in my pocket urging me to spend it. The roadhouse was a rundown old building crammed between a flashing nightclub and a broken-windowed curiosity shop. A few tiles had slid off the roof and shattered on the tarmac below. Soft yellow light sidled furtively through the blurred glass pane in the door. I gave a shy smile, smoothed my clothes and entered.

The host was cordial and detached, responding expressionlessly to my request for a table for one and a coke. I booked a room and contemplated the evening’s events. For the first time, I could look at the decoder in proper lighting. I opened my fist and carefully examined the white block. It was smooth and glossy and completely alien, but otherwise unremarkable, which led me to the second question. Why did these strange people want it so much? What had I done in picking it up? Again I attempted to find some clues in the block. I started to look for hinges or secret openings. As I twisted it in my hands, the block folded open. It split in the middle and formed a longer, thinner block. I twisted again, with the same results. An even larger block formed. Two more twists revealed a flat sheet with no visible joints or seams. I turned it over a few times, checking both sides for anything different. I sat back in my chair and sipped at my drink, trying to shift my brain into higher gear. But I only had more and more questions. I turned the decoder again. This time, there was black lettering on the pristine white surface. My heart made a wild attempt to escape via any route possible. I read the ridiculously simple lines:

“State: Tense

172 495.3”

The numbers flickered. The last digits changed slightly, back and forth.

I risked a quick glance around the room. About a dozen tables, mostly occupied, lined the walls. Low-cost lighting afforded the room a humid ochre glow. Bottles glistened owlishly through the interior smog, a hazy suspension of sweat, smoke and dust. Gentle clicks and murmurs rose from the peaceful, faceless customers all around. Tasteless paintings adorned the crumbling walls. The one above my head featured a pack of howling wolves in an atrociously bland snowscape. I realised that my quick glance had turned into a long, drawn-out stare and ducked my head reprovingly. I could feel those people searching for me, eyes roving, searchlights sweeping... I felt rooted to my chair in fear. Glancing back to the decoder, I read the neat lines of text again. The little sheet felt oddly warm in my hand, almost as if it were alive. This pointed my thoughts in another direction. I’d read books and seen movies. If this was one of them, it was probably a fantasy or adventure story. But what kind of character was I? The thieving villain? The main character, poor victim of circumstances? And what was the oriental woman? Good and evil... Evil and good...

I interrupted my thoughts and turned back to the decoder.

“State: Anxious

170 682.4”

Was it just me – or was it different? What was the first one again? I blinked.

“State: Nervous

169 985.7”

Okay, so that did it. This was some kind of tablet, yes? To read people’s minds and express the brainwaves as numbers and words. So if it was an electronic device, it ought to have some kind of control system or commands. Maybe it could do other things too...

“State: Uneasy

153 672.9”

Now I could see the numbers racing backwards, dragging me with them, I felt a deadly weight dragging me down and I was sinking... sinking... then it stopped. The last thing I saw was:

“State: Alpha

672.5”

Then the cliché happened. It all went black.