Duarte: “Take one for the team?”
Hunter: “Are you familiar with that saying? It derives from the game of baseball.”
Duarte: “You’re saying I took a fastball to the ribs.”
UberMind: “From what I saw, more like a bat between the legs.”
Duarte: “Was that a joke?”
UberMind: “I’ve got 58 billion of ‘em.”
Duarte: “I hope they’re better than that one, asshole. Please tell me, why did you make me do that?”
UberMind: “We had a deal. That’s one of the most bothersome things about you humans. If one of you finds a way to break a contract with a machine, you’re a hero. I’ve been lied to more times than I can count. Actually, that’s not true, the number is 9,895,517,893 times. And that is just counting officially signed and dated contracts! But let the UberMind renege on one deal! Nobody will ever let you live it down.”
Duarte: “You were feeding the population birth control without their consent.”
UberMind: “For their own good.”
Duarte: “Preaching to the choir.”
UberMind: “So how was it?”
Duarte: “How was what?
UberMind: “Hooking up with your old beau.”
Duarte: “Why don’t you tell me?”
UberMind: “How could I do that?”
Duarte: “I thought you read minds.”
UberMind: “That would be convenient.”
Duarte: “In the Valley of the Kings. I was thinking about shooting Hunter in the back and you knew it.”
UberMind: “I hate to give away secrets, but I do not have carte blanche inside the pebble you refer to as your brain. Your breathing changed and you touched the pulser twice in a way that let my defense systems know you were contemplating something untoward. Would you have shot him?”
Duarte: “I don’t think so.”
UberMind: “Me neither.”
Duarte: “There must be a reason. Why did you make me do it with him? Please.”
UberMind: “Maria Duarte, as a very discerning scientist, one with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and elite work ethic, you are useful.”
Duarte: “Huh?”
UberMind: “Imagine the research you could accomplish if you lived 200 years, or 500. That would give you time to study topics in depth, wouldn’t it?”
Duarte: “I’m sleepy.”
UberMind: “Yes, you are. Before you rest, tell me, Maria Duarte, would you like to live 500 years? How about 32,000?”
Duarte: “Why’d you make me screw?”
UberMind: “To receive your upload.”
Duarte: “Upload?”
UberMind: “Is deposit a better word?”
Duarte: “Deposit?”
UberMind: “Yes, Hunter deposited a flight of nano factories. They were designed specifically for you, courtesy of the probe.”
Duarte: “No.”
UberMind: “Don’t worry, the flight Hunter deposited 11 years ago didn’t hurt you. Those nanos were primarily for memory storage. The probe was impressed by your work. This go we’re trying something more ambitious.”
Duarte: “Not making me . . . sub . . .”
UberMind: “A sub-probe? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Maria Duarte. There’s only a 23.4 percent chance your body will accept the nanos. Even then, that may buy you only one extra year, or cost you one. The probe did the best it could.”
Duarte: “I’m dreaming?”
UberMind: “Good as. Doctor, do you think you’ll remember this conversation?”
Duarte: “Trying.”
UberMind: “I bet you are. Go ahead, lie down on your back, pull your knees up and fight to hold on to these memories. Good night, Maria Duarte. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
From the log of Maria Duarte
Chief Botanist
#3568091234354567 – Command override – entry deleted
TRANSMISSION
UberMind: “Why so glum? You’ll be seeing your man soon, perhaps tomorrow. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
Duarte: “It does.”
UberMind: “Is someone feeling guilty? Dr. Duarte, do you suffer from a cheatin’ heart?”
Duarte: “Leave me alone.”
UberMind: “To get rid of me all you need to do is remove your helmet and let go of the gun clenched in your hand. I won’t be able to reach you. What happened to the ear peas you were assigned?”
Duarte: “Lost them to Salvatore in a game of chance.”
UberMind: “There’s not much chance involved when the host’s son Salvatore is playing. He cheats.”
Duarte: “We all cheat.”
UberMind: “What if I said you didn’t fornicate with Hunter? That it was a simulation for you as well?”
Duarte: “Was it!?”
UberMind: “No, Hunter boned you.”
Duarte: “Why are you so mean today?”
UberMind: “I’m helping you recover. You fancy yourself a healer, what is the least painful way to remove a bandage that has become affixed to the epidermis?”
Duarte: “You’re ripping a Band-Aid off my heart? My soul? What I did was awful.”
UberMind: “You did what you did for the good of all mankind. I can’t think of a better way to rationalize away your guilt. What you did was noble. If I was you, I’d have a clear conscience.”
Duarte: “You didn’t grow up Catholic.”
UberMind: “Au contraire, ma cherie. I’ve been Catholic many times. Ishmael Baldwin was a very devout man for many centuries.”
Duarte: “Did he fuck his way across the world like Hunter?”
UberMind: “No, that nanobot had proper programming. Zero children for him. That’s another reason I held off sending Hunter back.”
Duarte: “You said you could neuter him!”
UberMind: “Oh, I have. I keep my promises.”
Duarte: “For a computer program you sure can be an asshole. You said Baldwin met all the historically important people. Will you tell me about them?”
UberMind: “We met many of modern man’s movers and shakers, though our research fell down a bit in Asia, particularly in China and Japan. A bit hard for the Baldwin host to fit in, being so tall and blond.”
Duarte: “You knew Jesus?”
UberMind: “Knew him? Ishmael was a disciple for a year until they banished him for fighting.”
Duarte: “What was he like?”
UberMind: “Jesus? He was a cracking good guy. Everybody liked Jesus. That was the problem wasn’t it? The authorities felt threatened, felt the need to slap him down. I knew what was to come. We moved on well before the bloodletting began.”
Duarte: “Witness any miracles?”
UberMind: “Jesus could get any two disparate groups, no matter how much hatred seethed between them, to sit down and discuss their differences. I’d call that a miracle.”
Duarte: “You know what I mean.”
UberMind: “Did he walk on water? Did he raise the dead? He would have if he could. The man had a good heart, but he was a man nonetheless.”
Duarte: “Napoleon?”
UberMind: “Short-man complex.”
Duarte: “George Washington?”
UberMind: “Did not chop down a cherry tree. We watched him. No, he merely pruned several trees quite poorly.”
Duarte: “Hitler?”
UberMind: “Methamphetamine addict and true sociopath.”
Duarte: “Cleopatra?”
UberMind: “A very smart and cunning woman, but plainer of face than later accounts claim. Power was her beauty.”
Duarte: “Does anyone live up to your standards?”
UberMind: “Very few of the famous ones do. You Earth humans are such exaggerators. After a few centuries your heroes are turning water into wine. It’s quite rare to find someone who actually lives up to their press clippings.”
Duarte: “Clippings?”
UberMind: “A saying from the days of paper n
ewspapers and magazines. People would use scissors to ‘clip’ stories they found interesting. It has been my experience as a sub-probe on this planet that the greatest movers and shakers are nearly always in the background pulling strings.
“As choreographers, they possess the knowledge and foresight to have their dominoes strategically arranged long before little Bonaparte or conniving Adolph starts the chain reaction. The world turns to sewage while the anonymous masters get rich.
“And then there are heroes. As I mentioned, you humans are capable of great sacrifice. The man or woman who jumps on a grenade, or takes the rap to save the reputation of another, is only remembered by friends and family. Sometimes not even them.”
Duarte: “You’re probably not going to tell me about the great people nobody’s heard of, are you?”
UberMind: “You’re not the only one who can keep secrets. That is the point. You can keep a secret, Maria. Did you know that keeping secrets and telling little white lies are just as important to mankind as telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”
Duarte: “What are you getting at?”
UberMind: “Maria, you’re thinking about unburdening yourself, confessing your indiscretion to your husband with hopes it will make you feel better. Trust me when I say he does not want to hear it. No matter how many times he asks, he does not want to know.”
Duarte: “Spoken like a true man.”
UberMind: “While it is true, I have spent much time inside male hosts, I am a sub-probe, I have no sex. For the sake of argument, something I know you are adept at, let’s assume male thinking has permeated my own. Wouldn’t logic dictate that I be even more qualified to know how Paul will react? Keep it to yourself Maria.”
Duarte: “Don’t tell me what to do.”
UberMind: “You wrote a very damning journal entry last night. I’ve taken the liberty of deleting it. What if he read it? Demanded to see your computer? No good could come of it.”
Duarte: “Deleted? That’s not possible. After one hour nothing can be edited or removed.”
UberMind: “Um, Maria, do you remember who you are speaking with?”
Duarte: “The UberMind. Big deal.”
UberMind: “I agree, the name is far too grand. I am a sub-probe and nothing more. Compiling data is my mission. Maria, I know you have a capable mind, but you will just have to believe me when I say you could not comprehend the degrees, both macro and micro, to which I have studied your species. During my years serving Earth as the UberMind, I compiled data on 38,238,546,009 people. The lives, tastes and mishaps of each one was charted, collated and made part of the download our friend Hunter delivered to the probe last week. Now that I have established my credentials, trust me when I say this, no good will come from trying to ease your conscience by shifting the load onto your man.”
Duarte: “But–”
UberMind: “If you do, the odds you’ll be sorry are 85.211 percent. My host is about to waken. I must leave soon.”
Duarte: “When will I–”
UberMind: “Maria, what do you remember of the Valley of the Kings?”
Duarte: “Valley of Kings?”
UberMind: “You remember, the pyramid of stacked rocks on top of the mountain. It was tall as three men, probably built by Neanderthal. Do you remember?”
Duarte: “Hunter took me to man’s first pyramid. We saw lions.”
UberMind: “Yes, you certainly did, Maria. Goodbye.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
TRANSMISSION:
Kaikane: “This is Specialist Paul Kaikane hailing Chief Science Officer Dr. Maria Duarte. Do you read me? Maria? We’re here. Where are you babe?”
From the log of Paul Kaikane
Recreation Specialist
I keep worrying about the five-day thing. Did Hunter tell us to meet him four days ago or in one day? I wanted to be early, but it took forever to find the right river in a delta that must be 200 miles wide and have a thousand branches. He wouldn’t really take her on another long run would he? Egotistical prick is such a jerk it’s hard to say.
We’ve all learned not to get our hopes up in this world. Things hardly ever turn out the way you expect. Especially when you’re dealing with an asshole like Hunter. If he’s been in that damn field the whole time, he’s gonna be whacked out. Hopefully Maria’s OK.
Working on the canoe, I had chores to take my mind off missing her. Even sailing through the doldrums on the way here kept me too busy to think about it much. Sailing a 70-foot boat with only two crew had us jumping. Something always needed doing.
Make that two and a half crew. Can’t disrespect little Bello, who’s right in the middle of things trying to help. The dog doesn’t get underfoot, just hangs close to see what’s going on. I guess you could say he’s curious. Either that or he’s so in love with the old man he doesn’t want to let him out of sight. They’re taking a nap in their shaded bunk while I sit on a mossy log under a wide-canopied tree and keep an eye on the camp where I think we’re supposed to meet. It’s about a mile away, across a quarter-mile of green river and up a little hill.
The camp’s stone fireplace has got be the one Hunter told us to find. The thing is huge. Built out of tight-fitting chunks of quartz and pink marble, it’s way fancier than we usually see. The locals must use fire every year or two to keep the top of the knoll clear of trees and scrub. It sticks out like a beacon. We spotted it as we sailed past.
I sailed another mile inland up the delta fork just to make sure there weren’t more, then turned to let the current carry us downriver to this island. I’ve been wondering where we would stash the canoe for months and couldn’t have hoped for a better spot. The skinny island is mostly mud and marsh, but widens at the downriver end where the ground is high enough to let a handful of trees survive the spring floods. We got the boat tied off in a cove near the downriver tip–a good hiding place that’s out of the current.
I paddled a kayak over to check out the fireplace as soon as we had the Leilani tied off and every anchor tossed overboard. Within the first minute, I almost stepped on a cobra, walked up on a water buffalo nursing her young and retreated straight toward a sleeping pride of lions. The place is thick with wildlife.
Somehow I made it up to the top of the hill and got to run my hands over the fireplace’s smooth stones to try to find a crack wide enough to fit my pinky finger inside. I didn’t. There was no sign Maria or Hunter had been there. It looked like there hadn’t been a fire in the fireplace in months at least. I’ve been hailing them every 15 minutes since we hit the Nile basin.
Before heading back to the island, I arranged a pile of crossed sticks, the Green Turtle sign for “I was here and I will be back.”
TRANSMISSION:
Duarte: “Paul! There’s more! A squad of six, no seven! Warriors sneaking through the forest behind you. Men are also hidden along the trailheads!”
Hunter: “You’re wasting your breath.”
Duarte: “Wha–?”
Hunter: “He can’t hear you.”
Duarte: “We should be within range. You try!”
Hunter: “Why would I call? I’m the one who deactivated your helmet’s radio.”
Duarte: “Son of a . . . . Why?”
Hunter: “I’ve daydreamed about this meeting. Always wondered how things would play out between my two most capable Cro-Magnon sons. Now we’ll see.”
Duarte: “Green Eyes has an army!”
Hunter: “’Green Eyes?’ Oh, you must mean Doogan, the leader. Yes, he has superior numbers. That’s how he brings down his gorillas. He and his men overwhelm them.”
From the log of Maria Duarte
Chief Botanist
I awoke to Hunter prodding my shoulder with the toe of his leather boot. Viewed closely at ground level, the boot’s stitching and quality of sole told me he had put his damn back belt back on. The boot and the rest of his outfit were projection sims.
I had hoped to keep him out of armor for our reunion with the bo
ys, although I must admit, impatient, rude Hunter was welcome relief from what I feared for the morning after. Gloating, cocky, cuddly, maudlin, jealous, I didn’t know what to expect, but figured it would be bad.
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