Archangel Down: Archangel Project. Book One

by C. Gockel

  Noa couldn’t restrain herself. “You’d rather be cleaning floors than playing with mathematical theorems?”

  Kenji pushed the delicate lenses up his nose. “Maybe the person who was good at floor cleaning would rather be doing it.”

  “Or maybe they’d rather just enjoy their dole,” said Noa, “and writing bad poetry, or whatever they do for self-fulfillment.”

  Kenji frowned. “We clutter our minds with so much data, we’ve lost the ability to think critically about what we actually know; and we’ve lost a connection with our spiritual selves in an avalanche of electronic stimuli … the dole isn’t worth that.”

  Noa groaned. That was language straight from Luddeccean philosophy.

  Kenji’s shoulders sank. He looked away. “Noa … I know you don’t believe in things like that but … being here, being constantly inundated with everything … it makes me feel lonely.” His shoulders rose and fell. “I know it’s supposed to make us feel connected, but it doesn’t make me feel that way; it just makes me feel like another cog.”

  Pushing up his glasses again, he said, “Working on Luddeccea, I’ll be doing meaningful work on our time gate, improving its systems. It’s so old … ”

  Noa tilted her head. All the time gates were old and needed repairs directed by a human mind. The gates were programmed to repair themselves, but over the years some of the repairs no longer made sense. She looked around. The commercial sections of the time gates were always kept sleek and clean; but station staff complained that the living quarters sections had “roads to nowhere,” hallways built for ‘bot access that were no longer used, and huge rooms of computer servers that hummed with power—but whose exact functions were no longer known. She couldn’t deny that it was work that needed to be done. And unlike extraterrestrial arbitrage, people would actually see the benefit of it. Nebulas, if Luddeccea’s gate broke down and there was a famine …

  She put her hand on Kenji’s. “You’re right, it is important work. And I’m proud of you for following your heart.”

  Kenji lifted his chin.

  “And you have experience with the local culture, unlike most programmers who won’t get on too well with the Luddeccean First Families,” Noa added, her lip curling a little in disgust.

  For a moment Kenji’s smile faded.

  Squeezing his hand, Noa said, “I’m proud of you, Little Brother.” He smiled back. Swooping in for a hug, Noa said, “And I love you.”

  Over a loudspeaker, an announcer called boarding for his flight.

  “That’s me,” Kenji said, pulling away from her embrace.

  Noa blinked. He had tears in his eyes. He stood up hurriedly, and Noa stood with him. Grabbing her hand, Kenji said, “I think you’re the only person who understands me.” Looking down at her hand, he said, “I love you too, Noa.”

  And then before she could reply, he pulled his hand away, and she was staring at the back of his head as he headed for the boarding tunnel.

  * * *

  Noa crossed her arms and bowed her head in Ghost’s dreary basement. Kenji loved her—he would never hurt her—and as much as he respected some aspects of Luddeccean philosophy, he had to know it was out of control. Somehow they’d tricked him into serving them, and as for her being missing … well, maybe they’d made up a horrible story about her dying, or told him that the vid message she’d sent from the ancient Luddeccean vid booth was from off-system, or a computer simulation … or … there were hundreds of things they could have told him. And maybe he went along with it because he believed them, or because he was afraid.

  “Noa?” said James.

  Noa jumped at his voice—she smiled wanly in his direction without really seeing him. Her mind was focused on the memory of Kenji at Time Gate 1, hazy with the distortion of time, saying he loved her.

  Her memory might be dim, but one thing was crystal clear. She still had to save her brother.

  * * *

  “This screen is too small,” Noa complained, sitting beside James on Eliza’s living room couch. His laptop was balanced on his knees. The hard line connected between his port and the machine kept getting in the way of his fingers, making his skin buzz with irritation. They were in the safe room. 6T9 was seated nearby, in the process of rebooting. The hologlobe showed that Luddeccean guardsmen were still upstairs in Eliza’s kitchen drinking milk and eating cookies.

  Noa had been quiet the whole trip back. Granted, when they’d crept out of the sewer near Eliza’s house and slipped into the boot of Eliza’s hover in broad daylight, silence had been a necessity. And then after Eliza nearly plowed said hover into the side of her home and a Luddeccean Guardsman had helped the old woman navigate into her rooftop garage, silence had been even more necessary. They’d just had enough time to exit the boot and run down to the safe room before the whole patrol had showed up at Eliza’s door, making sure she was okay. Of course Eliza had felt compelled to offer the Guard milk and cookies.

  “Can you enlarge this small section?” Noa said, pointing to a portion of the screen displaying the electrical network.

  They were reviewing the electrical lines and sewer system of the city. Noa wanted to plan a “distraction” to draw the patrols away while they stole the Ark. They could have done this on Ghost’s light screens, but Noa didn’t trust Ghost, and insisted they keep their plans secret from him until the last possible moment.

  Reaching forward, James got his hand caught in the cord, and the plug popped out of the socket. The screen went dark. He felt his neurons go black in frustration. James’s eyes slid down to the cord. “Noa,” he said, holding up the end of the wire. “There is a faster and easier way to do this.”

  Noa leaned back in her seat. She looked away.

  “I know you are still troubled about your brother. You don’t have to worry about hiding it,” James said. He’d had the odd errant thought about Noa—what if one slipped? He felt something within him alight with certainty. He could hide thoughts, couldn’t he? He was sure he could, but how did he know he could? His head ticked.

  “You’re right.” Beside him, Noa cast a furtive gaze in his direction. Rubbing her temples, she said, “It would be faster and I need it in my data banks as well.”

  For once James was glad his face showed little emotion. It occurred to him that he was curious about what errant thoughts Noa might have about him, and he was glad that curiosity couldn’t show in his expression.

  “Give it here,” Noa said.

  James handed her the cable. Looking at it, Noa sighed, and then plugged it into her port. Her dark eyes briefly met his. No words passed over the link, but an emotion coalesced in the depths of Noa’s limbic system, a surge of neural activity that James’s mind had no difficulty in interpreting. There was something about looking at him that repelled her.

  * * *

  Noa hadn’t hard linked with anyone since Timothy and looking at his doppelgänger was strange, and disquieting, and she wanted to pull away. The feeling rose in her before all her apps were up, and it raced at the speed of electrons to James’s mind. She expected to feel something from him, shock at least—the emotion was not flattering, and sometimes she got the feeling James was at least superficially attracted to her. She was still too scrawny, but she was experienced enough to realize that for some people opportunity and proximity were three-quarters of attraction. They’d had a lot of proximity in the past few days, and he’d been more physically demonstrative than he needed to be. Before she could even say, “I’m sorry,” aloud or with her thoughts, he said in her mind, “Let’s review the plans, then.”

  Maybe he hadn’t felt it? Perhaps the shielding had been adequate after all? He turned his head so he was facing away and touched the air. The engineering plans seemingly flickered to life in front of their noses, but actually it was just an illusion transmitted directly to their visual cortexes. If 6T9 were to awaken, he wouldn’t see what they were pointing at.

  She had too much to do right now. Worrying over hurting Jam
es’s feelings was not what she needed. In Ghost’s basement she’d memorized all the Fleet personnel that were planet side. She wasn’t sure whom to approach first … if they believed in the “alien” invasion, if they believed she was a sympathizer, even a member of the Fleet might betray her. Hell, they’d be more likely to betray her. If they believed she was a danger to the planet, they’d turn her in, not for a reward, but out of duty. And then there was still the matter of how she would save Kenji.

  First things first. Her jaw hardened, and she set her memo-apps to work. She began saving the schematics for the sewer lines and electrical grid to her mind, as well as a recent map of the city. She’d just completed those tasks when 6T9, apparently done rebooting, piped up, “Oh, fun! Do you have a three-way link?”

  “We’re done,” said James, too quickly.

  He pulled the hard link from his own neural port without warning. Noa leaned back slightly. He had felt her repulsion, she knew it, that was why he was pulling out of the link so quickly. But she hadn’t felt his recognition of her emotion—or anything personal at all, which meant he had better shielding than her. Which was very strange. Fleet mental shielding was designed to resist torture. That he had something that might even be better …

  “Oh, how sad,” said 6T9. “Eliza would have found it so titillating.”

  “Yep, we’re done,” said Noa. She looked at the hologlobe. “And the Guards upstairs are done, too. Let’s go up.” The small safe room suddenly felt cramped.

  6T9 pulled down the ladder and they made their way into the kitchen. Eliza was there sipping a cup of tea, reading a strange grayish pamphlet thing that was nearly as wide as the table. The front had Noa’s picture on it and was captioned in big, black letters, “Alien sympathizer still at large.”

  Before Noa could ask any questions about their visit, James said, “Is that a newspaper?”

  Eliza blinked up at him. “Why yes, it is. It’s how they keep us in line.”

  6T9 went over to Eliza, but before he reached her, Eliza flipped the paper over so he couldn’t see Noa’s picture. Instead there was a picture of a happily-smiling family with black polybolts in their data ports and a headline that read, “Permanent Data Port Deactivation Gives Luddecceans Peace of Mind,” and beneath that in smaller letters, “Luddeccean Premier makes it free—council discussing making it mandatory.” Noa’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip-flop. She hadn’t seen any civilians with their ports jammed, but that day was coming.

  Paying no attention to the newspaper, 6T9 went directly to Eliza and looked into her eyes, as though trying to see evidence of a concussion. “Eliza, are you having a moment of confusion? The stated purpose of the Prime Tribune is to keep the populace informed.”

  “I remember that is what they say,” said Eliza. “Don’t worry.”

  “Oh,” said 6T9. He kissed her head and straightened with a smile. “I won’t worry, if you say so.” With that, he began clearing the plates away from the table. Eliza sighed.

  James went and read over her shoulder. “I extracted a newspaper from the 2000s from a garbage heap on Earth. Is this published daily?”

  “Yes,” said Eliza.

  “How interesting … they are reprising this technology,” James said, sounding not unlike the professor he claimed to be.

  Clenching her fists, Noa checked herself. Was. He was a professor. “So they’re taking us back to the 2000s level of technology,” Noa muttered, partly to stamp those suspicious thoughts out of her mind. “Great.”

  James looked up at her. “More like the 1950s level of technology.”

  Noa felt a cold coil of dread in her gut … not that an extra fifty years of backwardness should matter so much. Keeping her fear out of her voice, she quipped, “Even better. Anything in it that might be useful?”

  “They know you’re in the city,” said Eliza, eyes scanning the pages. “They’re imposing a curfew at sundown.”

  “Well, at least we know they know,” said Noa, walking over to the table. She said, “Anything else?”

  “The daughter of one of the first colonists just died,” said Eliza. “Do you remember her, Noa? She came to your elementary school and told you all what it was like to be a little girl at the time of the first colonization.”

  Noa looked over Eliza’s shoulder. In slightly smudged ink there was a picture of a woman who looked even more ancient than Eliza. “Up until a few years ago,” Eliza said, “Grace Lao took nano treatments like me. But lately she’s been returning to her Christian faith and the Luddeccean philosophy … she decided she didn’t believe in the treatments anymore, they were vanity and against the will of God. She died from a faulty heart valve … could have been replaced so easily, even at her age.” She snorted. “Even at my age.” Eliza’s eyes narrowed. “Not able to reproduce and no longer of any use.”

  From where he was scraping dishes, 6T9 piped up, “She still could have practiced!” Eliza tittered at that, but Noa’s eyes were riveted to the page. Beneath Grace’s obituary, were more … and she said, “I recognize one of the names.” She closed her eyes. Her hand went to her stomach.

  “Who?” said Eliza.

  “Manuel,” said Noa. “Oliver Manuel.”

  “He was only eighteen months old … ” said Eliza.

  “I knew his parents,” Noa rubbed her eyes and began pulling their address up in her mind. The location gave her a start; it was worth risking Eliza’s driving for. “Eliza, get ready to fly your hover. We’ll go offer our condolences to his parents.”

  Eliza looked at her watch. “Noa, there will be a curfew tonight; we won’t make it back in time.”

  Noa looked down at the picture of Oliver Manuel. “They’ll help us,” she whispered. “And if they don’t help us, no one will.”

  And no one else lived as close to her little brother.

  * * *

  James was flat on his stomach in the boot of Eliza’s hover. Noa was beside him, and 6T9 on the far side of her. The back seat was pushed down so they could stretch. Eliza was driving, Carl Sagan hopping on and off her lap. If Eliza was stopped, they could pull the seat back up quickly and curl into fetal position and in Noa’s words, “Pray they don’t search the vehicle.”

  “This thing itches,” Noa said, scratching at the base of a pink wig Eliza had loaned her. Eliza had also loaned both of them her makeup. The tan liquids and powders made James look darker and Noa look lighter, and both of them look pasty and unnatural, but they were going to need to get out of the hover at the Manuels’ residence, and were bound to be seen.

  “How are you not itching?” Noa demanded, turning her head in his direction.

  James touched the blue wig he wore self-consciously. “It’s no different than wearing a hat.”

  “It is a lot different than wearing a hat,” Noa protested. “It feels like I’m wearing a hot, tight helmet filled with fleas!”

  “We could be doing much more exciting things with our bodies in this tight confined space than tear at your wigs,” 6T9 said, without any apparent segue.

  Rolling onto her stomach, and in the process, closer to James, Noa shouted at Eliza, “He just touched my ass! Did you not turn off his flirt app?”

  “I may have forgotten,” said Eliza. “I like him flirty, and the pink wig may be confusing him. His processor is old.”

  Noa slid even closer to James, the full length of her side pressing against his. He was less repellent than a sex ‘bot. He wasn’t precisely relieved.

  “6T9,” snapped Noa. “It’s me, not Eliza, keep your hands off.”

  “Oh, it is you, Noa,” James heard 6T9 say. “I’m finding the strange locale, the wig, and the makeup confusing.”

  “How can you get me confused with Eliza when she’s right there, in the front seat?” Noa said.

  6T9’s skull started making a beeping sound.

  “Don’t overload his circuits, Noa!” Eliza snapped, turning her head in their direction.

  “Keep your eyes on the sky!” Jame
s and Noa screamed in unison.

  “Turn your eyes on me anytime you want, my darling,” said 6T9.

  Eliza blew him kisses, and the frantic beeping from 6T9’s skull stopped.

  “Oh, Lord, if we succeed, we’ll have this day in, day out,” Noa said, slapping a hand over her face. The hover stopped abruptly and Noa, James, and 6T9 nearly flew into the front seats.

  “That hover came out of nowhere,” Eliza said.

  Noa sighed. When the craft resumed its journey, she nudged James with an elbow. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”

  He tried to think of a witty reply, and couldn’t.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me how ridiculous my plan is?” Noa asked him.

  “I have already stated my objections to your so-called plan,” James said. Noa intended to show up at the Manuels’ door without giving them any prior notice. James believed it would be better to approach them incrementally––send Eliza over, have her gently probe and see if they were dissatisfied enough with the administration to leave. Noa had agreed with him, but then said they didn’t have time, and that had been the end of it.

  “You never listen to my objections,” James commented.

  “I listen, I take them into account. I just never agree,” said Noa.

  James stared up at the roof of the craft. What was he doing here? His vision darkened. He’d failed. Failed at what? His head ticked rapidly three times to the side.

  “Hey,” Noa whispered. “You okay?”

  The compulsive movement ceased. James lay mute for a moment. The proper response was, I’m wanted by fundamentalist Luddeccean lunatics, stuffed in the boot of a hover with another Luddeccean lunatic and a sex ‘bot being driven by someone who isn’t fit to park it in a garage. Of course I am not okay. He felt as though his consciousness was condensing again. It was so cold in the hover. Did Eliza really need the air at full blast? But all he said was, “I’m hungry.” As he said the words, he realized they were true, and his vision was getting fuzzy at the edges again.