by James Maxey
Servant cringed as all eyes turned toward him.
Servant tried to shush Simpson, but Simpson was a nerd straight out of central casting who'd never really learned to control the tone of his voice. He sounded a bit like Jerry Lewis as the Nutty Professor when he said, "You almost got me! Ha, that's a good one, Mr. Servant!"
"Oh lord," muttered Nathan, rolling his eyes. "What a moron."
Technically, everyone in the room except for Ap and Servant was a certified genius, but Ap got the gist of Nathan's sentiment. Nathan snapped the side panel of Ap's belt closed. "There," he said. "Your belt had a vulnerability that could have been exploited by a Trojan application hidden in one of your powers."
"How likely is that, though?" asked Ap. "You guys run everything through the simulator."
"Do we?" asked Nathan. "Because I found a couple of vision powers in the buffer that hadn't gone through the normal review channels."
"Oh," said Ap. "Right. Those were from trusted sources."
"An anonymous hacker in a chat room is not a trusted source."
"I've . . . uh . . . I've met Code4U. Sort of."
"And I don't want to know what the application Swinging Pipe does."
"No, you don't," said Ap. "But I'll uninstall it at once. The vision stuff as well. I don't know what I was thinking."
"Good," said Nathan. "Then we're done."
Across the room, Servant and Simpson were done as well. Simpson was grinning, laughing at a joke only he was getting. Servant exited the room with a furtive glance over his shoulder.
Ap used his belt to trigger his Shadow mode. He hadn't yet found an invisibility program that actually worked, but Shadow got him to 95% transparency. With Servant stewing in his failure to get to Pangea, Ap had little trouble slipping past him by hugging the wall and dashing around the corner. He leaned up against a support column, casually crossing his arms.
Servant turned the corner and paused when he saw Ap.
"That went well," said Ap.
"Shut up," said Servant.
"You were going to provoke an international incident," said Ap.
"It wouldn't be an incident if no one found their bodies," said Servant.
"Whoa," said Ap. "No more Mister Nice Guy."
"Right now there are two known mass murderers living like royalty in a luxury mansion, according to our satellites. You can just sleep at night knowing that we could solve this problem for good?"
"By my scorecard, they've kicked our butts twice," said Ap. "Why would this time be any different?"
"Because last time we swept in pretending to be heroes, intent on capturing them. This time, I'm going in as a rogue agent. No one is authorizing my mission. The president can condemn my actions and launch a manhunt for me. I won't even resist if they find me. I'd gladly spend the rest of my life in jail to bring these two monsters to justice."
Ap shook his head. He'd expected to playfully tease Servant. He hadn't expected quite this level of seething anger.
"Look," said Ap. "I'm not happy about this development. But orders are, unless Pit Geek and Sundancer show up on American soil, we can't touch them."
"There are things more important than orders."
"Yeah. Like the law."
"There's man's law. And then there's God's law."
"I'm not a Biblical scholar, but isn't that eye-for-an-eye stuff Old Testament? If you're really a Christian, shouldn't you be a turn-the-other-cheek kind of guy?"
"Don't question my faith."
"Fine. Then I'll question your brains. You aren't Ogre any more. You're trying to be better than that. We're all trying to be better than that. You saw the line of toys that Mrs. Knowbokov is putting into Wal-Mart. Kid's all around the country are going to be playing with a little Servant doll this Christmas! How cool is that?"
Servant sighed. "Pretty cool I guess. Did they make the doll of you where the head blows up like a balloon?"
"Yep. And a Shadow Ap made of clear plastic. Another Ap where you can swap out the feet and hands for various bio weapons. Honestly if anything cooler has ever happened to me, I can't think of it. And yet, somehow, I still can't get any dates."
"Code4U came on pretty strong."
"You know the fundamental problem with that equation."
"Really want to try that Swinging Pipe mode, huh?"
Ap's cheeks burned. "You heard that?"
"Everyone heard it weeks ago. Nathan told Sarah and Sarah told everybody."
"Great," sighed Ap.
"Everyone knew your secret anyway."
"Code4U didn't."
"Maybe she was borne without gaydar."
Ap crossed his arms. "Maybe it shouldn't be a secret. I mean, I've left the closet door pretty wide open, but I haven't actually stepped out of it. Maybe it's time."
"Whatever," said Servant. "I hope, one day, you'll come around to the truth and let me introduce you to some people who can cure you."
"Why am I talking you out of going to Pangea?" Ap asked, scratching his head. "Wouldn't my life be better if you were a wanted fugitive?"
"I'm already a wanted fugitive," said Servant.
"Right."
Servant exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging. He shook his head. "But there aren't any dolls made of that guy. I guess . . . for now, I'll play by the rules."
"It would be a shame to bring down the value of our collectables," said Ap.
Servant nodded.
Ap chuckled. "Maybe we could put out a Sundancer doll. Trick her into coming back to the US to demand her royalties."
Servant didn't laugh, but the joke triggered a cascade of thoughts in Ap's head.
"Light bulb mode!" said Ap. Suddenly, a glowing egg bulged up from the top of his head.
"What the hell is that?" asked Servant.
"I just had an idea!" said Ap. "We wouldn't break any laws at all if we could drag Pit and Sunday back into US waters."
"You've got an idea how to do that?"
"Maybe," said Ap. "Exactly how strong are you again?"
Unless I find more bullets or a different gun, I've killed my last goat. A chicken, every now and then, can be pegged with a rock and stunned. Goats just run away.
Two bullets left.
One for her.
One for me.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
The Secret Origin of Pit Geek
THE CT SCAN showed his head was full of shrapnel. No surprise.
What was surprising was when Pit tapped on the image of his brain and said, "Let's take it out."
Sunday wasn't sure she understood him. "Take what out? Your brain?"
"All the metal in my head," said Pit. "I've been getting shot in the head on a regular basis for damn near sixty years. It ain't killed me. But it's messed up my memory something fierce. So, we cut it out, and I remember who I am."
Dr. Cheetah scoffed loudly. "Cutting through the required tissue would leave you a vegetable. I might as well run your brains through a sieve."
"If that would get the metal out, let's try it," said Pit.
"Pit, I appreciate you want to help me, but I can't let you cripple yourself," said Sunday.
"I'll get better," said Pit. "I always heal."
"Brain tissue isn't like skin or bone," said Dr. Cheetah. "It doesn't regenerate."
"Mine might."
"My oath reads, 'First, do no harm.'"
"Mine reads, 'You gotta scramble some eggs if you want an omelet.'"
"Your brains are already scrambled if you think this is a smart idea," said Sunday.
"Yeah," Pit said, tapping his finger on the dark black shards that littered the scan. "This picture shows how scrambled they are. All I'm asking is that we unscramble them."
"It's amazing you're alive," Dr. Cheetah said, as he turned the image back and forth on the computer. "But it's also possible that these images are corrupted. Look." He rolled his mouse back and forth, twisting the image of Pit's brain from side to side. He tapped some of the bla
ck shapes. "See? This shard is plainly visible from the front. But it vanishes when we turn the image thirty degrees. Then, when we turn another thirty degrees, it's back! I'm getting a similar effect on a dozen fragments."
"Aw, just go in and poke around," said Pit Geek. "You don't need no fancy gadgets. Just a good knife and maybe a sifter."
Dr. Cheetah shook his head. "If you were anyone else, I'd never do this."
"You're not doing it to him!" said Sunday.
Dr. Cheetah sighed. "I understand your reservations. But Pit is now my patient as well. He plainly has serious, chronic injuries that greatly reduce his quality of life, in the form of his fractured memories. His curious biology does give him a better than average chance of surviving this procedure."
"You're both crazy," said Sunday.
Dr. Cheetah shrugged. "Why don't you both sleep on it? If you wish to have the surgery, I can perform it tomorrow."
"You'd perform the surgery yourself?" asked Sunday. "I thought you were more of a general practitioner."
"My dear, I'm a surgeon, an architect, a computer programmer, an attorney, and a novelist. Also, until recently, a diplomat. Pangeans are few in number. We must wear many hats."
"I haven't seen any of you wearing hats," said Pit.
"It's a human idiom," said the doctor. "I confess, our language is riddled with them. Until recently, all literature was human literature. Perhaps after a century of chimpanzee language, humans will begin to adopt our idioms."
"Like what?"
"For instance, when we face difficulties in reaching a goal, we say, 'the fattest ants are always lip biters."
"Okay," said Sunday. "I'm not sure it will catch on, but I get it."
"The dung you fling at your enemy sticks beneath your own nails."
Sunday nodded. "Makes sense. I can almost imagine it catching on."
"Even the dominant female must endure a slick anus."
She stared at him.
"It means---"
She held up her hand to stop him. "I honestly don't want to know."
* * *
There were other things she didn't want to know, but found out anyway. They'd driven to Goodall, the capital city of Pangea, since this was where the hospital was located. While it was the largest city on the island, it was still small enough to walk everywhere. From one end of the town to the other wasn't even a mile. The town didn't even have stoplights.
The hotel had been built with several floors to accommodate humans. The place was stuffy and filled with mosquitoes. Pangeans didn't like air conditioning; it robbed enclosed spaces of any smell except that of the air conditioner. Dr. Cheetah explained that this would be like decorating a human room with a single unvarying shade of beige. So, windows were left open, and bugs came in, including a spider in the bathtub big enough to have its own zip code. Pit Geek chivalrously devoured the arachnid so that Sunday could take a shower.
In the evening, they went out into the streets to see the nightlife. Every third business was a grooming parlor where rows of female chimps wearing white gloves fussed over their chimp clientele, laboring to pick away all the fleas and ticks that had accumulated during the day. They passed a bar where a chimp band called the Hoot Pants was getting the small crowd to wave their hands in the air as they hooted and panted. These all seemed to be harmless imitations of human businesses until they passed an open-air restaurant that resembled a sushi bar. Only, instead of a glass case full of dead fish, there was wall of small cages holding live tiny primates, small monkeys and lemurs no bigger than pug dogs. A group of male chimps were passing a tablet computer around with schematics for some kind of engine. Most chimps spoke in sign language, but these three had the vibrating implants that gave them voices. They were practicing their English by talking through their marketing plans for a zero emission airplane. They were drinking bright red juice from coconut bowls. At least, Sunday hoped it was juice.
But her hopes were dashed when the largest chimp pointed to one of the cages. The chimp stationed at the cage had a leather apron around his neck, with the pockets stuffed with knives and cleavers. He pulled a screaming lemur from a cage and carried to the chimp's table. They shoved their computer into a briefcase as the butcher chimp slammed the still wiggling animal down on the table hard enough to stun it. Then he pulled a cleaver with a blade nearly two feet long and eight inches wide and swung it with a grunt. The lemur was perfectly bisected, falling open like an especially gory anatomy book. The chef then produced a razor sharp white ceramic butcher knife. His hands were practically a blur as he cut the lemur's organs free of their connective tissue, then stepped back. The three chimp's fought one another to get the two halves of the brain. Two of the chimps hooted as they chewed up their pink prize. Then, one said in buzzing English with a perfectly bland Midwestern accent, "If you don't get the brain, you gotta suck the kidney."
The chimp who'd had no brain to eat pulled the left kidney out of the bisected primate and popped the purple organ into his mouth. He didn't look happy. He crossed his arms, and sulked.
* * *
The next morning, Sunday was covered in welts from mosquitoes. She appreciated the love of smells, especially as a gentle breeze blew floral scents through the room, but didn't understand why window screens hadn't caught on.
She pulled her knees to her chest and stared at Pit, who was still sleeping.
Then he snorted, and looked at her with one eye half open.
"Good morning," he said.
"I don't suppose you've forgotten what happened yesterday?" she asked.
"Probably some of it," he said.
"How about. . . ?"
"I want the surgery," he said.
"Fine." She slid next to him, pressing her body close, drinking in his warmth and his odor. "You better not come out of this a vegetable. I love you, but I'm not changing your diapers."
"Yeah, you would," he said.
"Yeah," she sighed. "I would."
* * *
Sunday chewed her nails as she sat in the surgical waiting room. The surgery lasted well into the afternoon. A young female chimp passed through the room every hour, offering her bottled water. Sunday wasn't thirsty.
Which was ironic, since Sunday was certain she was in hell. In the years she'd worked for Rex Monday, he'd engaged in constant mind games designed to leave her contemptuous of other people's lives. She'd been an easy target. She'd hated every man her mother had brought into the house and despised her mother for not being a stronger woman. Monday had convinced Sunday that her innate superiority to ordinary humans had already begun to manifest at a young age. It was natural that Sunday felt no empathy for others, because there were no others who were her equal.
Now that she was twenty-five, she could see how easy it had been for a fifteen-year-old to fall for a father telling her she was better than everyone else. He'd been able to take the baseline alienation and rebellion present in any teen and puff it up into full-blown psychopathic isolation, where Sunday had stood heroically alone as an inheritor of truth and power in a world populated by dull, nameless shadows she would never care to know.
How easy it had been.
How easy it had been to kill.
She thought about all cops she'd burned, and all the wives and mothers who'd waited in rooms just like this for word of whether their loved ones would live or die.
If Pit did die . . .
If . . .
If Pit did die, she would turn herself in to the authorities. She knew she'd be executed. And maybe, in some small way, this would bring some tiny comfort to all those widows and orphans she'd created.
The female chimp came into the room. Instead of offering water, she said, "Dr. Cheetah would like to see you."
* * *
She was led to a brightly lit room where Dr. Cheetah was staring at an array of peanut sized bits of black metal laid out on a blue plastic tray.
"Is he . . . ?" she asked.
"The surgery encountered difficulties
," Dr. Cheetah said, sadly. He shook his head. "His brain tissue . . . we underestimated his regenerative abilities. His brain tissue was healing nearly as quickly as we could pull out metal."
"Then is he . . . is he . . . ?"
"I'm sorry," said Dr. Cheetah. "I didn't mean to create an air of suspense. The surgery was, perhaps, a failure. But Pit has survived. We won't know the state of his mind until he wakes, but he seems strong. He was . . . we gave him enough gas to tranquilize an elephant yet he kept coming to. We had to halt the surgery before we'd removed all the shrapnel."
"But you took out all this?"
"We took out far more than this," said Dr. Cheetah. "I have another tray filled with bullet fragments, shrapnel consistent with a hand grenade, the broken tip of a knife blade, the shaft of a bar dart, and three nails."
"And what are these?"
"These are eleven of the twelve anomalous fragments we saw on the CT scan. The ones that vanished at certain angles."
"Okay. But what are they?"
"My dear, since you are the person most familiar with Mr. Geek, I was hoping you could tell us."
She tried to pick one up. It dropped from her fingers instantly. The fragments looked like lumps of hard coal, but this one had been as yielding and wobbly as a water balloon, and surprisingly heavy. She picked up another one, cupping it in her palm. She rolled it forward with her finger and it vanished, though she could still feel the weight in her hand.
"They turn invisible?"
"At certain angles," said Dr. Cheetah. "But more than invisible. From certain angles, they can't even be touched."
Which seemed to be the case now. Her fingers couldn't touch the unseen weight on her palm. She shook her hand, and a black lump flew off and landed on the floor.
"Be careful, please," said Dr. Cheetah, reaching for the fragment with his long arm. "We can't afford to lose what seems to be a very exotic form of matter."
"Forget losing it," she said. "You say Pit still has a piece of this in his brain?"
"One large piece, roughly the size of his thumb. Perhaps some smaller fragments as well. The scan has many mysterious shadows that measure no more than a few millimeters."
