“What the hell… where did those things come from?” Cheri hissed, crouching behind the meter-high ledge around the perimeter of the roof.
“They’re trying to draw off the bloody Blackhawks, aren’t they?” said Hassim, his long, wiry frame and bushy tangle of black hair now completely covered by Bill’s jet suit and helmet.
“I don’t know why they’re doing that, but it doesn’t matter. They’re giving us enough time to escape, so we need to take it. Off the north side, low and fast, sonny boy.”
I shuffled over to Dad, who was still lying on the duffel bag with his eyes closed. “Dad, we’re going to fly out of here. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’ll carry you. I’m going to tie you to me so you can’t fall. It will probably be uncomfortable…”
His eyes fluttered open. “Oh, hi, Lukey. I heard you. I’m ready.”
“Dad… this is kind of… unbelievable, this whole thing. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it seems like an entire lifetime. That’s weird, isn’t it?”
Dad smiled, and finally he really looked like himself. “Weird is an excellent word. My mind isn’t working quite right at this moment, but I’ll have other words later. Let’s fly, Lukey.”
And that’s what we did: off of the north side of the building, down nearly to ground level, making a big circle back toward the west, where Bill said two LFP VTOLs were waiting to take us to San Diego, and they did. My Dad and I went in one piloted by none other than Sidney Alamo, a Bright Hand agent we met all the way back on Alexy’s ship on the way to Australia; he fought like a madman to help us get past the docks in Melbourne. Somehow, we got to San Diego without the Americans locating us, then to the airport where Ava pulled one more trick out of her bag of a million or more: she contacted Zoey Perez using the quantum communicator, and had her contact Mr. Oakes so they couldn’t trace the call to us. We had all decided, though, Cheri, Hassim, Dad, and I, that we would not go in the Bright Hand jet back to Australia. We might end up there, but we would take the long way, and Ava contacted Zoey Perez one more time to make the arrangements. Before long, we were sneaking onto an old freighter ship in the night, captained by a kind, portly Russian man with a long blonde ponytail and a fondness for leather vests.
It seemed an unbelievable stroke of good luck that our old friend was there in San Diego, and just happened to be bound for Australia, although eventually we found that it wasn’t luck at all, which was fine with us. All of us: Benji, his mind and mouth going a kilometer a minute, as usual, his bush of hair vibrating as he spoke; Mr. Harutyunyan, still the biggest, strongest, and probably the nicest person I know; Ms. Huong, hovering over us like a worried mother, her carefully messy hair always in place; Hassim, strong and bright as the sun; Cheri, my tough, clever, one-armed partner, the best friend I ever had: if it hadn’t been for her, I never would have made it through all the stuff we had to do to get Dad back, and she paid the price for helping me; and most importantly, my dad, who I would have done whatever it took to save. Come to think of it, I guess I kind of did do everything it took to save him, just like he did for me. You might even say now we’re even, but that’s not true. I saved him, but when he saved me, he turned me into a real-life, comic book superhero, and that’s pretty hard to beat. And, he gave me a constant companion, the world’s smartest, snarkiest, most sarcastic, confusing, loving, and loveable A.I., Ava. My Autonomous Virtual Assistant. Can you say an A.I. is loving? I don’t know if you can say that about any other one, but she’s one of a kind.
Epilogue
I n an underground room in an industrial complex east of what is left of San Jose, California, Mikayla Grace Shamley, Director of the Live Forever Project, sat staring at a monitor with Marcel Renault, the Senior Vice Chair of the secretive organization. Now long past midnight, surrounded by bottles of various adult beverages and the remnants of things recently eaten, they wondered at what had occurred and what might come next.
“So, it worked? It actually worked. They got out, all of them? This is unbelievable, Marce. I didn’t think… I mean, no way, right? I thought for sure that those Blackhawks would just mow them all down, I thought the VTOLs would just be grease spots on those hills. And that they made it to the Russian’s boat… do we know if Kane survived?”
Marcel reclined in his high-backed leather office chair, rocking absent mindedly as he considered. “We don’t really know what happened with him. I can’t imagine that the boy and his friends left him behind, but we do know he was shot at least a few times… he may be dead, he may be in a hospital somewhere under an assumed name, we just don’t know.”
Untying her usual work ponytail, Mikayla let her blonde hair fall free about her petite shoulders. “So, aside from figuring out what happened to Kane, are you telling me we can finally relax a little?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The object of all this effort, Dr. John Taylor, is on a Russian freighter a few miles off the southern California coast. Not exactly a secure situation; I would expect the Americans to be tracking any kind of transportation bound for Australia, so we’re a long way from being out of the woods, so to speak. You know, Director… uhh… stand by… let me switch over to our security camera screen…”
Leaning forward, Mikayla’s attractive features crumpled in worry. “What am I looking at here, Marcel? Tell me this is not what I think it is.”
His voice hushed and the words rushing out, Marcel said, “I wish I could, but it seems to be exactly what you think you are seeing. The building is surrounded by dozens of what appear to be federal officers… I would assume FBI, and… They’re coming in, Director. I think someone has pointed a finger at us, and if they think we caused all this… which we did, of course… we need to activate protocol two A, immediately.”
Mikayla reached to a panel of buttons and switches on the wall next to the monitor, pounded in a code on a touch panel, and massive, solid stainless steel panels fell to cover every entrance to the underground floors of the expansive structure. “That’ll hold them for a while, but they’ll eventually get through, and we’ve basically trapped ourselves in here. Our goose is cooked, Marcel. Who was it? Who turned on us?”
Leaning back and running both hands through his buzz-cut auburn hair, his eyes darted unfocused around the room. “There are only a handful of people who know everything… and I don’t think any of them have any particular remnants of allegiance to the Americans… hard to say, hard to say…”
Mikayla stood, considering him out of the corner of her eye as she paced. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Marcel. Was it you? It was you, wasn’t it? No one knows more about all this than you, and the timing… that the feds show up just as the crime is completed? That seems like quite a coincidence, Marce. Is that your actual name, by the way, or have you been a plant this whole time?”
He snorted and stood, matching her pacing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Even though you’re the Director, oh-so-clever youngest billionaire, you’ve always been jealous of me, haven’t you? I achieved because of my intellect, but you, you got here because of some imaginary… some phantom who gave you the answers to the test.”
“Oh yeah? I outsmarted you, didn’t I? you’ve wanted my position all along, but you didn’t have what it takes. Was it you? Just admit it if it was.”
He slumped back into his chair, appearing exhausted. “It wasn’t me, but I kind of wish it had been. Then at least I’d have a way out of this. We’re toast, Director. Look at the screen.”
On the grid of security camera video streams, one in the far right upper corner of the screen showed a group of federal officers working on one of the stainless steel panels with welding equipment.
After a moment of staring at the screen, Mikayla seated herself across from Marcel. “I’m sorry, Marce. I lost it there. What are we going to do? I can’t go to prison.”
“We may not have to worry about that. They may just question us and then kill us here and say that they were in fear for their safety.”
“Ques
tion us? You mean torture us for information, right?”
“I didn’t want to go there, but yes, that’s what I meant.”
“Holy crap. What are we going to do? There’s no way out.”
Marcel dug around in his pocket and produced a small, tin container. He pried it open, revealing several pink pills. “We could always go out like the Bright Hand agents, I suppose.”
“Death before subjugation? You seem prepared. Do you carry those pills with you everywhere?”
He chuckled before replying. “No, only when I come here. This is the place where I’m most likely to do something that would put me in the position of needing a last exit, as it were.”
“you’re… you’re not really going to do that, are you?”
“Listen, Director, I don’t want to be tortured, and even if they don’t kill us here, I can’t go to prison any more than you can. Do you know what prison is like for… for people like me?”
“What, they don’t like French people in the joint?”
“Very funny. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, it wouldn’t be good for me, either. I’m too much of a girly girl, and you’re too much of a girly guy. It doesn’t seem very fair, but who said life was fair, right? We can’t really do this though. I mean, what happens if we take those pills?”
He reached over, wrapped his fingers around one of the bottles of clear liquid on the office table, and pulled it near. “Take a long pull on one of these, pop a pill in your mouth, and you’ll just fall asleep. You might even dream, at least for a minute or two. Here, I’ll go first, so you can see how it’s done, shall I?”
“Wait, you mean just like that? No, Marcel, we can’t, I…” and then he took a drink and downed the pill.
His eyes glazed over, and he said, “See? Nothing to it. I’ve always been suicidal, you know that. This just gave me the perfect excuse. Here’s a pill for you.” He handed her one of the pink tablets and leaned back, his eyes closed and drool beginning to form at the edges of his lips.
She held the pill in front of her eyes, examining it for no particular reason. “Yeah, but I’m not suicidal… oh, man, I wish there was some other way out of this.” She reached for the bottle, took a long draught, and grimaced at the burning sensation in her belly. She raised the pill to her eye, examining the creases, and considering…
“Hey, come on, dude. Put that thing down. I told you I’d come for you if things got too crazy, didn’t I?”
She turned to find the source of the young, almost squeaky voice; her eyes came to a stop on a short, skinny, African-American teenager with an enormous afro and carrying an ancient-looking manual skateboard. “What the… who are you? How did you get in here?” she said, her voice shaky.
“Well, who do you think it is? It’s me, Uncle Marsh-dog. I’ve been watching, like I told you I would, and it’s time to blow this pop stand. Okay, you’ve done some sketchy stuff, but still, I can’t leave my pretend niece hanging. Come on, let’s go!”
“But.. but you’re just a kid! What…”
“Aww, I just look like a kid. I’m way older than you. In fact, nowadays I almost can’t relate to the concept of age. Come on, I’m gonna introduce you to your Uncle Ferdie. He’s your real uncle. And your Aunt Denise; she’s not your real aunt, she’s more like me. Oh, and your Uncle Flashy. Can’t forget him. Or her. Or it. Whatever. He’s from an alien civilization that’s way up on the Kardashev scale. just come on, we gotta get outta here, dude.”
“An alien? There’s no… and… and I don’t have a real uncle, my mother was…”
“Oh, you have an uncle, all right, you just don’t know it. Wait ‘til you meet this dude, he’s something else. Look, I don’t expect you to understand any of this right now, and we don’t have time for me to explain it while we’re stuck in this timeline. You gotta just trust me. I can get you out of this, permanently. The goal of your group is to live forever, right? Well, come hang with me and you won’t have to worry about that. Come on, hold my hand. Don’t get any ideas or anything, though, I gotta keep myself available for the ladies, and anyway, you’re my niece. Not really, but you know what I mean. Come on!”
“Am… am I dreaming? Am I already dead?”
“No, but you will be if we don’t get moving!”
So, for a reason not yet clear to her, she rose from her chair, walked to the smiling kid with the giant afro and skateboard, and took his hand; a tiny, flashing light appeared next to his head, and she thought for a moment that it looked like a flashing cursor on an old-school computer screen. And then… they simply faded away.
****
O n a Russian freighter ship headed southeast somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, Lucas Taylor sat in the galley, surrounded by his extended ‘family’. Aside from Benji Walker, Mr. Harutyunyan, Ms. Huong, and Lucas’ father, John Taylor, the group now included Chi Kim, whom Lucas called Cheri, Hassim Rajput, and Mr. Oakes; all of them had made the most improbable of escapes, and some, especially John Taylor, was in rough shape because of their trials. They sat eating a stew-like concoction with an unidentifiable kind of meat in it.
“I’m tellin’ ya, this grey stuff in here is the remnants of those bloody squirmies they snatched from down below in the produce holds,” said Benji, swirling the concoction in his bowl. “Still, doesn’t taste too bad, I reckon.”
Chi Kim lifted a spoonful of the ‘stew’ to her mouth with her prosthetic arm. “Look, all I’m saying is it couldn’t hurt. I mean, all of us have been through severe trauma, John most of all, and PTSD is an actual thing, so some counseling would help. That’s all.”
Mr. Oakes nodded as she spoke. “Some medication might be in order too, at least short-term. I’ve been taking it for a long time; it keeps me level.”
Dr. Taylor smiled, his eyes cast down at the full bowl on the table in front of him. “All right. I don’t disagree. But I’ll be okay, I just need some time. We all do, right, Lukey?”
Lucas, who, since their arrival on the freighter, had refused to leave his father’s side, nodded. “Yeah… Ava can help me, but… for everyone else, time and counseling is good.”
“Hey, Mard, come do a couple of your tricks for us!” called a group of sailors from another part of the galley, and he turned to his friends around the table. “I never thought I would end up an entertainer,” he said, his massive muscles rippling as he stroked his wiry beard. “I am a scientist, an engineer.” Then he stood, walked to the sailors’ table, and lifted two of them up onto his shoulders, to the delight of the entire room.
“What a show-off. He act like he don’t like it, but he does,” said Ms. Huong, shaking her head at the shenanigans.
Dad turned to Mr. Oakes. “How likely is it that the Americans track us down while we’re out here on the ocean?”
“They may eventually, but I sent them on a wild goose chase before I slipped away, told them you were on one of several hundred boats headed up the coast toward Alaska. It’ll take them a while to find out that wasn’t exactly true.”
John Taylor nodded slowly and spoke to no one in particular. “You know… I’ve had a lot of time to think about things… I just can’t determine to my satisfaction why the LFP went through all this to try to trick me into helping them. They tried to get us to join up with the Bright Hand, but there was always the sense that it was a ruse… that there was an ulterior motive that they were not willing to reveal. That’s the part I just can’t understand. If they had come to me directly, told me what they were doing and why they wanted my help… I mean, heading off into space to seed another planet… now, that sounds interesting. I probably would have agreed, because the whole idea is at least intellectually stimulating. Right, Benji?”
“Oh, yeah, mate. Same with me. They kept tryin’ ta manipulate me inta helpin’ ‘em with their reactors and even their fusion project, and I woulda done it in a second if they’d a come to me correct. I mean, headin’ ta Alpha Centauri at a measurable fraction of the speed a light? Now ya got my at
tention, mate.”
“Well, I guess they’ll have your help now. That’s why we’re headed to New Zealand, right?” said Lucas, his eyes as always on his dad.
“That’s right. A few people are coming to join us, as well. Dr. Lazenbee is already there; Benji will be excited to see her. I think Zoey Perez is making her way there, too.”
Chi winked at Lucas, but he wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. “Yeah, it will be quite a reunion. The entire group reassembled,” said Chi Kim, her eyes also on Dr. Taylor. “I assume you’ll be setting up a lab there, continuing your work?”
“Oh, yes, and they have the resources to make the process much faster. I suspect we’ll be up and running in just a couple of months.”
“Yeah, so, anyway…”
“Before you ask again, I cannot condone what you want me to do. I will not amputate perfectly good limbs so you can be like Lucas. He was like that already, and I was trying to make him whole. You’re already whole. Well, aside from your prosthetic arm, which is more than perfectly functional.”
“Okay, but what if something happened, and I lost my legs and other arm? I mean, one of my legs is already messed up… I’ll probably never run straight again, and I’m already down one arm.”
“Look, let’s talk privately about this, okay? Anyway, we’d have to come up with a control module, and it’s not likely that whatever we’re able to come up with will be as… as singular as Ava. I understand that you want to be a superhero like Lucas, but he’s singular too. The tech we created made it possible, but it’s who he is, his particular, innate gifts that allowed him to survive and succeed. Including his Asperger’s Syndrome. Most would see that as a hindrance, a burden, but it allows him to see things in different, novel ways.”
Reassemble (Singular Book 4) Page 28
