Shoulders slumped.
Whatever she wanted to do, she gave up.
Marcus waited at the end of the bed. Cali took a seat, pushing her hair back, cradling her face. Yes, she’d resigned to the end. Marcus was positive. He’d broken many spirits. He knew the sight of one that had crumbled, only needing swept up and disposed.
Still, he waited. He waited until the door opened and James stepped inside. He considered whether he needed security in the room. It was wise to play it safe. When James was next to him, only when his big body was between him and the wasted young woman, did Marcus pass the biomite reader to her.
“Take it.”
She held it, confused. Marcus gestured with a bent finger to her throat. She raised her head. Her eyes widened slightly. He was sure that she knew what would happen before she hesitantly pressed it to her flesh.
Read the number.
She held the biomite reader without protest.
“We’ll be doing a double shutdown at approximately 15:00 today. I’d like to conduct this event with dignity, Dr. Richards. I would prefer you shut down next to your brother. I’m sure you would prefer it that way, too.”
Marcus took the biomite reader. He went to the door and stopped, hardly turning his head.
“Check the news feed. The video of your brother’s assault has been released. The real one, Dr. Richards. Any other videos that may pop up will obviously be considered forgeries by talented engineers like yourself.”
She didn’t bother looking up. She’d been cornered. Knew her little stunt with the security video would only hold leverage for so long, knew he could get his people to make one do what he wanted. Whatever she was planning, she waited too long. And her shoulders slumped just a bit more.
Marcus would sweep up the pieces later on.
M0THER
Biomite Dreamlands Obscuring Reality
______
RICK MANSFIELD BURIED HIS HANDS in his coat, hunching his shoulders against the cold. Traffic ripped down the street, turning snow into ashy slush. The sky felt like a steel plate.
He skipped across the road, all six lanes, and dropped his foot in a pothole. Icy water soaked his sock. He hopped over the curb and hustled into the building with blacked-out windows, through a door below a bright sign: DREEMITE.
He stomped his shoes on the rug, his foot already numb. He grimaced. His upper lip cracked. It always cracked in the winter from the dry furnace-air. In Canada, there was a lot of furnace-air.
A few people sat at a small round table, sipping coffee and cappuccinos. Two men—one bald, the other reading a paper—sat at the bar; a woman worked behind it. The foamer whooshed with steam. The bald guy dropped his mug on the bar and started toward the door.
“I got minutes, I got minutes!” Rick raised his hands, surrendering. “I got minutes, Stan, I promise.”
Bald Stanley didn’t listen, grabbed Rick by his army green coat and hoisted him toward the door.
“Mr. Connors, I got minutes, I swear, I do!”
Mr. Connors didn’t look up. “Scan him.”
Stanley stopped like a Labrador hearing a whistle. He dropped Rick’s coat and stepped back. Rick straightened himself up and spread his hand out, palm down.
“This a goof, Mansfield, I’m throwing you in the street,” Stanley said. “Head first.”
“No goof, Stan. No goof. See, real deal.” Rick flexed his fingers. “It’s my hand, not synthetic. Not a fake one, not like last time. Go ahead, scan away. I got minutes.”
Stanley eyeballed him. He pulled a tablet from the inside of his jacket. Stanley put Rick’s hand on it like he was in court, swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.
“Two minutes?” Stanley held the tablet up for Mr. Conners to see. “Kid’s got two minutes. What the hell’s he going to do with two minutes?”
Mr. Connors shrugged.
“Two minutes is two minutes,” Rick said. “I’ll take what I can get, you know what I mean, Mr. Conners.” He raised his voice. “I’ll take what I can get, even if I HAVE TO PAY DOUBLE!”
“You’re about to go on the street,” Stanley said.
“I’m just saying, if you want to make some money, I’ll pay double.”
“Feds are watching, Mansfield. Skimming minutes will pull our license. Losing our license for you ain’t worth it.”
Rick shrugged off his coat. “Then two minutes it is.”
The barista slid the cappuccino to Mr. Connors. She went to the computer and punched the screen. “Eight is open.”
“Pay first,” Stanley said.
“Cash,” Mr. Connors added.
Rick dug into his pocket and dropped two crumpled twenties on the bar. “Two minutes, forty dollars.”
The barista ran a pen over the bills to make sure they were legit. She nodded. Stanley took Rick’s arm and guided him through the black curtain hanging over a doorway to the right of the bar. Rick yanked away from him.
The doors were numbered. Odds on the right. Evens on the left. Eight was at the end of the hall. Stanley pushed it open, revealing a solo chair in a closet-sized room.
“This won’t take long,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
Rick closed it behind him. A light came on and he locked the door. He dropped his coat and sat down. The chair was thick and comfortable with a firm headrest that cradled his skull. He leaned back, stared at the hanging light, and pressed the back of his head into the cradle until his biomites communicated with the plate embedded in the chair.
Closed his eyes.
Heard the winding, like a rocket preparing for liftoff.
His brain swirled.
Three, two, one…
And the bottom dropped out. He fell into the inner world. The plate made his brain biomites sizzle with excitement, releasing hallucinatory hormones. Rick saw colors. Warmth bled down his shoulders.
Lights.
Sounds.
And… crowds.
He saw the bodies. Saw the people. A nightclub full of them. All jumping to the beat, lasers fired in time to the music. And when he stepped onto the floor, they all knew him. They were all happy to see him. They raised their hands, they hugged him, slapped his back, wanted to take pictures with him.
Rick pushed them out of the way, sorting through them like collector’s items. Each woman was hotter than the next. Black, white, Asian, Pilipino… it was so hard to choose.
And he didn’t have much time.
He put his arms around two women. One was a blonde, at least six foot, a sparkly dress that revealed half her rack. Her lips were full and her breasts ripe. The other was a limber Chinese girl, perfect skin, big eyes and delicate fingers.
His groin twisted like a wet rag.
He sprinted for the stage. The band welcomed him. The guitarist started a slow, rhythmic solo. Rick wanted everyone to watch. And the crowd roared. The crowd adored him, paid to watch him perform on stage. That’s all he wanted, was everyone to recognize him. He deserved that.
He hooked his finger beneath the blonde’s strap, tugging it off her shoulder. Her ample breast popped from the top, revealing a large, circular hard nipple—
The light turned off—
Silence.
And Rick Mansfield fell back into his body. He opened his eyes, looking at a naked light bulb. Hands holding winter’s chill.
And he hated life.
He hated it.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.
31
Oxygen came in short supply.
Cali took little gulps, twisting her fingers like origami. Staring. Staring at a dead boy.
Her eyes couldn’t get any wider. The shock rode her pulse like waves, scratching the walls of her circulatory system as her blood carried toxic emotions to her numb and wooden body. Bones turned to steel.
Skin, sun-dried paper, singed at the edges.
She looked around the room, looked for ghost killers. Looked for their executioner. Felt the ceiling fall, the floor cav
e. The walls collapse.
Her world blacken.
Dry and desolate.
And dead.
And dead, dead, dead, DEAD, DEAD, DEADDEADDEADDEAD—
[Stop.]
The tiny blip of light that was Cali—rational Cali, intelligent Cali—was going under, tossed beneath waves of thoughts and panic and rage…
That little bit called a halt to the madness.
And the new breeds released a tsunami of endorphins to deaden pain, to release the tension. To stop the thoughts.
Cali’s eyelids dropped like shutters. Her breath leaked from her nostrils. She pulled a draught of fresh oxygen, long and deep, and exhaled once again. When she opened her eyes, she saw her brother. He was alive.
And she could save him.
Okay.
All right.
Deep breath.
Cali slowly let her thoughts engage her awareness. She needed to piece together what happened, what needed to change. She had expected to lose the leverage of the security video. It got her into the room. She knew they’d make their own, but they moved faster than she expected, but it was not a surprise. She began reaching for her phone to search the newsfeed, to see what the government was saying, when something twanged at the back of her neck.
Something felt familiar, easy.
She was using the new breeds to communicate with her computer, to think directly into the Internet… she didn’t need her phone. She thought-commanded a search into cyberspace, looking for the last news on Nixon Richards. The results were recent and plentiful.
Biomite-Crazed Teenager Attacks Detention Guard.
She activated the video link and streamed it directly to her retinas. Her eyes glazed over as the video formed, surreally, over Nix’s head. It started with him standing in his room, the footage grainy. The door opened and George stepped in with a tray of food. He smiled at Nix and appeared to say something that made them both laugh. The fat, jolly guard placed the tray on the desk and went to the door and, just before he opened it, Nix pounced, driving the man’s head into the wall.
Her brother slammed the door.
He climbed on top of the obese, hairy man—eyes wide with adrenaline, teeth bared to the glistening gums—and began to wail.
There was no sound.
But there was blood.
Lots of it.
And the sheer gore of the video would carry it around the world in seconds.
Cali didn’t bother reading the interviews. The press was sure to find someone that claimed Nix’s sister was crazy, that she was losing it, that she’d lost it after the accident. Her co-workers might slip that she was on a medical leave of absence, that she’d seen a psychologist. The public would label her crazy, case closed.
There were sure to be inconsistencies that were swept under the public rug. The anti-biomite protest groups would ignore the obvious forgery. The conspiracy theorists would be dismissed as kooks. And even if it was proven false, even if Nix’s innocence was heralded in the Supreme Court, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter, not one damn bit.
Because they’d already be dead.
They’d be shut down.
And nothing could bring them back. That’s how that game was played.
It was mid-morning. Chicago was full tilt. Bumpers on bumpers. Sidewalks hustling.
That was one of the reasons Cali planned for Nix to be transferred to Northwestern Memorial, to be in the city. She wanted people around. Millions of them, all with biomites.
This would all be easy to resolve if Marcus was seeded. The man was pure. She’d scanned him when he was in the room, her new breeds chattering all over his body and finding nothing but organic flesh. And that was a stroke of luck because if he was seeded even with the smallest amount, she would’ve killed him where he stood.
She would’ve reprogrammed his biomites to consume him like microscopic pit bulls or discharge a power supply, boil him from the inside.
Eat his brain like zombie tapeworms.
She would’ve dropped him, killed him, murdered him… and then there would be no escape, not right then. Even though he deserved it. He deserved to die.
He plans to murder me.
Cali wasn’t 49.9% biomite. Her registered biomites—the ones M0ther could see—held steady at 39%.
M0ther was rigged for moments like this. How easy it would be to get rid of a problem by calling it into M0ther, overriding her monitor with a false number and then push a button and—
POOF.
It was murder. And he’d told her with a slight smile. He knew that she knew. He wanted her to know that she’d stepped into a lion’s den when she brought the security video to him, forced him to play her game. Wanted her to know that she’d lost.
But the game wasn’t over.
First, she needed to get Nix far away from this place. As she watched a taxi wedge its way into traffic, her accelerated thought process put together a plan. There was no time to run an analysis on it.
She tapped into the hospital network and requested a wheelchair be brought to their floor and parked around the corner. Her shirt tugged off her shoulder.
“Momma?” Avery had a handful of her shirt. “Are you all right?”
“Sweetheart.”
Cali fell into her chair and wrapped her arms around her. She murmured apologies, over and over. How long had she been there, calling her name? Worried something was wrong?
Bad mom.
Cali held Avery at arm’s length. “Honey, I need you to do something by yourself. Can you do that?”
Avery nodded.
“I need you to go to the Red Roof Inn; it’s just down the street. I’ll give you directions. You’ll go to the front desk and there will be a key there, waiting for you. Tell them your name is Avery and your mother left the key for you. Can you do that?”
“I’m scared.”
“I know you are. So am I. But this is important. We all have to find the big person inside us. I just want you to be safe in the room and wait for us.”
“I’m afraid you won’t come back.” Avery sniffed.
“Oh, honey, we’ll be right there. Uncle Nix just needs to rest a little longer and then we’ll be there, okay?”
“Is that bald man going to hurt you?”
“No, no. He’s not going to hurt anyone. I promise.”
Avery puffed out her bottom lip. She nodded.
Cali showed her directions to the hotel on her phone and hugged her so tightly that Avery couldn’t breathe. She walked her to the door. James sat in the hall and looked up from his paper. Cali watched her daughter walk bravely to the other end of the hallway, past the nurse delivering a wheelchair parked around the corner.
Nix was still asleep.
Cali sat next to him.
And began to think.
32
Nix dreamed of the lagoon.
It wasn’t the same as going there. Dreaming was more like thinking, but it was better than nothing. So Nix dreamed his dream. He flew with his arms out, over the white-tipped waves that washed foam on the north shore. He brushed over the tropical trees, the leaves shimmering in his wake. He imagined his girl there, waiting on the beach for him, where they’d sit by a fire and wait for the moon to illuminate the still waters.
Excitement buzzed the sky.
Warmth bled deep into the jungle.
Nix felt safe.
Peaceful.
If he was lucky, he’d stay that way, maybe never wake up. Just bask in the sweet healing glow of the dream. It had been so long since he’d felt that way. He knew it was the new breeds that soothed his nerves and calmed his mind, but he’d felt that way before. He’d felt safe and wanted when he was younger, when he was composed of so many less biomites.
When he was mostly organic.
It was mostly when he went to bed, all curled up beneath the comforter with his head sunk in a pillow. The adult voices murmured from the front room. When his parents died, Cali and Thomas took over for the
voices. Theirs were sharper and higher, but just as safe. Sometimes it was just the two of them talking about their day. Sometimes they had friends over and glasses would clink and bottles pop, but no matter how many cars rushed down the road or how many creepy sounds the house made, Nix was safe.
Nothing would touch him. He’d throw the cover over his head and melt into the safety of their voices.
When Cali was nervous or scared or worried, he could always count on Thomas to bring the safety back. He was strong and smart. He knew how to hunt and how to drive a boat. He could bait a hook in seconds. Nix still had a picture of his first offshore catch, ten years old, holding a yellowfin tuna—Thomas helping him hold the silver-sparkling fish high enough to take the picture.
And then there was the time some guy got weird outside the market. He asked for money. He smelled bad. His eyes red where they should’ve been white. He grabbed Cali’s wrist and Thomas chopped the guy in the neck, dropping him like a tree branch. Said he learned that in the service.
Nix never felt so safe.
And he deserved it.
After everything he’d been through.
And when the phone rang, when Nix was twelve years old, watching TV, and his sister answered and her mouth opened and closed like the yellowfin tuna’s did when he reeled it onto the boat’s floor… he knew.
He knew.
It happened again.
Another car accident.
The details, irrelevant.
Nix was exposed again. No security blanket. No safe feeling. He’d lost, again. That’s what no one in the world realized, what everyone took for granted, what Nix never did…
You can lose everything at any moment.
So he reveled in the dream’s security. He rolled in the warm emotions like salty bathwater. If he could make it happen, he would never wake up.
Stay asleep. Forever.
But then Cali’s voice echoed in the dream, calling down from the blue dream-sky like God.
He would have to wake up.
Cali needed him. He had to be the security blanket. She needed him.
He stayed in the dream and listened to her projecting thoughts into his mind. Plans had changed.
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