by Vern Buzarde
Dora crawled slowly toward the kitchen table. The torrential rain poured in, soaking the whole apartment and making the old Formica flooring slick as ice.
Garrett flipped the man on top, put him in an armbar, and pulled with everything he had, hoping to hear the pop of breaking bones or snapped ligaments. But it wasn’t happening. The guy wasn’t even screaming in pain like a normal human being should. This wasn’t some ordinary hood.
He went for the gun with his right hand, but just as he reached it, the man flipped, jumped to his feet, then slipped on the soaked Formica and fell back down. Garrett lunged at him, and the gun flew out the hole where the window had been. Both got to their feet and faced each other, neither fully knowing what would happen next.
Out of the corner of his eye, Garrett saw a brick on the shelf to his right, one Dora was apparently using as a bookend. He grabbed it and threw it with everything he had. The man raised his arm to deflect. It ricocheted off his forearm, then caught him in the forehead. An eruption of bright red blood spilled onto the floor. He staggered and cursed, attempting to wipe the blood from his eyes, clearly disoriented. But the fact that he was still conscious was startling. Garrett was running out of ways to end this.
The man’s back was toward the hole in the wall. Rain from the storm continued pouring in, mixing with the blood on the floor.
They charged at each other, crashing against the wall. They fought, slipping and sliding, inching their way toward the opening like grunting bulls.
Garrett’s head was outside, his back resting on what was left of the lower structure of the window frame, bending and buckling as they struggled. The electrical cord for the air conditioner was still plugged into the outlet, hanging like an anchor chain over the stern of a boat. The old copper wiring popped through the worn insulation like a snake shedding its skin.
There was a loud crack, and what was left of the rotting wood frame collapsed. The remainder of the wall gave way, and both lost their balance, suddenly grasping for something to hold on to.
Garrett grabbed an exposed water pipe and held on with everything he had. The man tried to dig his fingers into the floor, searching for anything he could find, finally latching on to the skinny air-conditioner cord. They both dangled, suspended over the side of the building.
In the blink of an eye, the wall collapsed, and everything except the water pipe fell. The man spat curses. He flailed his arms in an effort to slow his fall, desperate for any chance to survive. He hit the ground with a loud thud.
Garrett hoisted himself back up and into the apartment. People gathered outside, a crowd forming. Distant sirens echoed off the building walls. The cool rain hitting the hot concrete formed a steamy mist. Garrett looked down to the pavement, almost expecting the guy to get up and come back. He felt lucky to be alive, thinking that had to be the toughest fight of his life. And nearly his last.
Garrett rested Dora’s head on a pillow, checking for any wounds or broken bones. He understood now. She was right to be paranoid. A professional hitman had been hired to kill Dora. And that meant someone had the bots. He had to let Satoshi know.
“Come on,” Garrett said. “We have to get out of here. There’s only one place you’ll be safe.”
29
“Want a beer?” Natalie yelled over the noise of the crowd at Infinite Pizza. They had taken the only empty booth remaining, next to a noisy video game that announced the player’s updated score in a female synthesized voice. Lights flashed, simulating an alien world while the players stared into a monitor, manipulating two black handles with buttons and triggers. Plastered across the top in bold red font was the game’s name: Impermanent Universe.
The young waitress smiled, ready to take their order. “Sure,” Tess yelled. “I’ll have a beer if you will.”
They ordered a large pepperoni with extra cheese and jalapeños. Tess was ravenous.
“I used to come here all the time,” Natalie said. “Not so much anymore. I gain five pounds every time I open the menu.”
Tess smiled, unable to remember the last time she’d visited Infinite. She noticed the crowd seemed younger. No, you’re just getting older.
“Okay,” Natalie said. “We need to talk about Daniel Fillmore. I think maybe he’s lost his freaking mind over this painting. I told him you won’t sell, but he’s obsessed. Now he wants to rent it. For as long a term as you’ll agree to. He didn’t mention a number, but I’m sure you could almost name your price.”
Tess smiled. “I’ve never been accused of being a business genius, but even I know that would have to be one of the worst financial investments ever. He can’t be serious. What is he thinking?”
“He’s not. Thinking, I mean. Like I told you before, these guys are used to getting anything they want. Dangle something just out of their reach and they go nuts. There’s no telling how much he’d pay if you decided to sell. Just sayin’.”
There was a group outside, three men and a woman, sitting on the sidewalk and leaning against the building, just out of the path of the busy lunch crowd. The woman was talking loudly, nearly shouting, but her tone and words didn’t sound angry. In fact, she seemed ecstatic. She didn’t look like a homeless panhandler or addict who’d just fed her addiction. In fact, the woman was wearing a high-end dress. Her fashionable heels had been removed and a Rolex watch was strapped to her wrist.
And that bag? Louis Vuitton?
“I think we should auction it,” Natalie said. “Find out what it would go for. I have a feeling Fillmore’s not the only one willing to write the big check. I was actually contacted by Cantu’s assistant as well. He’s interested too but didn’t seem as aggressive. If we were to auction it off, with a high minimum, of course, who knows what might happen?”
“Minimum? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“One million. But I think Fillmore will pay more.”
Tess gawked at her. “Are you serious? A million dollars? For—”
“I’m dead serious. And if my gut instinct is right, and it almost always is, it could go for double that. Maybe even more. And once that happens, the value of all your art, past and future, will skyrocket. What do you think?”
“I think you’re scaring the crap out of me. My God…the pressure!”
“Ha! What problems you have. Really, Tess. You’d be set for life.”
“But I already have everything I want…need. I can’t imagine my life being more perfect. It’s all starting to seem like a dream or a—”
“More money isn’t going to dampen your dream. Think of your options. You could move out of the dungeon.”
“Sometimes it feels like too much. Like there’s a price to pay for all this. Like someone’s going to hand me a huge bill that I can’t—”
Tess’s eyes were pulled to the group on the sidewalk. She studied the three men, one younger than the other two. He wore shorts and a T-shirt but certainly didn’t look indigent. The two others could have been middle-aged bankers. All had assumed positions allowing a view down Fifth Avenue, like they were waiting for a parade. Tess had an almost overwhelming urge to paint them.
Tess could hear the woman even over the noisy crowd. She seemed blissful, unable to contain her sense of joy, focused on something only revealing itself to her.
“My God,” the lady shouted. “Do you see it? It’s so…” Her words trailed off as she continued to stare upward.
Natalie looked over at the group. “Now that’s about the weirdest thing I’ve seen all week. And that’s saying a lot. What do you think? Are they like high-functioning addicts who decided to get stoned on their lunch break? Like nobody would notice?”
Tess’s fascination grew. None of what she saw was making any sense, as though characters in a play had been dumped on the wrong set. But they didn’t seem confused at all and weren’t making any effort to blend in. They were just four normal-looking people
who seemed to have wandered into the wrong dream.
Tess strained to hear the woman’s joyous shrieks, but the noise from the video game and the low murmur from the crowd drowned everything else out. She slid from the booth, staring out the window.
“Tess, no,” Natalie said. “Don’t go out there. Don’t engage them. Something’s not right. It may not be safe.”
“I’ll be fine. I just want to understand what’s—”
The waitress arrived with the two beers, letting them know the pizza would be out in five minutes. Tess moved past her and headed for the exit. Noise from street traffic mixed with the woman’s joyful shouts, seemingly overcome by the emotions she was experiencing.
Tess asked the woman, “What do you see? What’s happening?”
The woman didn’t look at her, but said, “It’s a dream. We’re all in the same dream.”
Tess froze as she noticed another group of similarly dressed people across the street, then another, all of them staring toward the sky. She looked up, but the skyline was different. She didn’t recognize any of the street signs. Tess was dizzy and leaned against the wall, but the red brick had been replaced with white tile.
She looked back through the window and saw a Eurasian man with shoulder-length hair and locked in an intense battle on the video game Impermanent Universe with another man.
She asked the well-dressed woman, “Am I dreaming too?”
“No, this isn’t your dream.”
***
The two Gurkha guards, Thaman and Ganju, glanced at each other as if they had both caught wind of some rogue scent. Both sensed the lack of oxygen, understanding they were experiencing the first signs of hypoxia. The cabin had depressurized, but no emergency masks deployed. Thaman could tell Satoshi was struggling to breathe. There wouldn’t be much time. The two Gurkha guards retrieved parachutes and put them on. Ganju strapped his to Satoshi.
Thaman made his way to the cockpit and dropped two additional parachutes between the pilot and copilot, but they were barely conscious. He glanced at the altimeter, which read twenty-two thousand feet. The autopilot was engaged. Alarms sounded, indicating multiple systems failures.
Thaman was now finding breathing difficult as well, even though he’d been raised most of his life at elevations well above twelve thousand feet in the Himalayas and came from a long line of Sherpa guides known for their ability to function at extreme altitudes.
When he returned to the cabin, he nodded to Ganju, who stood by the exit, holding Satoshi, ready for the leap.
“We have to wait as long as possible,” Satoshi mumbled. “What is our speed and altitude?”
“Twenty-two thousand feet. Around 350 knots.”
Satoshi appeared groggy, and Thaman knew he wouldn’t remain conscious much longer.
Thaman tried to focus. Whoever had the level of expertise required to breach their security protocol and sabotage the jet’s systems would have a backup plan. He peered out a starboard window, then one on the port side. He spotted a small jet, trailing theirs but closing. He motioned for Satoshi and Ganju to step away from the exit and unlatched the door. Screams from the onslaught of wind drowned all other sounds. Thaman motioned for Ganju to jump. Ganju tightened his grip around Satoshi, who was barely conscious, lifted him, and lunged through the exit.
Thaman waited ten seconds then followed.
The first thirty seconds felt like he’d been shot from a cannon. He flipped and twisted, cartwheeling through the sky, all sense of up or down gone. He tried to hold on to the straps of his parachute, knowing it could easily be ripped from his body, but his arms flailed, feeling like they might be pulled off.
He thought he caught a glimpse of Satoshi through the blurry hurricane, something that gave him hope. He was losing consciousness. He willed himself to hold on.
30
The clock read three a.m., and Tess was wide awake. She craved a run. With everything happening with Prajna, she hadn’t found time to run in over ten days. Now, without that release, Tess felt she would come apart.
The yellow shipping bag that had arrived the day before sat on the corner of the sofa, almost forgotten. She ripped it open and dumped the bra onto the table.
Bright pink? Must be a mistake. She tried it on, immediately aware of a thick clump of plastic digging into her left side. She nearly stuffed it into the bag to return but noticed something too large to have been an unintentional mistake. Something was sewn inside the fabric.
She carefully sliced the seam and plucked out a small flash drive. She studied the device, curious but reluctant to plug it into her laptop in case it contained some virus. There were several spare computers in the lab used for testing, all wiped clean on a regular basis and isolated from the network. She could use one of those. If anything destructive lurked, the damage would be minimal, easily eliminated.
But first, she craved that run, and it needed to be a long one. Exiting the bungalow, she headed up the street, wedging the ear buds for the iPod in, and cranked the volume to a level guaranteed to wall off the outside world.
Prajna: Something significant had taken place, a new level reached. But its volatility and growing disdain for her and the team was more than disturbing. Prajna wasn’t even trying to hide it. Satoshi was the only one it considered worthy of its presence. And what about its first words to Satoshi? What are you?
Since Prajna’s attempt to manipulate her using Ryan’s memory, she was skeptical it would ever be motivated to contribute anything positive. Not only did it not care, it could barely hide its revulsion. For Prajna, humans were a nuisance, an unfortunate evolutionary misstep.
How long will it tolerate us?
And the dreams, or hallucinations, whatever the hell they were. They had to have something to do with Prajna. Either that or her mind was falling through to some place she couldn’t control. The presentation she was scheduled to give on Prajna at the Technology Leadership Conference in Davos, Switzerland, was less than a week away. She had tried to beg off, but Satoshi was adamant she attend with him. Cobbling together a presentation that conveyed a positive overall picture would be a challenge to her creativity. She envisioned the whole thing consisting of one slide: RUN!
After Davos, she would attempt to restart the conversation with Satoshi, the idea that Prajna’s presence may be resulting in some type of rift. Something none of them understood. Surely he knew any control over Prajna was gone. That it was simply playing along, giving them the impression they could influence it.
Virgil: Tess still hadn’t heard back from Nick, and he’d never sent the damage assessment report they performed on its twin Leo. She’d left several messages but assumed they had elevated security to a point where he could no longer justify her involvement. If Melvin had really suffered a heart attack unrelated to anything he’d seen, Nick would have reached out. But his silence led her to believe something else had happened.
The list of unknowns around the fact that Virgil and the Essex were returning was too long to contemplate. The horrible thought of Ryan and Don’s remains in a metal coffin, traveling through space for eternity, was awful enough. But this. The idea that they were now actually returning, was a fresh cut, one more unfathomable emotion to process. There was a part of her that should welcome it. Maybe she would finally see his remains properly buried.
But this just didn’t feel right. Another misstep of fate. All of it could easily throw her into a tailspin. She couldn’t let that happen. That was a degree of vulnerability she couldn’t afford.
Dora Hahn: Tess never believed Dora would leave without telling her goodbye unless she was completely desperate to disappear. Everything inside her screamed that there was more to the story. The explanation was she’d returned from her four-day leave, realized how much she missed her family, and turned in her resignation. Tess had spent hours trying to find her online. Every search resulted in old informat
ion from the past, nothing recent indicating her whereabouts.
She finally gave up, assuming Dora could contact her when the time was right.
The smartwatch on her wrist indicated she had passed mile three. Which brought her to the next subject—the person or persons responsible for the Essex. Several organizations had claimed credit, but none seemed viable. All appeared to be fakes. So why would an organization go to the effort of implementing one of the most complex terrorist acts in the history of man, then disappear? What was their motive?
Was Natalie involved? None of it fit, almost as if the whole thing had been a distraction, a make-believe game of smoke and mirrors, deflecting attention from something else. And how had they done it? Someone had the password. But that was impossible. She was no closer to the answers than she was the day after it all happened.
And then there was the uncomfortable subject of her world in the dreams. The other place that occupied more of her thoughts each day. Her strange familiarity with the other life was intoxicating. She found herself wishing she could stay. Each time more of that reality remained, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t deny her longing to return. A part of her wondered if it might actually be possible to stay. And her relationship with Ryan there? Him, but not him.
But it’s not real—it can’t be.
And what about Garrett? She sensed he had feelings for her and thought she too felt a spark. But the guilt that went along with those feelings, the sense she was betraying Ryan, felt stifling.
Or would it be betraying both Ryans? Batshit crazy talk here.
She ran past the five-mile marker and wanted to continue, but the thought of the flash drive led her to decide her curiosity outweighed the urge to add to the endorphins raining on her brain. It was Sunday, so activity in the control room would be minimal. She could have a look at the drive’s contents, then work on the presentation.
