Their eyes met, Jim spoke aloud but quietly, “Thank you.” Nelman nodded as he went down and a hint of a smile formed on what was left of his mouth. He was buried.
Then, a surprise. The small drones, even the large chrome beast backed away, as if being ordered by a collective. The drones formed a circle around Nelman—an audience. Also the opening in the door cleared. A tractor-tire-sized mower drone arrived spinning above Nelman’s badly mangled robotic body. It descended, slowly as if to put on a demonstration for the onlookers—as if saying: WE’RE COMING FOR YOU, AND THERE’S NOTHING THAT CAN STOP US!
Nelman’s right arm protruded the edge of the blade’s housing; jolting violently as the blending machine devoured him, his fingers formed a thumbs up.
A final boot to the drone stuck in the door, and it sealed shut.
51. All In
The bags under her eyes were purple craters. Her skin was no longer a vibrant healthy tan, instead pale and ghostly, stretched like dough around her bones. She didn’t look like the spunky girl he had pizza with a just few days earlier. Amy lay in Jim’s arms, skinny, frail, and wearing a makeshift back brace that wrapped her torso—still in a coma. And to him, she was as light as a feather.
“Doc,” Jim yelled from the floor, holding her as still as possible. Old Doc quickly examined her. Young Doc and Bertha glanced nervously at the door. The ferocious humming could be heard, even through the thick facility door. A muffled cutting noise reverberated through the steel.
“She’s stable,” Old Doc said, “and with that back brace you can carry her. Can we get her somewhere secure to lie down?”
“How long will this door hold?” Young Doc interrupted.
“Not exactly sure, but this is the most secure place in the town. This door and that of the safe room are made with very special metals,” Jim said lifting Amy as if she was a delicate flower. And to Old Doc, “Yes. Come on let’s go.”
He carried her down the hall. The Docs and Bertha followed. They gazed curiously at the colorful lights while hopping along the motion path to the broadcast room; Jim figured they could use a dose of calm after what’d just happened. He pressed the intercom button when they arrived at the door; normally it would have opened in his presence. Devon noticed him on screen with the Bertha and the Docs and looked to Ted who quickly returned the okay. He switched the manual override and the door swooshed open. Jim rushed in carrying Amy to the break room for all of the lender beds had an occupant—something he’d never seen.
As they followed him the sights captivated their gaze and slowed their pace. The beds, the screens, people getting ready to—sleep, and the grandness of the room in all of its curious splendor—technology!
Jim gently laid Amy on the couch and Old Doc tended to her. Bertha caressed her hair and sobbed. He told the three of them to stay put and rushed over to the HAT to meet up with Ted.
“Jim we’re filling every bed,” Ted said catching him halfway. “We have to get the feed up now. Can you switch with Myron?”
“Sure, how bad is it?” Jim asked. “Actually forget I asked. It’s fucked.”
“Ron called as soon as he got into the control room. He told us the long-range ships had set down, all of them. Perimeter defense is still operational. Wall lasers, inner and outer are firing at maximum. That’s all we know. The bad news there’s only a small amount left in the—” Ted did a double take. “Wait, the buffer feed just climbed a notch. What do you make of that Devon?” he asked looking closer, as if he was seeing things. He couldn’t tap the screen although he had an urge to—it wasn’t a broken gauge. He just blinked his eyes because that, had never happened before.
“Not sure sir,” Devon replied, “it’s like something just gave us back a good chunk of the feed. This will buy us much needed time.”
Jim thought of Nelman. The vision of his death passed through his mind. His final gift.
“Ted. Status report,” Rico came over the line with urgency. “The control room is now 100% secure, nothing damaged. We have full power now. Twelve wall lasers are down, eighty-four operational. Only two bay lasers still operational. Outer bay, all ten on each side, functional. Oh, and the forcefield is useless, they must have developed some sort of counter measure. We need more feed immediately. By what we’re seeing here—we have about fifteen minutes until full breach. They’re overwhelming us. We have to get the outer ships up again. If we can they’ll likely send one or more to assist. Wait a second, one of the outer ships just reactivated—a feed boost, great job.”
“Rico, that surge in the feed wasn’t from us, everyone is logged out,” Ted replied leaning to the panel still curiously studying the on-screen data. The numbers leveled off and once again began to decline. He turned to another screen. “We’re priming systems. We won’t be able to initiate login procedures for another—six minutes.”
“It was Nelman,” Jim said flatly, leaning in.
“Nelman? Jim, what happened?”
“He saved us Rico. We got Amy, Bertha, and the Docs in here with us. The machines took the bay. He’s gone, but put up one hell of a fight—for us.”
A pause came before Rico answered, “Let his death not be in vain. Jim, Ted—everyone—we’re gonna need everything you got. And Ted, Abell is on his way over. You’ll need every high-level lender you can get.”
“We’re on it Rico,” Jim said.
“Nelman?” Ted questioned turning to Jim.
“It’s long story,” Jim replied, arms crossed; he looked like a new man, very determined. “And if we get through this, everyone will know exactly who he was and what he did.” Ted stood up straight and put a hand on his shoulder. He offered look of condolence and nodded.
“Sir, stage three ready and operational,” Devon interrupted. Ted acknowledged and headed to the HAT.
“Been a long time since we’ve coordinated a mass login,” Ted said under his breath. He began making the final preparations for it, moving assorted sliders and validating team pairs. With a three finger swipe he rotated the HAT affront him, working his way around each section.
The lenders, thirty of them, lay in wait. They were calming and adjusting themselves on the beds while the system read the pairs and automatically picked the most efficient maps for each. Devon was making calculations to estimate when the feed would be back to green status—needed in order to empower all outer perimeter ships. Biting a thumbnail he shook his head as the data continued to pour in. Jim stood above, still reluctant to move; he wanted to know if his body would be blown to bits while in dreamland blasting DC’s. But, Devon knew the system well, he could read the data every bit as well as Ron—it looked hopeless and his countenance portrayed just that.
“Jim, you better get to a bed,” Ted said. “Switch with one of the rookies. We’ll pull Myron and you can log in with Lia.”
In the control room…
They moved Chang’s body and covered it, and threw rags on the dark red puddle of blood. David was out cold, maybe dead; no time to waste on him now. Ron worked frantically with Rico but things didn’t look good. Because of the low feed status automation was at a minimum. They manually operated any inactive lasers; which worked well and were very powerful, but each could only fire once every couple of seconds. At the same time Rico handled power management and any other systems that now required a conscious decision.
They were doing a great job, taking out mostly the larger ones. Ron had one hand on his laser controls targeting the pesky but deadly, and mostly never-before-seen drones, and the other at his information panel. He gathered statistics about the attack. He knew it was bad and his readings told him it would only get worse. He wired his data and visuals over to the broadcast room giving them full access to his panel. To convey the urgency of the situation—in hopes they had an ace up their sleeves—or could make magic out of maximum tension—he wanted them to know exactly what was going on out there.
At the BROCC Devon, optimism level nil, continued with his own computations. He loaded the in
coming visuals from Ron on the large screen above. The town appeared as a high-resolution vector diagram. Red shapes of various sizes populated its 3D view. Each was a drone—too many types and sizes to classify—eating away at the small town. Most were near the facility chomping at the outer walls and inner bay doors, while others were performing a wipe-out sweep, grid-like about the town. In the distance they could be seen as swarms of red blips. The view interactively rotated as Devon motioned with his hand. Larger and larger machines were incoming fast. There was a single substantial green blip far in the distance miles away, one of the outer perimeter ships was up and fighting, equipped with lasers and other weapons the team probably couldn’t fathom, drones fell about and around it like flies. But, the machines were too numerous. It was taking heavy damage and a warning tag flashed above it.
Jim looked in awe at the screen; the sheer amount dizzied him. He said, “They’ve always been there, just waiting for our defenses to go down. For that one second—it’s all they needed. Shit, you should’ve seen them Devon. Hackers, cutters, shockers, killers, anything you can imagine.” He shook his head in dismay then said slowly, “Okay, I’m going head over.”
“Wait,” Devon said. The result of his calculations appeared on screen. “Jim, with these figures, the data coming in from Rico, combined with ours—it’s just no use. We wouldn’t be able to get the feed up in time. Even with all thirty lenders at once, it’ll still take nearly an hour to get it back up to a useful level.” Quieted by the seemingly inevitable dread of it, they both looked at the bright yellow words on another monitor above. Estimated time to hull breach: 14 minutes. Just as they looked it dropped, from fourteen, to only twelve minutes.
Jim looked around. It can’t be over like this, he thought. He grabbed his chin like Ted so often did and gazed at the screen again. And when those larger ships get here in a few minutes, we’ve had it. Fuck. The larger ships were on the way indeed, with lots of company. On screen they appeared to be flying like honey-covered pigs at a picnic, in the company of hundreds, if not thousands of small red blips, flies.
“It’s no use Jim.” Ted said. He’d already known really. He knew how things worked better than anyone. Overhearing the conversation, he shook his head—then, just continued on with the job. What else? It’s what he does, had always, for so long.
Jim looked around the broadcast room. “What a team we are, united like never before. All because of—” He bolted over to the break room.
“Jim?” Devon said.
“Amy!” Jim yelled excitedly in a loud whisper. “Ted, get us prepped. Beach.” He took her to the bed Myron had been on, by mere coincidence it was the center pair, the ones he and Amy had used on their first day together. Jim motioned for Young Doc to get Lia and carry her to the break room; she’d been ready to log in with Myron. Then, thinking cautiously, he gestured to Old Doc, calling him over. He could keep an eye on Amy’s vitals while she slept. And he came carrying his med bag. Jim made a stop-sign with his hand and halted Bertha, instructing sternly with his gaze that she remain put. Then he got onto the bed.
“But Jim—”
“Just fucking do it Ted!” He surely didn’t intend to disturb the others with his louder than usual voice but in this case, well…
Devon was surprised but quickly picked up on Jim’s idea, then began recalculating. Ted raced to get the beach map loaded.
How much longer Ted? Jim asked, motioning only, taping his wrist, his head tilted upward to see Ted operating the HAT with a renewed vigor. And Ted returned an answer with his hands, a full fingered flash, twice. Twenty seconds.
Jim was the master of instant sleep. He’d never needed the stupid motion path, or the fucking pill. The sleep pad was enough. And he was more ready than ever. His new self was a blossoming flower, a whole fucking field of them. He was an exploding man of action, and intuition, emotion, and powerful dreams, and he knew and was ready to use it, all of it, and he felt it clawing at the inside of his skull like a hostage that had waited so long to be freed. And he knew she was in there. He’d changed so much and believed, together they could do something special.
Ted lifted a single hand, not wanting to disturb the other lenders with even a peep: five, four, three, two, and one.
Jim opened a single eye and looked over to Amy, then squinted with hope and clenched his fists, then relaxed. The sleep pad kicked in—all went dark. Ted pulled the master slider he’d linked to every pair; the hologram table was divided into fifteen slices, each with contrasting maps. In a few moments all thirty lenders, Amy included, began the login.
52. A Cigarette
The black bag lay behind his chair; Jim appeared on the beach. Same place, under the palms. He stood up and looked to Amy’s chair. He thought he’d noticed a blur while he materialized, but there was nothing there. He waited a few moments. Still, Nothing. Her chair was empty. He sighed then looked around noticing a few DC’s were arriving at the beach, not bad for just him. Saddened, he had no other choice, to at least try, and go at it solo. What else can be done? He reached into the bag and pulled out two pistols and stuffed both behind his back then peered in again looking for the ones that can cause the most carnage, and the fastest. Two M-16’s should do just fine. And sorrowfully he trudged his way through the bleach white sand to the volleyball area where most DC’s had gathered.
“Jim!”
He heard it, but it didn’t quite register. Amy?
“Jim, it’s me!”
He turned around and there was nobody there—until he looked up. Amy was hovering in from the bright blue sky, just as spunky and alive as the first day they’d met. Into the sand Jim threw the rifles like spears. He ran to her as fast as his bare feet could take him flicking white sand about like a first-time tourist. Amy landed and dashed his way too, and they hugged.
“Amy! I’m so glad you're here,” he said squeezing her tightly. Then he pulled away and beheld her for a moment. “I wasn’t sure if you’d—” He choked up; she looked as beautiful and vibrant as ever.
“Slow logger-inner you are,” she laughed. “I took a little flight waiting for ya.” His eyes popped with relief and contentedness and he shook his head slowly with a gleaming smile that wouldn’t quit.
Amazing, he thought, and didn’t bother to ask or think how. He accepted she was special, and, that he probably ain’t seen nothing yet; what better use of a double-negative. He was paradoxically blown away. He didn’t want to give her the bad news, but if anyone was resilient and strong, she was. “Amy, we are in a bit of trouble and I think this might be the last time we’re together.”
“Jim why?” Amy said alarmed. “What is it?”
“Amy, do you remember what happened?”
“The fight. It was bad. I do remember. I heard you when you talked to me in the hospital room—but then I went deeper, and lost you. I had some very special dreams after that.”
“I hope—we can talk after this, and about your dreams. But, the control room was compromised. And now we are under attack and in the red. Drones are everywhere. Many died.”
“Oh no.”
“Devon says that even with all of the lenders, and everyone is logged in right now, we won’t be able get the feed back up in time. But, we have to try right?” Jim handed her one of the pistols and she looked down at it in her hand. The beach was beginning to fill with people—fill being an understatement; flood of biblical proportions would be more suited. Amy looked at the arriving crowds then back down at the gun. Like spring break—and the numbers multiplied exponentially. It didn’t take long; the beach was jam-packed.
“Yes Jim, we do. And try we will.” She tossed the gun into the ocean and slowly walked along the beach leaving him behind. A moment later she stopped and turned to him holding out her hand. “Well, ya coming slowpoke?”
He tossed his pistol and ran over taking her hand. He didn’t know what to expect so just walked with her; today he would be the student. They walked bare-footed through the warm gritty white u
ntil reaching a space in the middle of a crowd.
Jim stood with her, anxious yet unconcerned, trustfully waiting. She relaxed herself as if meditating. A soft green glow began to surround them and their hair floated upward as if a pleasant breeze was coming at them from the sand—which also began to rustle. Amy stood with eyes closed, and she raised both hands, and that of Jim’s.
He mimicked and lifted his other arm. A few surfers noticed and mocked. Then he felt the hairs on his arms standing straight up under mountains of goosebumps.
The glow became brighter, the sand swirled making a gentle white tornado, and people started to take notice in clumps. The neglected volleyball bounced away, rolling toward the sea’s foaming edge, and both volleyball teams came over to see. From afar, Enzo’s replacement came running, along with his golden retriever. And blue and red flashing lights, the police were also on their way using ATV’s.
The now bright green glow became a serene flow, strobe-like, and the light was a mellow outpouring of pulsing waves. The green changed to yellow, then warm colors, then all colors in prismatic rotation one after another. It delivered feelings of excitement and wonder to the crowd. People from hotels and streets near and far took notice.
The lifeguards arrived before the police but neither knew what to do. They ushered people back while rubbernecking in wonder. Many discussed the possibilities, what could be happening? Cameras were held high throughout the crowd, flashing like a mirror reflecting the sun and recording the spectacle. As the crowd thickened like the sand at the bottom of an hourglass people climbed the lifeguard tower, swarming it to near collapse just to get a clear line of sight. The beach filled past capacity as more and more, and more people arrived, not only see the bright cascading rainbows of light, but to feel it. In vain police tried to disperse the crowd. One made it to the center and assisted the lifeguards in keeping people back.
Lenders Page 43
