Stolen Future

by Cameron Coral

“I have to get that,” she said, frowning. “Stay in here. Do you hear me?” She reached out and grasped my shoulder. “I have to lock you in. Don’t make a sound.” She was talking so fast that she sprayed my face with drops of saliva. After she left, I rose, tested the doorknob, and found it firmly fixed. Then, there was a strange sound beyond the door as if something heavy was moved in the hallway outside. I pressed my ear against the wall and caught Terry's footsteps as she raced down the hall.

  I struggled to make out the voices from the apartment’s front door, but the conversation was muffled. Why wasn’t my hearing augmented? Could Drive Nine be back? Or was it NeuroDyne Corporation looking for me? What did they want with me? It must have had something to do with my past—a past I couldn’t even remember. Was I some kind of criminal?

  Drive Nine had called me a cyborg—part machine and human. The robot had said I was the first.

  First of what?

  Ninety minutes later, Terry returned to the bedroom with two zandals and a glass of water. Despite trying to identify the unexpected visitor, I’d somehow dozed off. Whatever had been happening outside my room hadn’t sounded like an emergency. And yet, Terry's cheeks were flushed, and her breathing was heavier than usual.

  “Who was at the door?” I asked.

  “The super. I have a leaky sink, and he came to fix it—finally. Sorry for the interruption. Normally, I wouldn't have anyone enter the apartment, but he's unpredictable and always shows up at the worst times.”

  “After you left, I heard something sliding in the hall—”

  “Yes. I moved a cabinet in front of your door.”

  “Whoa,” I said, considering the lengths she was going to keep me hidden. “I’m like a secret refugee.”

  She smiled grimly. “Something like that.” Her manner was serious, and I wondered about her fate were I to be discovered in her care. Judging by the smoothness of her skin, she was only a few years older than me, yet she carried herself differently, as if she’d been through a war.

  “Where are you from?” I asked.

  “Earth.” She sighed and found the chair at the foot of my bed. Binksley ran up, and she pulled him onto her lap.

  “Whereabouts on Earth?”

  “Iceland.”

  Everyone knew that global warming had changed Earth irrevocably. The hot and humid equatorial zones had become uninhabitable, and the once-thriving coastal cities were underwater, leaving the polar regions suddenly and unexpectedly prime real estate. “It must have been beautiful,” I said.

  “I wouldn't know. I’ve been blind since birth, but it sounded, smelled, and felt like paradise.”

  I flinched, worried I’d offended her with my oversight, but she didn’t seem to care. “Did you live in Iceland with your family?”

  “My brother. He and I were both employees of NeuroDyne. Newt was a computer genius, and I got the business brains in the family. We were lucky to find employment there.”

  “You said they were Earth's largest employer—”

  “Yes, they own practically all of Iceland. It's their headquarters.”

  It sounded like she’d had a decent life on Earth. “So, what happened? How did you wind up here on Luna?”

  “It's a long story,” she said, fidgeting with Binksley’s tail.

  “I have nothing but time it seems.” I smirked.

  “I’m not so sure about that. D9 said you must leave soon. Once you regain your strength.”

  “Right.” I rolled my eyes. “Did the robot happen to leave instructions about how long that might take, and how I’ll know? Because I still feel shitty.”

  “No. D9 isn't one for details, as you might have noticed.”

  “So, what now? I bide my time? Take up sewing?”

  She pressed her lips together. “Yes, and I’ll help you get stronger.” After a minute, she said gently, “What do you remember of your life before this?”

  I was a blank slate, but should I tell her that? “I don’t remember much. Do you know about my past? Where I’m from?”

  She clenched her jaw. “No, sorry. The first I knew of you was when Newt smuggled you onto the ship that brought us here. I wish I could tell you more.”

  “I had a strange dream. It felt so real, like it could be a memory. I was on Earth, riding in a truck, gazing at the stars overhead.”

  Terry tilted her head, listening carefully.

  “Forget it. It’s stupid.” I leaned forward on the bed. “What am I now? What can you tell me?”

  Her brow furrowed as if she was concentrating, as if she had to choose her words carefully. “Newt said that you would have enhanced capabilities.”

  “Newt? Your brother?”

  Terry stood, forcing Binksley to lunge for the floor. “I’ve said too much.” She paced the small room.

  “What? You’ve said nothing.” I tried to stand but got dizzy and leaned back on the bed. “I feel like a complete fool. It’s like I'm late to the party, and everyone's in on the joke except me. Someone messed with my body. Turned me into something I don't even recognize. How am I supposed to deal with that?”

  She halted before me, a few inches away. “I can't imagine what you're going through.” Her eyes moved back and forth, unseeing yet sincere.

  “The other night,”—damn her for bringing out the truth in me—“when the NeuroDyne soldiers landed and fought Drive Nine, something happened. It's hard to even describe.” My muscles tensed as if I was reliving the event. “My vision was augmented somehow, and I could zoom in on objects that were far away on the street.”

  Terry's lips separated, and she took a sharp breath.

  “But since then,” I continued, “it hasn't happened again. I don't know how to make it happen.” I stared at her. “Do you?”

  She shifted her feet, shaking her head. But I didn’t buy it.

  “You're not telling me everything. You know more. I can tell from your expression.”

  She spun on her heels and went to the window, placing her hand on the wall as if to steady herself. “Newt—my brother—was always tinkering. He loved building tiny machines, and he worked in the robotics lab at NeuroDyne. He made some kind of breakthrough. It was classified, and he couldn't tell me the details, but I knew it was important. Shortly after, he started getting a lot of attention from the high-level executives at the company.” She paused, crossing her arms though it wasn’t cold. “I worried for him. NeuroDyne practically owned us. They assigned him to a highly classified project somewhere offsite. I didn't see him for months at a time, until finally, he returned in the middle of the night and said we had to leave. He had booked private transport, and we ended up on Luna. We met D9 here.”

  I clenched my fists, desperate for answers. “And what about me? Why am I here? Where did I come from?”

  “You…” She hesitated. “You were with us. We took you from Earth when we fled.”

  Dizzy, I lurched away from the bed and stumbled, barely catching myself from falling. I gazed down at the floor, to the left, then squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, my field of vision shifted and the strange text had reappeared.

  Diya CGU 1.

  Operational.

  Systems diagnostic 69%.

  I straightened my spine. “It's back.”

  Terry stepped toward where I stood in the middle of the room. “What do you mean?”

  “The words that I see—the… oh, wow!” I zoomed in just by thinking, seeing every pore on her skin and the minute threadwork of her dress. Clumsily, I zoomed out, to avoid a growing nausea. “My vision—it's here again. It's enhanced.”

  As she drew close, her heartbeat suddenly thumped in my head. The gridlike crosshairs appeared and zoomed in on her chest. The readout showed 84 beats per minute. Her temperature was 98.2 degrees Fahrenheit. Threat level—whatever that was—displayed 1.3. “Did your brother happen to explain what I’m experiencing right now?”

  She shook her head. “No details. We had to leave in secret, and he paid a fortune to a s
muggler to get us off Earth. Once we got here, we had to live in seclusion. Newt had to go into hiding just like D9 did.”

  “So, NeuroDyne is looking for you, Newt, and Drive Nine.”

  “And you,” she said, nodding. “You’re stolen property.”

  Five

  Terry dutifully helped me walk around the bedroom early the next evening, as I tried to regain strength in my muscles.

  “A few minutes more,” she urged, but my forehead and chest were dripping with sweat. She’d been pressuring me to walk every hour for at least twenty minutes. After the third time, I was winded.

  Plopping onto the bed, I said, “Time for a break.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Come on, what are you, a weakling?” It was the first time she had genuinely smiled in my presence.

  I couldn’t help but grin between panting. “I just need to catch my breath and stretch out.”

  “You’ve improved remarkably in the last two days.”

  “Thanks, drill sergeant.”

  “Anytime,” she said, marching through the stuffy bedroom door and leaving it open. “Meet me in the kitchen for lunch. ASAP.”

  I perked up. It was the first time she’d indicated I could enter the front room of the apartment. “Are you sure?”

  “Yep.” She left the room, and Binksley glared at me. I nodded respectfully before he shuffled out, following his master. The mutt and I had a tenuous understanding. He kept an eye on me, while I occasionally taunted him.

  Terry really had been a dutiful coach—there when I stumbled and urging me to go further. With a deep breath, I rolled forward using my core strength instead of having to push myself up. Pressing forward onto my feet, I stood on my own. My ribs weren’t so sore anymore. The flesh on my arm where Drive Nine had sliced me open had mended back together somehow, as if my skin regenerated by itself.

  I wondered how many injuries I could sustain, not that I wanted to test my limits if I could help it. Whatever my capabilities, my pain receptors hadn't decreased; I reached for the zandal bottle and gulped down two pills dry.

  Terry had loaned me clothes so I didn’t look like a patient from a psych ward. I was wearing gray sweatpants and a midnight-black T-shirt that said Luna Sector Seven Rugby Club. Reaching my arms above my head, I leaned into a long stretch, then lowered my hands and twisted to the side, first right, then left. As I did, the vertebrae in my spine cracked, and my heart skipped a beat until I realized it actually felt good. This was the best shape I’d been in physically since waking up in Terry’s bedroom.

  Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen, and my grumbling belly forced me to step out the door and into the narrow hallway. I skipped the bathroom on the left and made my way into the brighter living room area. Terry prepared something dark green and leafy that sat in a pot of boiling water. I couldn’t place the aroma, though it smelled rich and salty.

  “What are we having?” I asked. “Boiled diaper?”

  “Very funny. Kale and cabbage. It’s a treat. It’ll make you stronger.”

  “Sounds like dust maggots. I'd rather have sofu noodles.”

  “One cannot live on food vendor noodles. Who knows what’s inside that stuff?”

  I grunted and regarded the sparse living room. There was an old, raggedy couch on one side. Three wide windows lined the opposite wall, and true to her word, Terry had closed all the blinds leaving only slivers of neon to filter in, casting purple, fuchsia, and yellow lines on the floorboards. I stepped forward, and Binksley barked.

  “Binksley, no!” Terry said.

  Using my augmented vision, I zoomed in on the dog. Threat level 4.2. Interesting. I winked at the little canine, and he growled.

  “Just when I thought the two of us had an understanding.” I glared at him.

  “He's just not used to you being out here in the living room,” she said as she stirred the pot. “How are you feeling?”

  “Strangely better.” I spun around and stretched my arms behind my back, squeezed my shoulder blades together. “It feels good to move.”

  “Good. That means the training is working,” she said with a smile.

  I started as a loud clattering sound from outside pierced the quiet apartment. I moved toward the window, but Terry heard the floorboards creak under my weight.

  “No, you mustn't go near the windows. You could be seen.”

  “Well, I want to see what on Mars is going on outside, and you can’t.”

  Outside, a man shouted, followed by more disturbing banging noises. “I think I know what it is,” Terry said quietly. She approached the window and tilted her head sideways, listening.

  “You fucking rustbrain,” a man said from the street below.

  Another voice said, “Calm down, Benny. You know I didn't mean it.”

  More clanging—metal on metal—as Benny or whoever else was outside tossed something on the ground.

  I shuffled closer to the window, sliding my bare feet across the cool slate-tiled floor.

  “Stay where you are,” Terry said.

  “But I can look out and see what's happening.”

  “I know what's happening. They've knocked over all the garbage cans—the ones in front of this building. They’re a local gang.”

  After a minute, the men moved on, their voices retreating into the distance.

  Terry sighed. “They’re such a nuisance. I'll have to go down and pick up the cans.”

  “Why can’t someone else? Your building super or a neighbor?”

  But she shook her head. “If I don't clean it up quickly, I could be fined by Lunar street patrol.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Tell them vandals caused the mess.”

  “I can’t attract attention, don’t you see? Just give me a minute, and I'll go clean it up. Watch the pot,” she said, unbolting the front door and heading downstairs. “And lock this behind me.”

  I waited, leaning against the sidearm of the living room couch. Lingering in the doorway, she rested her hands on her hips and raised her chin. “Diya.” Her tone was icy, commanding. It was hard to be intimidated by a blind woman, but she could pull it off.

  “Okay,” I muttered and walked to the door, peering out. The smell outside the apartment was musty, and judging by the grimy, water-stained carpeting, this building was no stranger to mold.

  I wished I could help her. If those men had knocked over the garbage pails and strewn them about, she’d have to grope around, searching the concrete avenue to pull everything back together and deposit trash back into the pails.

  “Are you sure it's safe out there for you?” I asked. “It's dark out. What if I come out for a minute or wear a hat?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said in a hushed voice. “It’s too dangerous, and we’ve come too far to let a couple of neighborhood hooligans lure us outside into some kind of trap.”

  “You're paranoid.”

  She shoved me back into the apartment. “Remember the other night with the soldiers? Do you want a repeat of that?” She slammed the door shut, and I locked it behind her.

  The pot on the range top started gurgling, and I shuffled over and dipped the metal spoon inside, churning the lumpy mass of green vegetables inside. Binksley sat on his haunches and licked his lips, eyeing me.

  “I gotta be honest, pal. This looks awful.” Binksley yapped in agreement. I tossed him a treat from the counter, and he gobbled it down.

  Outside, a clatter sounded as Terry cleaned up the aftermath of the shouting match. Standing next to the window, listening, I heard a scraping sound that had to be Terry sweeping trash from the street. Why didn’t anyone from the building help her? So much for friendly neighbors. Pressing the palm of my hand against the cheap vinyl blinds, I ran my hands down the slats and rippled the surface, allowing some of the neon brightness to seep through. Just one glance through the blinds wouldn’t hurt. My new roommate was surely being paranoid.

  I wedged two fingers in between one of the slats and created an openi
ng big enough to peer outside. One story below, Terry crouched on the edge of the sidewalk and picked up spilled trash, dumping it into a tin garbage can. No wonder the clattering caused such a ruckus; the battered cans looked like they'd been through a war. She was still working hard on the first toppled can when the hoodlums returned.

  There were three men, not just the two we’d heard before. The leader wore a black leather jacket with orange spikes protruding from his shoulders and back. His long blonde beard tapered to a point that reached down to his chest, in contrast to the spiky hair on top of his head. One of his friends walked with a baseball bat and used it as a cane to support a limp. They were dressed in baggy pants and combat boots. They sported raggedy beards, and one man had multiple piercings along his lips, chin, and ears. They walked along the avenue and hadn’t noticed Terry squatting among the wave of spilled trash.

  “Stay down, Terry,” I muttered under my breath. My new cyborg senses perked up, as if on heightened alert. Were these men, who looked to be just out of their teens, dangerous? Terry had seemed to know about them already, and I wondered if they’d given her trouble before.

  Below on the street, the leader turned his head as he muttered something to one of his mates. And that's when he spied Terry cleaning up his mess. He slowed his pace and alerted his friends with a backhanded slap.

  “What do we have here, fellas?” he asked loudly. His voice was deep and as he neared Terry, I noticed his muscled chest. He swaggered slightly as if he'd been drinking. Muscles plus alcohol plus angry shouting were never a good combination.

  I sucked in a breath, and the nerves in my skin tingled. My enhanced vision kicked on and zoomed in to give me a closer view of what was happening below. By now, Terry had heard the men approach, and she started to head back to the safety of the building. But the gang leader had locked onto her.

  “Hey, where you going, sweetheart?” he bellowed. “Me and my pals just want to say hello to our favorite lady ’round the neighborhood.”

  She had nearly reached the apartment door when the one with a red beard sprinted ahead and blocked her path, causing her to halt on the exterior steps. She said something softly, which I couldn’t make out. I whacked the side of my head and cupped my ear. Why wasn’t my hearing enhanced?