He parked and found a napkin in his center console and used it to dab at his bleeding lip. He took a look in the rearview mirror and shook his head. “And that thing finally healed up all the way, too.”
It was the same lip, split open over the same eye tooth. The same injury he’d received when Mateo and his crew beat him and Abe.
“Maybe you shouldn’t lead with your face?” I was trying to insert a joke, a little humor, but Zander wasn’t ready for it.
He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled at you . . .”
“But?” I knew a “but” when I heard one coming.
“But, Jayda, I hoped we could put the fighting and violence behind us once Cushing was gone.”
“We didn’t go looking for that back there,” I protested. “We didn’t start that!”
“No. I’m not saying we did . . .”
“But?”
“I don’t know. I’m having trouble handling the idea of you being some sort of martial arts expert, not only able to take care of yourself, but needing to step in and save me. I-I don’t like feeling less of a man with you.”
“You mean the way I don’t like feeling less of a human? And I’m supposed to get over it because Jesus told me to, but you can’t?”
Stung, he looked off into the distance. What I’d said was true, but that didn’t make it less of a barb.
I knew Zander’s Hispanic upbringing brought along specific cultural ideals regarding male and female roles—particularly those of the man as the protector and the woman as the weaker of the two. I hadn’t given those cultural mores nearly as much thought and attention as my own discomforts when it came to the nanomites.
“I’m sorry; that was a low blow.” I was trying to recall exactly what he’d said to me earlier.
“Um, Zander?”
“Yeah?”
“When we were sitting on the ridgeline, you told me . . . told me I needed to face my reality.”
He hesitated before nodding. I think he knew where this was going.
“You said that, instead of confronting truth, I was avoiding the reality I lived in.”
I chose my words with care. “Well, I will always be stronger than you, Zander. I will always be faster than you. A better fighter than you. I can channel energy through my body and use it as a formidable weapon. I read and retain everything I see and have immediate access to every scrap of data the nanocloud has amassed.
“None of those things will change. Hiding what I am or ignoring what I am won’t change what I am. This is my reality.”
He started to say something, but I wasn’t done.
“Wait. Please . . . let me finish. The last thing I needed to share with you today, before those jerks interrupted us, was this: The nanomites are not immortal nor are they impervious to injury or damage. The truth is, a few members of the swarm fail every day and, despite its best efforts to repair its fellows, the nanocloud’s overall numbers will decrease with time.
“Sure, a few here and a few there mean nothing to a population of twenty-plus trillion! But eventually, it will matter. Eventually, more each day will reach their end of life. The nanomites tell me that the life expectancy of the nanocloud is fifteen years or less before attrition makes it impossible for them to sustain their critical functions—and that’s if nothing cataclysmic—such as an EMP or electrical discharge—kills a substantial portion of the nanocloud’s population sooner.
“Fifteen years at the outside, Zander. That’s all I’ve got. It may be less.”
I’d been as honest as I could be. Covered every facet I could imagine.
“You need to consider, given all my baggage, if you still want to marry me—because that’s my reality.”
~~**~~
Chapter 34
When Zander dropped me at my apartment, we prayed together. We were uncomfortable with each other, but at least we prayed.
“Lord,” Zander whispered. “Help. We need you. Show us, Lord, what to do. You know I’m flawed; you know my struggles. I admit to my failings. But you, Father God, are good and you love us. As high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is your love for us. For me. For Gem—for Jayda. So, Lord, we will wait on you and wait on your answers. Amen.”
“Amen,” I answered.
We parted with no plan other than to wait for God to reveal his direction. I knew God had plans for me: The Bible told me he did, Jesus had told me he did, and the nanomites had relayed the same message. Whatever those plans were? They were shrouded and unknown at present.
***
The next morning, my phone rang. As you might imagine, I didn’t get many calls. Despite the offers at Bible study, Zander was the only person to whom I’d given my number.
I picked up my phone and looked at it. The caller I.D. read, Sandia National Laboratories.
Yikes.
“Hello?”
“Am I speaking to Jayda Locke?” the female voice inquired.
“Um, yes. This is she.”
How did you get my name and number?
“This is Demi Barela. I’m calling for our new department head, Daniel Bickel. We have an opening for a project controls specialist. Dr. Bickel recommended you. Are you interested in viewing the posting?”
Ms. Barela? As in the woman who got my old job after Dr. Prochanski fired me?
“Ms. Locke?”
“Sorry. You were saying?”
She huffed. “We have an open position for a project controls specialist. Are you interested?”
What would it hurt?
“Yes.”
“Please log in to www.sandia.gov/careers and search for Job I.D. 657107 to view and apply for the posting.”
“Thank you.”
I spent the next few hours applying for a job at a place I never dreamed I’d be returning to. Later, my phone rang again. This time, the caller I.D. told me who it was.
“Dr. Bickel?”
“Yes, dear girl. Zander called me this morning to ask how I was doing. Imagine my delight when I heard you had, er, established yourself again here in Albuquerque. Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads-up. Our department has an opening you would be perfect for, so I asked Zander for your new number and gave it to Ms. Barela, my department admin. You should get a call from her about the posting.”
I chuckled. “Too late, Dr. Bickel. She already called me, and I already applied.”
“Goodness, that woman is efficient.” To himself he muttered, “I guess she’d have to be to survive Imogene Cushing.”
I hadn’t thought of Ms. Barela in that light, but Dr. Bickel was right. I shivered. “Um, by the way, I don’t know if you’ve heard the news yet . . . about General Cushing.”
Dr. Bickel knew very well that Cushing was dead. He also knew that her death hadn’t been publicized.
“Why? What have you heard?”
“Well, I have it on good authority that she was aboard the Air Force transport that went down over the Atlantic a few weeks back. The authorities may not have . . . widely publicized that her name was on the flight’s manifest.”
He processed my information in silence before saying, “I see. Yes, I believe I understand.”
Then he changed tack. “My dear Jayda, after the terrible explosion last year, Sandia rebuilt my laboratory. It is as good as new, and I’m now the department head! Even better, Sandia has reinstated my technicians, Gene and Tony. Someone very high up must have cut through reams of bureaucratic red tape to clear us so quickly, but I received word through the SNL director that our work is not to be overseen or harassed by any member of the military or national security complex.”
I thought about President Jackson and the decent man I’d found him to be. Dr. Bickel’s good news only added to my high opinion of our President.
Dr. Bickel lowered his voice. “Well, I don’t exactly trust one hand of the government to restrain another, so I have decided to redesign my nanomites for medical purposes only. Their construct will be simpler and less accommodating to mil
itary repurposing. I will never again create the nanocloud you know so well.”
I sighed; I already knew that. “But you have a place for me in your department?”
“Indeed, and I have full hiring discretion. We’ll schedule your interview next week and, after you’ve passed the background checks, we’ll bring you on board as quickly as possible.”
He paused. “Er, you can pass a background check, can’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I believe I can. In spades.”
***
“You wanted to see me, Pastor McFee?”
“Yes. Come in, my boy. Sit down.”
Zander took the chair the senior pastor offered him. Watched as the kind man studied him. He knew what Pastor McFee saw. Multicolored bruises. A cut lip. Again.
“Zander, I’m a bit worried about you.”
“Sir?”
“This is the second time in less than three months that you’ve had a physical altercation.”
“Both were unprovoked attacks, sir. You can hardly fault me for defending myself.”
“No, I suppose not.” McFee studied his folded hands before he spoke again. “Zander, you are a wonderful Christian man and an excellent associate pastor. I hold you in high regard. The thing is, though, you were also away for several days in December without any communication to us or explanation as to why until afterward.”
When Zander opened his mouth, Pastor McFee held up his hand. “I know you said you were on a chaplain’s ride-along and were needed. However, right on the heels of that absence, you had a family emergency and did not come in to the office until the following week.
“At that time, one of our elders raised a question about a young woman you were known to associate with, a Miss Gemma Keyes. He asked if she wasn’t the same woman who was wanted by the police in the statewide alert—a manhunt that occurred while you were on your ride-along? And then, wasn’t she killed a few weeks later, along with her sister?”
“Yes, sir. She was.”
“Very strange!” Pastor McFee muttered. “When all that happened so close together, the church board expressed their concerns, not over your sincerity or performance as our associate, but as to whether you have found your rightful ministry calling. Then, today, your face testifies of a second physical altercation and, my boy, I will have the unpleasant duty of explaining to the elders of the church, once more, why our congregation will see you Sunday morning with bruises upon your face.”
Zander didn’t answer. He was mulling over Pastor McFee’s words, “Not over your sincerity or performance as our associate, but as to whether you have found your rightful ministry calling.”
Something about those words jangled on a nerve.
“Pastor Cruz?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I wish you to do something for me. For yourself.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I want you to spend some time seeking the Lord about your future. Oh, you’re not in danger of being dismissed. The people of DCC love you very much. But I wish you to envision yourself ten years down the line. Where do you see yourself? What vision has the Lord given you for your future? I wish you to ask him for clarity. And I wish you to be honest with yourself. I know you are called to minister, but I also know the life God saved you from. So, I believe it is a matter of where and how the Lord wishes you to minister. Can you prayerfully consider that?”
“Yes, sir. I can.”
“Very good. Now go along. I have that blasted board meeting this evening, and I wish to inform them of your new facial embellishments before they find out elsewise. Don’t worry. Just pray.”
“Thank you, sir. I-I appreciate your confidence in me.”
Zander closed Pastor McFee’s office door behind him and, hands on his hips, wondered, Lord? Is there something you haven’t told me yet?
He thought of Gemma. No, it’s Jayda! he reminded himself.
“Lord, I have this sense that something is coming and is just around the bend. I know you will reveal it in your time and place. Until then, what can I do but trust you?”
~~**~~
Chapter 35
I did okay in the Sandia job interview, passed the background check, and accepted the offer they extended to me. In the run-up to my start date, I entered Jayda’s personal information in e-QIP, the government’s security clearance database, bought a work wardrobe, spent time with Abe and Emilio, attended church on Sundays, and showed up for Friday evening Bible study.
I enjoyed the Friday study very much, and Izzie and I grew closer over those weeks. We started hanging out together. She was like the sister Genie never had been: sweet, caring, funny, considerate. Her walk with God and her willingness to serve wherever she was needed inspired me—and often got me serving alongside her.
On the other hand, Zander and I kept a wary distance from each other. It was as if a giant “off limits” sign hung above our heads that only we could see.
I was praying, and I knew Zander was praying, but the obstacles that stood between us were insurmountable—impossible for either of us to control or change. I caught him staring at me more than once, and it was weird, like we were both waiting for the proverbial “other shoe” to drop, for God to speak a word into our lives that would clear the clouds of confusion away.
Until then, Zander and I would stay at arms’ length. Or more.
“Shoot. I thought you and Zander had something going on,” Izzie complained.
I shrugged. “If it were God’s will for us to ‘have something going on,’ I’m sure we’d know it.”
***
I started my job the last week of February, and I was so excited to be back in the AMEMS department. Dr. Bickel was happy, too. When he gave me the tour of his new laboratory, he was as beside himself as a kid in a candy store.
“My techs and I are building a new 3D printer.” Dr. Bickel’s pride and enthusiasm were contagious. “We are in the process of redesigning my ion printhead—albeit a simpler, less substantial version. The up-and-coming printhead will produce single-purpose nanobots, custom-manufactured for specific medical treatments. I want to focus our work on helping hurting people.”
He pointed to a corner of the lab where sat what looked like a large box draped in white sheeting. “There sits the original 3D printer we left for Cushing to steal before she blew up the lab—minus the ion printhead, of course.” He sniggered and whispered, “Cushing had her lab lackeys slaving over that printer for half a year trying to replicate my nanomites. Not only did they not know about my printhead, they didn’t even possess the vision to perceive what the printer was lacking.”
He waved two technicians over. “Jayda, these are my good friends and longtime co-workers, Gene and Tony. Guys, this is our new project specialist, Jayda Locke.”
It was great seeing Gene and Tony again, and it was all I could do to be merely pleasant when I “met” them and shook their hands—when what I really wanted was to grab them and hug them. Tell them how glad I was to see them again.
No, I couldn’t do that. Jayda Locke was a stranger to Sandia. I had to smile and tolerate new-employee orientations, email and system training, and the good intentions of those around me who wanted to school me on all things Sandia. However, the advice and pointers were kindly offered, and I was appreciative that people cared.
What was different about Sandia this time around? Me. I was different. I had a softer, more confident edge. I was friendlier and less self-conscious. I wasn’t carrying the chip on my shoulder that Gemma had borne most of her life.
The job was certainly easy enough. The nanomites did so many tasks for me and made so many helpful observations, that I finished my work ahead of schedule and found myself often daydreaming. I also experienced moments of déjà vu—like when I drove in and out of the parking lot.
From the lot, my eyes turned toward the mountain east of us. It would forever hold a special place in my heart. Seeing its rounded peaks so close again, I felt like my life had come full circle�
�or that I was living in that crazy movie, Groundhog Day, or maybe another zany old film, 50 First Dates.
I was repeating a singular facet of my life, but this time? This time I would get it right.
While I worked on Dr. Bickel’s project parameters and attended meetings to scope the project and its budget, a contingency of the nanomites were often off somewhere else. I would feel them come and go, but I was too engrossed in Dr. Bickel’s expectations and my own deadlines to worry about them. The nanomites’ curiosity and thirst for learning knew no bounds, so they seemed industrious and content.
Except for missing Zander, I was, too.
***
I’d been at my new job five weeks.
With March mostly gone, spring was in the air. Izzie, Nance, and I started hiking the foothills together on Sunday afternoons, taking Emilio (and all his boyish energy) with us.
Yes, with the advent of spring, the foothills were greening, and Emilio was blooming with the desert flowers. He raced ahead of us girls, clambered up and down boulders and hillsides, jumped off large rocks, ran, yelled, and hollered to his heart’s content. I was glad to see him shooting up and filling out on Abe’s plain but plentiful cooking: His t-shirts no longer hid the thin rack of ribs that had dismayed me a year ago.
He was a happy boy, and I loved that kid more every day.
With regular paychecks, my bank account was doing all right, too. Every two weeks I passed money for Emilio’s incidentals to Abe—even though he protested.
“I get money for bein’ a foster parent, and you and Zander make raising this boy simple,” he admitted. “Zander picks up Emilio after school most days, runs him around the park or up and down the basketball court, then helps him with his homework. All I got to do is feed him, get him to take a shower, and send him off t’ school each day.”
I hugged Abe. “I know you do far more than that. You give Emilio the love and security he needs. You are God’s gift to him.”
I was astonished when Abe kind of teared up. “No, you got it wrong, Jayda. Never had a boy of my own. We weren’t blessed with children, Alice and I. After she passed, you and Genie were as close as I got to having kids. Thought you’d lost your mind when you dropped a child in my lap. But now I know. Now I know that Emilio’s the son God gave me in my old age, like God gave Abraham a son in his old age. No, I’m not God’s gift to Emilio; he’s God’s gift to me.”
Stealth Retribution Page 35
