Prisoner and Paradox

By Diane Astra

When Mechrom Guilford receives a sudden email begging for help from someone known only as "Prisoner," as an Angel of Technology he must don and confront his alter ego Paradox amidst a sudden tangle of underground plots and his own everyday life in order to save the one person he finds himself caring about in a world filled with paranoia and secrecy.

"Angels," as they're called, while having the ability to manipulate technology--computers and the like--are painted as criminals and outcasts from society, and attempting to even reach Prisoner forces Mechrom into dangerously using those abilities--for the Department of Technological Communications is notorious for swiftly cracking down on any known Angel. Even with the help of a fellow Angel with connections and the vast resources of the internet, he must face society's prejudices and shady organizations if he hopes to save Prisoner, all the while struggling to balance his other personality, who might be far more alive than either of them realize.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Astra
• Release date: Dec 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466143272

Diane Astra

Diane Astra is just a girl who's spent a few years hammering away at a keyboard about the images in her head and calling the results 'stories.' She lives in Someplace, Somewhere Sunny with her mental people (read: characters) and two Dangerous Over-large Gorgeous animals (DOGs), and when not rattling away at her keyboard or having her nose buried in a dead tree, she is chasing inspiration with a butterfly net (and certain pointy instruments of doom, but that's a secret).

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Prisoner and Paradox

by Diane Astra

Published by Diane Astra at Smashwords

Text Copyright © 2010 Diane Astra

All Rights Reserved

Book Design by Diane Astra

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

This file is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.

Dedication

For Taylor

Prisoner and Paradox

by Diane Astra

Prologue

He wasn’t expecting to receive an email just then, no. But he did. From a seemingly random stranger, a plea for help.

[From: Prisoner]

[Sub: (none)]

Please help me!

That desperate voice seemed to cry out in his mind. Not a moment he hesitated before replying. Something about that voice, imaginary as it might have been, seemed urgent and desperate. Calling out for any response.

[To: Prisoner]

[Sub: Re: (none)]

Who are you? Where are you?

[From: Prisoner]

[Sub: Re: (none)]

I don’t know... this is my first contact with the outside world.

[To: Prisoner]

[Sub: Re: (none)]

Hang on, I’ll call you.

He knew what this prisoner must be thinking: how exactly could he obtain the number? But that queasy feeling was swiftly overwhelmed by one of horrible urgency. Besides, there was no way, surely, that the prisoner could find out.

Prisoner?

The voice on the other end was fuzzy, filled with noise.How did you get this number?

That’s not important right now. You don’t know where you are? Are you in jail, by chance?

"...no. Not in a... jail. I... I’m sorry... the connect... breaking up."

It’s okay, I’ll send you an email.

"Thank... you."

The connection went dead and the tone droned in his ear. Slowly he closed the cell phone. Where...?

[To: Prisoner (********@******.***)]

[From: Paradox (*******@****.***)]

[Sub: Call]

Prisoner, as soon as you get this please reply to me. I’ll help you get out there. Even if you don’t know where it is I’ll find you.

Why do I want to help this prisoner so much? He mused, staring at the small glowing screen in the darkness. As he stood, the wired wings on his back scraped the wall.

Perhaps this person won’t ever have a chance to find out what a paradox I really am.

~~~~

Chapter 1

My username on the internet is Paradox. It has always been. As far as handles go, it’s nothing extraordinary. It belies my true existence. Who would ask, after all, Why is your name Paradox?

I am a paradox.

Paradox (n.) -

1. A seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true.

2. One exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects.

3. An assertion that is essentially self-contradictory, though based on a valid deduction from acceptable premises.

4. A statement contrary to received opinion.

I’m not meaning to angst about it. It’s just how I am.

Modern technology is the antithesis to humanity. It is used to perform actions that cannot be done normally. Some people are better than others with technology, given the complexity and level technology has progressed to. The former group is generally admired by the latter.

And then there are people like me. Those who have more than just technical proficiency. Those who have a ‘touch.’

In this world, those people are called ‘angels.’

It’s unnatural. A taboo subject, and a forbidden existence. When an Angel can manipulate the technology that so many lives depend upon to function, they are viewed as dangerous and should be exterminated.

As though the Angels can’t be trusted not to use their powers to destroy other people’s lives.

Strange, how little faith people can have in each other.

Perhaps, that too, is paradoxical. How a person cannot trust another person, who is almost exactly the same as they are, not to do evil.

Maybe it’s a conspiracy.

Either way, I don’t really care. I’m just an Angel trying to stay out of trouble. (Ha, Angels; a heavenly name for something automatically suspected of evil.) It’s easier when our wings can be hidden inside us, even if not for very long.

Nobody knows I’m an Angel; not even my family. Our wings, our power, develops once we have our first taste of interactive technology. By then I had already had an inkling of the way Angels were treated; it was talked about on the news, on the radio, in hushed whispers. You’d think we were a major problem the way it was spoken of.

But we are really only a tiny minority.

Why am I relating all this?

Because for all of my life thus far, I have never used my powers as an Angel. Well, I say ‘never’ but that’s a little untrue. I’ve used it for small things, like jolting a frozen computer, cleaning out spam mail, or helping out people with their crashed gadgets for small sums of money, even if the last one raises slight suspicion.

Up until now.

When I received a strange email in the middle of the night from someone called ‘Prisoner,’ begging for help.

I was in my room, unable to sleep after a monotonous day at school. The lights were all out, and it was utterly pitch black. The time I always use to lock the door and take off my shirt, and let my spidery wings out to breathe.

When I read Prisoner’s message, that person’s voice seemed to be so clear in my head, as though they were calling to me.

I never cared about anyone else. Never wanted to help anyone else. Only looked after myself.

I replied to it without thinking. Without considering the implications for me, the way it might change my simple, safe life. On pure impulse I answered it.

People wish for magical things to happen to them. They believe in the supernatural, wanting there to be something more, something more than the boring existence they lead, wanting there to be more than cold science. They want something to happen to them like the protagonist in a novel, who no matter what happens comes out strong and has a happy ending. They yearn for excitement, for thrill, for change.

Perhaps that’s what possessed me in that moment.

Only after I’d sent the first message that it hit me what I’d done. I’d disrupted the careful balance of this unchanging everyday life I led.

And then, when I said I’d call Prisoner, I used my power. Even if it was only for a moment, it gave me the most wonderful exhilaration. I traced Prisoner’s email address, the IP address, where they were sending the messages from. The whole thing took only a few seconds. But in those few seconds, it was as though I was rushing through the air, through space, the gray, garish world around me blurring as I flew on sparse wings, zeroing in on Prisoner’s location.

It was such a wonderful, electrifying sensation. One that I had never dared to experience before, lest my world turn upside down.

It did frighten me.

At the same time, I couldn’t believe why I never did it before. Even now, I’m still wondering.

I was in something of a trance when I sent Prisoner the final email. Only after I pressed ‘send’ that I realized what I’d said.

Now I’m obligated to help them. I pretty much promised I would do so. The only problem is I have no idea how to.

Maybe I’m just being selfish, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I attempt to free Prisoner. Obviously the place they’re in is somewhere inaccessible from the outside world, since the call to me was apparently the first contact Prisoner had.

I don’t even know that person’s name. Well... I can ask when, or rather, if I get a reply to my message. If I do though, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I don’t want to endanger myself. Not at all.

Tonight as well, it’s dark and I’m staring at my cell phone screen with its wallpaper of wings. I’m both anticipating and dreading the vibration and ring of a message received. The light it casts upon my face is harsh and artificial. I close it with a click and set it on the floor.

Perhaps I should have ignored it; the mail from Prisoner. It’s already shifting my way of thinking about—I’m already itching to use my power again. Before, the little things I used it for, only gave me a small, pleasant jolt. It was a nice feeling, sure, but not enough to be as addicting as this.

Around me, my thin wings curl; flimsy, skeletal things, comprised of colored metallic strands twisted and woven together. They even seem to glow faintly, pulsing in tune with my heartbeat.

Every time I see them, I think the same thing, curled up with my knees against my chest: ‘I’m different.’

In this world, what does that mean? Does that mean being an outcast, or being special?

I don’t know. I’ve never known how to respond to that thought of difference. Nobody knows what I am. I’ve been very careful not to let that happen. My secret.

I wonder, if I tell Prisoner, what would the reaction be? Does Prisoner even know what an Angel is, what an Angel of Technology is?

On the floor, the screen on the lid lights up, and the vibration seems impossibly loud in the dark room.

[1 New Email]

Momentarily I stare at it, then reach out to pick it up. My fingers curl back an inch from the surface, but I pick it up and open it.

[1 New Email]

[From: Annoying Friend ([e-mail])]

[Sub: School Today]

Hi Mechrom.

i wuz wondering if there’s something bothering u, since today u seemed more out of it than normal... If u want to talk, im right here~!

I sigh. Annoying friend indeed. Some people just don’t seem to understand ‘do not bother.’ I’m very tempted to simply ignore it. But that would mean more botheration tomorrow.

In my hand the phone vibrates again. My heart leaps in my chest as the thought that it might be Prisoner, the perfect distraction, floods my mind. That feeling withers up and dies when I see it’s from the same person as before.

[From Annoying Friend ([e-mail])]

[Sub: Message]

And don’t u dare ignore that message!

Before replying I change her name in my address book to just ‘Annoying.’

There are various different places I suppose that Prisoner could be confined in. Not the local jails, especially since Prisoner told me that they weren’t in a jail. Maybe it’s some government prison, and Prisoner was targeted specifically. Maybe they’re in somebody’s mansion, trapped with a cruel master.

I frown at the particular theory in my notebook. That’s almost too outlandish to be true. If Prisoner hasn’t had any contact with the outside world, then clearly there’s something special about that person and being kept in a place that ordinary citizens can’t reach.

Well, I think grimly, the teacher’s droning distant, I’m hardly an ordinary citizen.

And maybe... maybe... the thought that I’ve entertained: perhaps Prisoner is an Angel as well.

Ever since that crossed my mind, a shiver passed through me, and it does again now. That an innocent citizen could be locked away for no reason... whoever Prisoner is, I’m sure they don’t deserve it.

Or do they? That thought makes me uneasy. Maybe Prisoner is actual some dangerous criminal. I was so quick to assume they were innocent...

I don’t know anything about Prisoner. Nothing at all.

The sound of vibration reaches my ears, and surreptitiously I draw my phone from my desk.

[1 New Email]

I dart a glance around; at the moment nobody has their phones out, and technically we’re not supposed to bring them. My gut clenches as I draw the inevitable conclusion.

Excuse me, Ms. Switz, but may I go to the bathroom?

Go ahead, she says without turning around.

Be casual, be casual, I tell myself. I’m so used to doing it, but this time my heart is fluttering nervously and my legs feel weak, like they’re made of putty.

As always, the bathroom is filled with students texting and making calls and the sound of clicking. I sidle in amongst them and flip open my own phone.

[1 New Email]

[From: Prisoner]

[Sub: Re: Call]

Thank you so much. I haven’t had such kindness shown to me in a long time. I’m sorry for not replying immediately, but it’s difficult to communicate without anyone knowing here... Whatever information you need about this place, just ask. I’ll do my best to answer and find out whatever I can.

I close the phone and slump against the wall. My shoulders droop with relief and I actually smile, looking up at the white ceiling. Prisoner’s alright. I’d feared (why? Why am I so animated about this?) that there would be some kind of horrible punishment, but it seems no one found out.

That train of thought comes to a horrible crash as I realize that someone could have caught my tracking of his number. It’s one reason I didn’t use my power, but...

Maybe it’ll be okay if I don’t do it too often.

[To: Prisoner]

[Sub: Re: Call]

Don’t worry about it! I’m glad you didn’t get caught.

To be honest, I’m not sure where to start. You said it’s not a jail, but you have no idea where the place you’re in might be located?

I read the message five times to make sure I didn’t write anything wrong before hitting ‘send.’ Now... now I wait.

Hey, Mechrom!

My eyes are glued to the screen. I forgot to ask Prisoner’s name...

Hellooo~

Maybe I could call him...

Anybody home?

Or maybe that’s be too risky...

MECHROM!

I jump in my seat, noticing the Annoying looking at me angrily.

You don’t have to shout, I mutter and turn back to the phone.

Well, you keep ignoring me!

I wince at the volume of her voice. It matches the loudness of her bubblegum-pink hair.

What do you want? I ask shortly. Most normal people would interpret my hunched posture and aloof attitude as a sign to stay away, but not this one. Must have a screw loose somewhere, which probably popped out completely when she dyed her hair such an eye-hurting neon shade.

Talk to me.

You have plenty of other friends, leave me in peace.

No. Whatcha looking at?

I close the phone away from her prying eyes. Nothing.

You didn’t even reply to my email last niiight~

Don’t whine, I did.

No you diiidn’t~

Without another word I stand up and leave the room. Unfortunately she catches my arm in the hall and with surprising strength yanks me back. Some people just don’t get it.

What is it you want? I sigh. Let’s just get this over with so I can go back to my bubble of solitude...

I want you to talk to me.

I sit back down and put my head in my arms. Go away.

Geez, can’t you even treat your girlfriend any better than this?!

"You’re not my girlfriend, nor my friend. Go away