The chief assistant chimed in, saying, “Our employer is going to offer your family a lucrative opportunity. I think you really should hear us out. After all,” he added, “we don’t want to have to speak with your supervisor at work.”
Killian stood up. “What the hell do you mean, ‘speak to my supervisor?’”
“Mister Davenport, Steven Davenport, that’s his name,” said the assistant. “Is that correct?”
Hearing his boss’s name settled Killian down. He nodded and took his seat. “I don’t want you to do that,” he said.
“Of course you don’t. We don’t want that. All we would like is to make you an offer.”
“What happens if I turn the offer down?” Asked Killian.
“Well that wouldn’t be a very good idea,” said the assistant with a grin. “Not a very good idea at all.”
“We’re prepared to offer you and your family more than your twice your current wage,” said the middle-aged man, adjusting his glasses, “for simply allowing your son to be part of an experiment.”
“Sure,” answered Killian quickly. “The boy’s not busy. He can help you all you want with your experiment.” He gave Morgan a snide sideways glance, saying, “Not like he has any friends keeping him busy.”
Blaise Lorrance stared at Morgan, studying the boy like a rare orchid. Keeping his eyes fixed on him, the old man took the mysterious titanium box from his assistant.
“What’s in there?” interrupted Killian.
Lorrance ignored him and took a step toward Morgan, leaning over until he was eye to eye with the boy. “In here,” he told Morgan, “is the greatest thing I’ve ever invented. In fact, if I’m not feigning humility, it’s the greatest invention in human history. Greater than fire, even.”
“Better than the Bastion?” Asked Morgan.
“Oh, yes,” Lorrance answered, “there is no competition. What I’m going to show you contains the world’s most powerful, next-generation artificially-intelligent computer system.”
“What’s it for?” Asked Morgan.
“Why, it’s for you,” smiled Blaise Lorrance. “It’s all yours.”
Lorrance unlatched the top of the box, then lowered in his hand to remove whatever it was.
Killian interrupted, saying, “This seems fishy to me. Why would you choose this little bastard? Aren’t there super genius kids out there who would be better?”
Lorrance, who seemed at the end of his patience, refused to even look at Killian. He whispered to Morgan as though it was just the two of them in the room, telling the boy, “Don’t ever listen to a word this fool says to you. Ever.”
“Hey!” Argued Killian. “My son will listen to what I say. Don’t call me a fool in my own house.”
Just then, Lorrance pulled his hand out of the titanium case.
“Morgan Battle,” he said, “meet Strix.”
The robotic owl was about the size of a grapefruit, with soft, flexible crystals for feathers. It appeared to be designed after a screech owl, with a round, stocky body and very little neck. His face was all eyes. Strix’s feathers felt like plush plastic. When Morgan grazed his fingers over, they beamed different colors and twinkled with electronic life.
Strix could shimmy around like a penguin but there was no chance of flight. All the circuitry, light emitting diodes and microprocessors seemed to go all to Strix's head. His face and ears could turn his face from sweet to savage with just a flick of some motors.
The owl's eyes, about the size of a quarters, were the most fascinating feature. They moved over everything, turning from pinholes to black holes, and frequently flashed colors and even pictures.
“It’s a toy owl,” Morgan said, sounding disappointed.
The toy’s LED eyes scanned around the room, stopping on Blaise Lorrance, then Killian, then finally settled on Morgan. Strix flicked its mechanical eyelids softly and made something like a smile out of its animatronic beak.
“I thought you said something about an experiment,” said Killian. “The kid’s fourteen. He’s a little old for stuffed toys.”
Lorrance lowered his voice, nearly whispering to Morgan. “It’s not a toy by any stretch of the imagination,” he told him. “Strix is going to change the world.”
The owl’s eyes, formed by a matrix of colorful LED lights, held on to Morgan’s face. The owl’s expression communicated a clear affection, as though it couldn’t be happier to be with Morgan, its rightful owner now.
“This doesn’t make a damned bit of sense,” Killian told Lorrance. “You’re going to pay me just to have my son play with a toy. Something isn’t right with this.” Looking for an explanation, he crossed his arms over his chest and stood over Lorrance.
The chief assistant told him, “We’ve said before that this is not a toy. This is an experiment.”
“What kind of experiment?” Asked Killian.
“A psychological one,” said the assistant. “We’re very interested in the mental health of children growing up near the Bastion. Children with difficult backgrounds...”
“What’s difficult about my son’s background?” Asked Killian.
Lorrance’s assistant smiled at the question, saying, “Forgive my choice of words. It’s just that, growing up in the very shadow of the Bastion, no mother and a father struggling to keep the family going...”
“Nobody is struggling.”
“We apologize,” said the assistant. “We have no desire to insult you or your family. We’ll leave it at this. Based on a number of statistics, we think your son would be a fantastic subject, a human to test the system. Children are ideal for a number of reasons.”
“When do I get paid?”
“You’ll find half of the money already in your account. The other half, you’ll receive at the conclusion of the experiment.”
Lorrance stood up and indicated to his associates it was time to leave. He made no gesture of goodbye and offered no handshake to Killian. To Morgan, the old man flashed a wide smile.
Then Lorrance and his entourage started out the front door.
Morgan followed them out while his father hovered at the door. Still holding Strix the owl, he stopped Blaise Lorrance, telling him, “I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do with this.”
“Of course you don’t. How would you?”
Morgan was confused and just stared at him.
“Listen,” Lorrance relented, “if you have any questions, just ask...” He looked down at the electronic owl. Then he took a step toward Morgan and spoke softly. “My boy,” he went on, “you can ask your new friend literally anything in the world. That’s how they’ll learn from you. That’s how you’ll learn from them.”
“Them?”
Blaise Lorrance just grinned without answering. He stepped into the backseat of his limo. Just before the car pulled away, a bit of salty spray shot over the top of the Bastion, sending a drizzle over everything.
...
Chapter 3
Lucas Mucus
The following afternoon, a squall slid over Azurton before anyone had a chance to prepare. Whitecaps sent fish and crabs soaring over the Bastion and bursting on the ground. The schools nearby let out early and the students were told to use their earplugs and walk only on the storm paths with the reinforced roofs.
It was still dark because the sun hadn’t yet passed over the Bastion. Due to the wall’s immense height, the twenty blocks closest to the Bastion didn’t see any sunlight until twelve-thirty in the afternoon.
When Lucas stepped outside the school doors with the flood of students, he noticed three men watching him from in front of a black limousine. The old man in the center lifted up his frail arm and waved to him. Lucas didn’t recognize him but returned the gesture.
While he walked under the reinforced roof with the other students, he realized the old man wasn’t the only one interested in him. A group of boys, his usual squad of tormenters, were following and gaining on him.
One of them yelled to Lucas, �
��Hey, it’s the sperm whale, Lucas Mucus! Wait up, blubber boy! We need to give you a hug!”
Lucas Monkshood picked up his pace until he felt each of the hundred and fifty pounds of extra weight swinging around on his frame. His legs were stiff, bloated and heavy but he ran until he started to pant and his face felt hot enough to fry an egg.
The three boys following him didn’t have to put in any effort to catch him.
“Why are you running?” One of them shouted to Lucas. “We just want some bear hugs, fat boy!”
Lucas’s legs just couldn’t move his nearly three-hundred pounds. He was starting to get lightheaded and cramps were forming in his thighs.
One of them caught Lucas by the collar of his jacket.
“We’re talking to you, tub of lard!” said the largest of the boys, Nox Jaborosa.
After being left back two grades, sixteen-year-old Nox was the largest boy in school and known for being the most aggressive. His school suspensions and run-ins with the law were legendary among the students. His eyes were always locked in a disturbed stare and he only smiled while torturing someone. The rumor was his former military father was particularly brutal.
Slapping Lucas in the back of the head, Nox said, “Just kidding, fat boy. We love you. We’re just playing around.”
“Sure,” said Lucas, still trying to catch his breath.
“You feeling all right, fat boy?” Asked one of the other boys.
“Yeah, fat boy doesn’t look so good,” said Nox. “Looks like we may have to bury him at sea.”
Lucas tried to speak but he couldn’t inhale. He could feel his enlarged heart beating against his ribcage. Nox, the other boys and the tram stop started to blur and shift. Breathing the air felt like sucking in concrete.
Nox pushed him and he collapsed to the ground. All he could do was gasp for air.
“What’s wrong with you, lard ass? Don’t think you can fake being sick to get rid of us!” He jabbed Lucas in the back with his right foot. “Go on. Get up!”
Lucas’s breathing stopped. Then his eyes rolled back.
“He isn’t faking,” said one of the other boys. “Something is wrong with him.”
“Go through his pockets,” ordered Nox.
Before the boys got to Lucas, they saw something that stopped them.
Three men were standing in the rain just outside of the storm roof. Two of them were close to seven feet tall and their muscles threatened to rip through their business suits. They were holding umbrellas over the old man in the middle, who was beaming a smile at Nox.
“What are you looking at?” Hollered Nox.
The old man shouted over the storm, “We’d appreciate it if you took a hike as they used to say.”
Nox asked him, “Aren’t you scared of the storm old man? You could get your scrawny little ass squashed.”
“Oh, I think we’ll be just fine,” said the old man.
One of the old man’s bodyguards told Nox, “Walk away now, boy.”
“Or what?” Asked Nox, showing much less fear than his cohorts.
Both bodyguards brought out platinum badges from their inside coat pockets. “This is a government matter,” said one of them. “Now get out of here.”
“Those badges look legit,” whispered Nox’s friend to him.
“What are you going to do?” Nox asked. “Arrest us for just standing here?”
“Of course not,” said one of the bodyguards. “We have no intention of arresting you. What we’ll do instead is put you down the drainage pipe over there.”
Nox’s friends forgot about Lucas and tore off down the path. Nox stayed behind. He asked the men, “Why do you care about the fat boy so much? And who is the old timer? He looks familiar.”
When the men didn’t answer, Nox sauntered away as though nothing had happened.
Blaise Lorrance hurried over to Lucas, kneeling over him and studying his bluish complexion. He brought out a small black cylinder, about the size of roll of candy, and held it up to Lucas’s face. A blue light beamed from the end and a small waft of vapor ran into Lucas’s nostrils.
The mist brought him back to life. He gulped down several breaths before he looked around and realized what had happened. Color travelled back to his cheeks and his clenched limbs sighed in relief.
Blaise Lorrance cradled Lucas’s head as the boy lay on the ground. He told him, “You should be feeling better. What I gave you should stop the inflammation in your lungs. Just keep breathing.”
“Where’d they go?” Lucas asked, stretching his neck around to look for Nox and his friends.
“I wouldn’t worry about them,” said Lorrance. “Pretty soon they’ll be just an unpleasant, distant memory.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” said Lorrance. He and his assistants helped Lucas to his feet. “It isn’t important. What is important is that I have been lucky enough to meet you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re very important, my boy,” said Lorrance, his smile touched with whimsy. “You’re going to be a critical part of the development of the world’s most advanced technology.”
“Umm, OK.”
“Is that something you’d be interested in?”
“I guess. I should probably ask my mom first.”
Lorrance’s grin swelled like a wet sponge. “You guess?” he said, shaking his head. “You’re so shy, my boy, but it isn’t your fault.” He looked at Lucas as though he understood something about him. “This is where your life changes. This is what you’ve been dreaming of.” Lorrance waited for him to say something.
“What do I have to do?”
“Everything is done,” said the old man. “We’ve already spoken to your mother. Well, my assistants spoke; I stood there. I prefer not to speak to most adults, but that’s another story. The future, my boy, is waiting for you at home. Sitting right next to your bed, in fact.”
“What is it?”
Lorrance reflected on the question. Considering he had invented the thing, he seemed to have only a slight grasp of its purpose. He scrunched up his eyes and clicked with his mouth. “What is Strix?” He asked himself. “It’s hard to define, I suppose, but I’ll say it’s a window to the future.”
“What do I have to do?”
Lorrance didn’t answer because something captured his attention. Just a few yards away, the squall sent a manta ray into the air, before its fall was broken by a tree. The old man gestured to his men to take action. Two of his bodyguards went over to the ray, picked it up, and deposited it into what looked like a mailbox on the street. With flowing water out to the sea, these Lorrance ports were all over Azurton and meant to evacuate ocean creatures back to their home.
Lorrance told Lucas, “I understand you have a fondness for sea creatures as well.”
“Um hmm. I do.”
“We’re very much alike, you and me, Lucas. I love them too. I know how it feels to be a fish out of water and I know you do too. That’s why I forced the city to install my ports.”
“Doctor Lorrance,” Lucas started to ask as he tried to pull himself up, “I don’t understand. You probably have the wrong kid. What am I supposed to do for your experiment?”
“Just talk to them, my boy.”
…
When Lucas arrived home that afternoon, his mother was waiting for him at the front door. She was eager to discuss the visit from Blaise Lorrance and Lucas’s participation in the experiment.
As soon as she saw him, she pulled him in close and held his cheeks between her palms.
“You don’t look right,” she said, studying his eyes and sweaty brow like a crime scene investigator. “Your color. Your pupils. Something’s off. What happened today?”
“Nothing. I met Blaise Lorrance but that’s about it.”
“I knew my son was special,” she said, forgetting her questioning for a moment. “When I got a knock at the door, I assumed it was those awful religious people from down the street. I had a po
t of hot cayenne pepper water, ready to throw. What a surprise to find Blaise Lorrance standing there. I’d seen his picture in articles, so I knew what he looked like. I barely leave the house and here I am, meeting a world famous celebrity.”
Forty-eight-year-old Aura Monkshood had dark specks for eyes, like spots on a potato, and could never be seen without her graying hair peeled back into ponytail. Even with her ballerina’s frame, she nearly always wore her own homemade muumuus, sewn from fabric she bought from the neighborhood swap meets.
She added, “I wish I had known he was coming. I could have spruced up a bit.”
“Why did he pick me? I don’t get it.”
“Because you’re the greatest boy that ever lived. That’s why.”
“Did he explain anything?”
“He just left your special new toy by your bed. It’s quite cute if you ask me.”
Lucas told her, “This doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why Blaise Lorrance or anyone else would be interested in me. It has to be because… I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying,” his mother snapped. “Don’t ever say something like that around me. Don’t you think what you say affects how you feel. You have to do your part and be strong. Dying is unacceptable.”
Aura had been a compounding pharmacist before leaving her job years earlier. Lucas had been just four years old when she dedicated herself fulltime to take care of him after his father’s death.
She pointed her stare straight through him. Her expression could be dissecting.
“You’re the only man in my life,” She said. “You have no business dying. Now, take off your shirt.”
“I don’t want to.”
“What does that mean? Take it off.”
The act of pulling his shirt over his head was painful. His skin, from his legs to his neck, was covered in a branching rash of boils. He’d had them for years and the doctors had long ago given up diagnosis and treatment. It had been years since he’d even seen a professional. So the boils just festered.
“I’ve come up with something new,” Aura said. “It’s made from mandrake root and a special fungus from the mountains of Iowa.”
Break the Bastion Page 2
