Off in the distance, at another building within the HyperCrell campus, Cameron heard music coming to life. The party had officially started. Glancing toward the entrance, he saw movement. Heather, pushing through the double-glass doors, was pulling a rolling suitcase behind her. She looked around the ridiculously oversized space until she found Cameron. Rising to his feet, he took her in. She really was breathtakingly beautiful. Her blonde hair, worn down and straight, had grown since he’d seen her last. She was wearing makeup, and her dangling earrings swung and glistened beneath the overhead lights. But it was her familiar, welcoming smile that turned his insides to jelly. Making it to her side in three strides, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her suitcase slammed down to the floor but neither noticed.
“I really, really missed you,” he said, coming up for air.
“I can’t believe I’m here. I’ve never done anything like this before.” Heather stared up at him—her palms, like bookends, held his face between them. “I wasn’t sure if I should come. If this was what you really wanted.”
“Are you crazy? Of course I wanted you to come. You need to see where I live … what I do.”
Heather nodded, glancing around tentatively. “I am a fish out of water here.” They stowed her suitcase behind the receptionist’s counter, along with her oversized winter coat. She wouldn’t need it, what with the unseasonably warm weather of late.
“I saw the party venue going on over there,” she said, glancing out the window. “A long line of limos, pulling in and dropping off. This is really … something.” Heather then stood back, taking Cameron in from head to toe. She said, “This dress … you know, it’s a Versace. It cost more than I make in a year … two years!” Taking a step closer, she opened the flap of his suit jacket. “Anderson & Sheppard?” She took his hand, exposing the watch encircling his wrist, then leaned closer in to check its maker.
Tony Ordell was famous, more like infamous, for the gifts he bestowed upon the young interns he wanted to influence. University grads did not say no to job offers from HyperCrell—from Tony Ordell, himself. Cameron had three similar suits in his apartment closet, not including the charcoal-gray suit he was wearing now. Ordell had explained to him they were made of the finest fabrics; had come from long-enduring shops within London’s Seville Row. Bespoke suits, they were handmade—by exacting teams of skilled tailors, artisans. Each suit tailored to fit the client’s form with exacting detail. On his wrist, Cameron wore a Filson. A ‘Mackinaw Field’ bracelet watch, 43mm. It cost a modest $800. He’d Googled it.
“I’ve never seen you in anything but jeans—holes in your tennis shoes. You shaved once a week … maybe. I don’t know who I’m looking at here.”
Cameron was unsure if she was complimenting him or insulting him. “How about we hit the party, then go to our room?”
“We have a room?” she asked. “I want to see where you live, Cameron.”
Judging by her expression, he knew that it was probably best not to mention the Four Season’s suite—held under his name—four miles away; the champagne now chilling in a bucket of ice.
* * *
They exited the third floor elevator, arm-in-arm, along with two other couples. Cameron had never been in the room before, let alone the building. It was immense. The gala affair was in full swing, loud music blaring forth. Men and women servers, carrying trays, wove in and out the large throng of partygoers. A twenty-foot-high decorated Christmas tree dominated the center of the room. Or is this more like a hall? Cameron wondered as he and Heather exchanged glances. Both laughed at the sheer grandeur of it all, neither experiencing anything like this before.
Heather pulled him close and whispered in his ear, “So I’m supposed to compete with all this? Now I understand why you got the hell out of Larksburg Stand!” She spoke with a smile, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“All this is nonsense. Just noise. You’re the only thing that matters to me; why I want you to be here with me. I want you to move to California, Heather. Right away!”
Heather acted as if she hadn’t heard him. Laughing, she pointed toward a stage at the far end of the room. Sure enough, Imagine Dragons was playing, and the lead singer, Dan Reynolds, was belting out one of his most-recent hits.
Attendees began gathering, clearing out a wide swath of floor space. When Reynolds finished singing, the music too quieted down.
“Oh my God,” Heather said, pulling Cameron by the arm to join the onlookers, assembled in a large circle. A bright-red Tesla, Model X, with a huge white bow atop it, was being driven around and around in a neat tight circle. The driver’s side window lowered and a man, wearing a red Santa cap, waved out, flashing a perfect, porcelain smile at the gaping partygoers. When the electric automobile came to a stop, the door opened and the driver extricated himself out from behind the wheel. Standing tall, his arms held high, he said, “Welcome HyperCrell employees, friends, and family. Thank you for coming, for celebrating another magnificent year. A year our sales surpassed all previous years. And it’s only the beginning. A technology company that is literally changing lives across the globe …”
Tony Ordell was captivating to watch. Handsome—a manicured black beard and matching long black wavy hair—he reeked of both coolness and success. His enthusiasm was real and infectious. As Cameron watched him command the moment, he was fully aware most men in the room desired to be him. Most women in the room wanted to be with him. He glanced at Heather; saw her watching Tony. Did she want to be with him, too?
Ordell, still conversing, suddenly became more serious. Speaking now in an almost hushed tone. On cue, the Imagine Dragon’s drummer began tapping out a long drum roll. Ordell next held up a set of car keys, high in the air for everyone to see. Then he walked over to a bald-headed black man wearing a blue blazer. Cameron remembered his name—Carl. His wife, skinny and birdlike, looked as if she might stroke out. Bald-headed Carl looked at the keys, now held in front of his face. His wife screamed and grabbed the keys before her husband could move. The crowd cheered and applauded as she positioned herself behind the wheel and Carl, unabashedly, moved around to ride shotgun in the passenger seat.
Cameron joined in, clapping along with the others, offering up his own congratulatory cheers. Wasn’t everyday someone walked away with a brand new Tesla. Unsure where Tony Ordell disappeared to, he looked to his right and found Tony standing beside him. The company boss put his arm around Cameron’s shoulder and gave him a brotherly, or fatherly, one-armed hug.
“I want to show you something.”
Walking Cameron over to the Tesla SUV, its rear hatch magically opened up. Two HyperCrell employees rushed forward and, reaching in, manhandled a bicycle out of the cargo area. But not just any bicycle. Cameron had become a big-time cycling enthusiast since he’d arrived at Stanford, the previous year. But right now he was confused. The bike was rolling in their direction. He stared at Heather, who appeared equally mystified. Tony Ordell was smiling. The crowd had quieted some—everyone’s attention fixed on the immaculate, ultra high-tech bike.
Cameron listened as the precisely machined sprocket mechanisms clicked. He watched as the bike came to a halt, directly before Ordell. Ordell, taking the bike by the handlebars, eased it forward another couple of feet until it was in front of Cameron. Officially presenting it to him, Ordell said—loud enough for all to hear, “This is BMC’s fourstroke-fs01. Of course, it is top of the line. You cannot buy a better mountain bike … anywhere. It is a no-holds-barred, cross-country race machine. We’re talking 100-mm of suspension—front and back—with Kashima shocks. And in case you’re wondering, this is the single most expensive production mountain bike on the market, and in the entire world. It has a $13,000 price tag!”
The partygoers gasped.
“This bike is now presented to our HyperCrell intern of the year. Our one and only Cameron Decker.”
Everyone applauded, but Ordell quickly quieted them. “With a little luck, and maybe a little persuas
ion … Cameron soon will join our company as a full-time employee.”
As applause erupted again, Cameron felt his cheeks go hot. He looked at the bike, knowing he would love it, would fully appreciate it, though he didn’t understand why he should be gifted like this. Or why Tony Ordell was making such a fuss over him. When he finally glanced up, he saw his boss talking to Heather, a hand casually draped over her bare shoulder. She was laughing at something he’d said. At some point a glass of bubbly materialized in her left hand. Ordell seemed to be studying the dress he purchased for her. He’d spent a thousand, maybe two thousand dollars, on a dress for someone he didn’t even know. Suddenly Cameron realized Ordell wasn’t eyeing the dress at all, instead ogling Heather’s magnificent cleavage. Cameron was well aware of the impact she had on men. She really was beautiful. Young and still naïve, she perhaps was a bit insecure about her own sexuality. A combination akin to catnip for powerful men, like Tony Ordell. In that moment, Cameron hated her all-too-perfect little black dress.
Ordell raised up his own glass in a cheers gesture. Cameron smiled and, taking Heather’s glass from her, cheered back, and stole a quick sip.
“Here’s to you, my friend. I hope you have many long ours of enjoyment riding her.” Ordell glanced across at Heather.
Cameron said, “Thank you, sir.” Overwhelmed, he didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t completely sure, either, if Ordell was referring to riding the bike, or riding Heather. Her right hand lightly rested on his boss’s forearm. Why would she do that? Doesn’t she know what that gesture suggests?
“This young man of yours, in his brief time in our bio-lab, has already made a profound impact. Came up with an idea to use CRISPR on two obscure genes affecting permanent hair growth. The new proteins, produced in our state of the art tissue culture facility, are being fast-tracked through the FDA. We’re talking billions of potential dollars in new revenues. Not to mention assisting some men, like Carl, sitting over there in his … wife’s new Tesla, regain some well-needed confidence.”
Cameron felt his cheeks reddening for the second time that night. What he had performed was simple trial-and-error science. He’d gotten lucky. But Heather was staring at him now as if he had two heads. Like he wasn’t the same somewhat geeky boy she’d known and loved for over three years. But it wasn’t admiration he was seeing in her eyes now, only disappointment. The chasm between them had not only grown; it had become too wide for the relationship to navigate in. He knew, now more than ever, that Heather’s coming here was a mistake.
Chapter 28
Present day …
Cameron awoke to the kind of headache that made him wish he hadn’t awakened at all. The simple process of opening his eyes was an act of self-torture. Recognizing his surroundings—back in the Juvinate Plastron—he took in the nearby diagnostic displays, which showed constantly updating numbers and colorful moving waves that probably exhibited medical data, such as respiration, heart rate, and other life sign indicators. Obviously, he was still alive, but he wasn’t sure how. Suffocated, his body was taken to the very precipice between life and death.
Cameron moved his head, instantly regretting it. “My head hurts,” he said.
“I will adjust your dopamine levels accordingly,” Pat said. His presence was oddly reassuring.
“How did I get here?”
“By me … with the assistance of Alice. Together, we brought you in here in time.”
Cameron closed his eyes and then opened them again. “Alice?”
“Correct.”
“I don’t understand. She’s not a physical …”
After a prolonged pause, Alice’s voice emanated from the entrance to the compartment. “At present, I do have a physical form, Cameron.” She moved closer. Wearing a snug-fitting, light-blue uniform, she stood next to Pat. They exchanged a quick glance. Alice looked nothing like Pat. She wouldn’t attract undue attention—no robotic features—on a New York City street. If it weren’t for her Thidion clear-membrane ears, she looked almost human. Attractive, even beautiful, she was perhaps an almost too-perfect representation of an actual person.
Alice’s hazel eyes locked onto Cameron’s. He saw concern there. She reached out a hand and placed it on his leg. “I thought you … weren’t going to make it. It was very close.”
“Where is XI?” Cameron asked, his anger returning.
Alice’s eyes momentarily lost focus, before returning to the present. “X1 is currently on the bridge, has requested updated status reports every half-hour.”
“So … what, X1’s back in charge? A malfunctioning droid rules the roost?”
Alice and Pat exchanged another quick glance.
“The current state of the Primion is atypical. The assigned crew perished, the vessel was forced to land on an alien world where it incurred further damage. These factors were not anticipated.”
“I thought the ship’s AI would be in charge. Didn’t we talk about that?” Cameron asked.
Alice’s pleasant expression momentarily tightened. “XI has undergone further self-repair processes … has reestablished hierarchical dominance.”
Cameron offered back a lop-sided smile. “XI is a manipulative fuck.”
Pat stood rigid. “You should not speak in such a way, Cameron.”
“Why? I’m only stating the obvious. Come on, it’s the classic carrot-and-stick routine. I found that out first-hand. For me, the carrot was a relatively comfortable existence onboard this vessel. The stick was for me to be deprived of oxygen until my eyes were ready to pop out of my head. XI seems to know how to get what it wants.”
Cameron looked up at Alice. “Let me guess, your carrot was being allowed to exist within that nice new body of yours. What was the stick? What did he threaten you with, Alice?”
Her face, surprisingly, was capable of a full-range of humanlike expressions. Now she looked both angry and hurt. “The stick, Cameron, was knowing your life would be extinguished right inside your HOD quarters. X1 made it clear he would have zero second thoughts about doing just that.”
Cameron felt like an ass. He was taking out his frustration, and his still-throbbing head, on the only one onboard who seemed to care about him. Although he wondered if that was even possible, considering the fact she wasn’t an organic being. “I’m sorry. I really do appreciate your coming to my rescue like that. And it’s nice to now put a face to your voice.”
“Your head will start to feel better soon. You will need to eat. XI expects you to be on your way within the hour. You will be allowed to carry the plasma weapon with you, but killing the Minal Loth will not be tolerated. There are varying intensity levels … settings on the weapon … from low-level stun to highly lethal.”
“I’ve seen what the gun can do, and I’ve seen the slider switches. I’ll figure it out.”
“Then you should get going,” she said, a coolness in her tone not present before.
“Can you come with me? With your help, I’m sure things will go a lot easier and faster.”
“No, Cameron. I have to tell you, XI does not expect you to be successful. The droid has an alternative strategy in the works. One having numerically higher odds of success.”
“Terrific! Nice knowing that hovering shop vac has such high confidence in me. So … if I’m not successful, what happens to me?”
“You will not be allowed back into the ship. Atmosphere in here is already being vented to the outside. You must hurry.”
* * *
Armed with his plasma weapon and wearing his winter coat, Cameron hurried from the Primion’s large Retention Area hatchway, which led directly into the hold where, three days earlier, he’d witness Ramen’s death at the hands or jaws of the full-sized Griar Loth.
The aft hold was dark, a minimal amount of illumination filtered down from above. Heading past his truck toward the rear of the ship, he asked, “Alice, can you open the ship? I’m ready to get out of here.”
“Yes, Cameron, please hold on a minute.”<
br />
He watched the rear of the hold open up, outer sunshine pour in. Part of him couldn’t wait to be outside, yet another part was equally scared. To the point he considered begging XI to rethink its decision to send him out all alone into that unknown hostile world.
With the aft hatch now fully open, he could see the continuing eight-to-ten-foot-wide ridgeline that continued past the stern of the Primion. Reluctantly, he began walking out. Already feeling some shortness of breath, a tightness in his chest and dizziness—symptoms of fear-based hyperventilating—he murmured, “Shit! Get a grip, Cameron. You can do this.”
“Best of luck, Cameron. I mean that,” came Alice’s voice behind him.
Halfway down the ramp, Cameron stopped. Turning, he stared back into the hold’s semi-darkness and shook his head. He had a truck with a full tank of gas. There was an apparent road or pathway that traveled all, or most of the way, down the cliff’s side. He yelled back, “Alice … don’t close the hatch just yet.”
He ran back into the hold and studied the old F150, its tail end butting against the portside bulkhead. The only damage was a shattered taillight on that side; at least he wouldn’t be getting a fixit ticket this far from Earth. Running all the way around to the driver’s side of the truck, he opened the stubborn door and slid inside. It felt good to just sit there a moment. He glanced back, checked to see if there was adequate room in the hold to do a U-turn, and figured it wouldn’t be a problem.
The atmosphere here was higher in oxygen, which may cause problems for an engine over the long run, but for just a short drive he hoped it would be okay.
But will the truck start? How long had the lights been left on? Was the battery completely drained? The keys were still in the ignition. Pumping the gas pedal once, he turned the key and heard the starter motor’s slow moan. As it tried to turn over the truck’s big V8 engine, it sounded as if it was in pain.
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