Walken considered that a moment. “I feel no physical damage. You might want to do a neurological scan, however. I don’t know what the enemy might have tried to do to me.”
“Hep, get them on it.” At the command, Hepzibah nodded and disappeared out of Walken’s field of vision. Bobbi turned her attention on Walken again.” Look, what happened in there? I couldn’t see anything you were experiencing, just the connection signal going into flux after about twenty seconds.”
“Twenty seconds.” The clock in his head told him it had only been two minutes since she had sent him into the data vault. “He works very fast, then.”
Bobbi made an impatient sound. “Yeah. But who?”
Walken frowned.” He wouldn’t tell me. I can’t even confirm that ‘he’ is even male, though he appeared that way to me.” A thought struck him. “Can you read my memory of the exchange? Perhaps you can get something from it.”
She nodded. “Yeah, sure. It shouldn’t take anything. Let me get that brain scan done first, though, all right? We have to make sure there’s been no damage to the tissue, organic or otherwise.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
Walken lay down again as the Reclaimed technicians washed antlike over him again. They brought over the blank white lens of a scanning device to stare at him from the end of its articulated neck, and he closed his eyes as it hummed to life. The scan only took a few seconds, and he opened his eyes again once it shut off. The technicians stood in a circle around his slab, staring down at him like ghostly Cenobites, their fingers woven between one another. They looked almost like a linked set. Given the technology the Yathi had, Walken wouldn’t be surprised if they were.
“Well?” Walken asked to the room at large. “What do you see?”
Bobbi joined them, frowning. “Your neural connections. They’ve grown.”
Walken sat up again, blinking at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the synthetic tissue has budded and expanded,” she said. “You’ve grown new neural connections since you’ve been under.”
She did not sound happy. Neither did Walken, for that matter. “I don’t feel different. To what regions of my brain did these connections extend?”
“Every part,” Bobbi said. “The control systems, your biological tissue, the Seal, all of that. We’re mapping them as we speak. However, very few made connection this time. We still need to work on it, as we don’t have Lionel’s data.”
Walken nodded. “And the data vault?”
“Secure for the moment. It’s weird, but the least growth took place there. I’m wondering if my forcing you to dump connection kept whatever signal it used from getting there in time.”
“That may very well be the case.” Walken nodded. “I admit that I do not know the science. Either way, this concerns me greatly.” ‘Concern’ was all that he could summon again. The fear he knew he should be feeling lost somewhere off in the ether. “Did the Mother of Systems want this to happen, do you think?”
“Want what to happen?” Bobbi’s brows lifted. “You mean, did she want to manipulate the situation so that you would eventually find a way to contact that parasite, which in turn would kick off nervous regeneration under favorable conditions? Yeah, it’s certainly possible. Remember who we’re talking about. But what then?” She shrugged. “You’d still have to be stripped of the mental protection that faith in something greater than yourself provides.”
He pursed his lips. “Yes.” Walken grasped for thoughts. “But what do I believe? Do I have that protection still, being compromised?”
Bobbi frowned. “Tom.” She walked over to sit on the table beside him. “What is it that you want to do, more than anything?”
The words gave him something of a start. He hadn’t thought of it until now, not since he had escaped the Berne labs. “I suppose that I want to end all of this.” He gestured to the room around him. “The invasion, the suffering. I don’t really have anything else left, do I?”
She stared at him for a long time, down into his eyes, the dull silver lenses, the blackness behind them. She gave him a grim smile as she laid a hand gently between his shoulders. “Well, then, I think you’ve got what you need. It’s my experience that a cause adopted in desperation still counts, else most of us would have been converted a long time ago.”
Walken thought about that; it made as much sense to him as anything else, he supposed. “All right. I think I understand. So what’s next?”
“Well…” Bobbi leaned back on her perch, planting her hands on the slab behind her to keep steady.” Tests and more tests, I imagine. You need to stay here while we go to Treehaus. I want to see Lionel, figure out what the hell’s going on here.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me with you?” He peered at her from the corner of his eye, studying her face. “What if the Yathi have agents on the station?”
“Well, since the Yathi don’t go into space, they’ll be pretty mundane by comparison.” Bobbi shrugged. “We slay monsters for a living, Tom. Humans aren’t going to be much of a challenge, even if they’re ramped up pretty good. Anyway, what if that thing dies in your skull while you’re up there and takes the rest of you with it? Too many variables where that’s concerned, right now.”
He nodded, not quite satisfied with that but deciding to trust her judgment. “All right. Then what do I do here?”
“Assist them in their research.” She gestured to the scientists, who had drifted off to busy themselves like ghastly hornets over various pieces of equipment. “I want to watch your progress, make sure that the growth of the nerve connections has truly ceased. I need to think about that fucker in your head, who he is and what he means to the Mother of Systems. We also need to figure out what went into you, Tom, not just for your own sake but for our own.”
Walken nodded. “You want to try and replicate the technology?”
“I doubt we’d ever be able to replicate it,” Bobbi said with a snort. “We have a lot of Yathi devices here, but they’re pretty piecemeal. We can’t invent shit like what goes into you. We might be able to emulate it, though, and give our soldiers lesser versions.”
“And lesser versions would still be incredibly fearsome. I see the wisdom in it.”
Bobbi slapped his back gently.” Got it in one. “She nodded.” And we need to see how we can fit you into the organization, so to speak. I mean, if you want to fight with us.”
He nodded. “I think that would be very good.”
A smirk lined her thin lips, a shadow of what he once knew. “Think you can handle me as your boss, new body and all?”
He chuckled in his flat way and nodded. “Yes, though I think between the two of us, you got the better deal. It suits you.”
“It’s who I really am, Tom.” Her green eyes cleared into polished glass. “I’d sculpted myself into something else back then, but this is how I was born.”
Walken nodded. “I can see you in this. The real you, that is. Again, I’m sorry for before.”
Bobbi gave him a rueful smile. “Nobody here has time for looking back at old shit, honey. We all move forward here. We get up; we keep going. We win or we die trying. No room for anything else.”
He realized in that moment who Bobbi had become. Or really, what she had probably always been. He knew that barring some great betrayal, the days of the Yathi people in Earth were truly numbered.
odern technology had gifted the world many things, but nothing proved more useful to Bobbi and her people than the neuromuscular overlay system. The technology available to the human public still used superconductive fibers and the like, but with even limited Yathi medical technology at their command, Bobbi’s camp had formulated a superior product constructed from synthetic nervous tissue that “grew” throughout the body. Once the host colony established itself, the process only took a few days.
Bobbi woke a few days later from a black sleep to find herself aching head to toe as if she had gone on a week-long bender. She never thought s
he’d have such massive alterations done to herself. The headware was as much as she’d ever wanted, outside of the obvious cosmetic work. Yet here she was, laced through with alien fibers. Bobbi wondered what her dedication to the cause had made of her. A zealot, maybe? Something else? Or perhaps someone who understood that she simply had no other way around these changes that rose before her. To withdraw would only mean a risk of certain failure. Slotting skill plugs for orbital operations and various technical skills, she soon felt prepared for the trip.
Bobbi left Walken at Plato’s Cavern, to be analyzed and cared for by the Reclaimed. Given his importance, they didn’t want to risk any issue that might come from him going up into orbit with the rest of them. Great guillotine on legs that he was, Bobbi didn’t think it was any kind of a good idea to have what may well be the biggest piece of Yathi bait going with them up there, to say nothing of what effect space might have on him or the thing inside of him. It wasn’t wise to have Violet with her for the same reasons. She wouldn’t have anything to do with staying behind, at least until Bobbi guilted her with the whole “you’re supposed to be my lieutenant” routine. She felt horrible saying it, but she needed Vi down there to keep an eye on him, to go where he went. Shaper would go up the well with her instead. His prosthesis would be shipped up with the rest of their gear in an unlicensed cargo container on another flight to ensure station security didn’t intercept it, something he wasn’t happy with. Nor did he like leaving Sumire back on the planet. Bobbi would’ve rather brought her as well, in point of fact, but reality sucked sometimes.
They took the trip on a pair of JAL shuttles. Bobbi and Shaper traveled on one along with Janelle and her second, James. Yasmeen and Camilla rode on the other as Mulcahey’s delegation. Two gunners, two choppers, plus technical, and Bobbi, of course, with all that she offered. Should be no problem if it things remained civil. If not? Well, she would see.
“It’s a nice trip,” Shaper said as they cruised through the star-shot darkness, over the bright blue rim of Earth and toward the distant scatterings of habitats that made the L4 archipelago. He dressed like a wealthy tourist, silk Donallo shirt and slacks and a ribbed leather jacket from the best Tokyo parlors, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows so he could link one arm with hers. His replacement prosthetic was a black chromed arm by Christal Arts, chased with golden vinework and polished to a mirror sheen. He also wore a thick gold bracelet, which clinked musically when he reached for the sealed ampoule of scotch on his seat tray. “I’ve only been to space once or twice, you know.”
Bobbi grimaced. She’d taken drugs for it, but the cold hand of space adaptation syndrome tugged at her entrails. “I’ve never been.” She closed her eyes. “Jesus, I feel like I’d puke if you blew on me.”
Shaper chuckled. “Let the drugs kick in. And I promise that I won’t blow in your ear, not even for appearances’ sake.”
“Better to puke my guts out than to get on Sumire’s bad side,” Bobbi grumped. A pair of pale blue dermal discs on her wrists slowly released dimenhydrinate into her system to deal with the sickness. “Have you spoken to her since we left?”
“Twice in twelve hours.” He nodded. “I’ll admit, it’s the longest we’ve ever gone since I met her.”
Bobbi leaned into him, playing up the image, and sighed. “She’d be very unhappy with us, this way.”
“She’s very jealous, yes.” He shrugged. “The problem with being unloved your entire life is that when you finally get it, you have to do a lot of work to trust that it’s ever real. Take with that her other issue, and…” Shaper sipped from the straw that protruded from the top of the ampoule; His breath wafted the scent of smoke and peat as he spoke again. “I don’t think that I’ll ever convince her. Doesn’t mean I won’t keep on trying, though.”
“You’re a good man.” The words seemed hollow to her, but she meant them anyway. “I’m happy that you two have been able to find each other, however this turns out.” Bobbi looked out the shuttle’s porthole into the darkness; the emptiness and lack of light, the absence of neon life, only served to disturb her. She let out a soft sigh.” Though I honestly don’t know how that’s going to be at this point.”
“Cheers, love,” Shaper murmured, his voice pitched low and soft—the way she figured he must speak to Sumire when trying to calm her jealousy. “We’re on vacation. Best to enjoy the trip, and not worry about the destination.”
“I remember how it was when you came on board.” A smile lined Bobbi’s lips. “Fresh from mercenary work. What was it, South Sudan?”
“You know me, love.” Shaper grinned. “I needed to get a deep tan before I came out to Seattle, yeah?”
Bobbi laughed. “You know… I don’t think I ever thanked you about that. I really needed someone like you to come along after Scalli split with us. You’ve been invaluable to us all.”
“I believed in the cause,” he said. “Our ghostly friend came to me in a tank, did I tell you? Well. An APC.”
“Do tell.” Bobbi smirked. “Though you’ve told me this before.”
“I like having a story to wear out.” Shaper chuckled. “Besides, I never told you all of it. I got to the part where he came to me in the interface helmet still connected to the carrier’s grid – we were getting orders, that sort of thing. And then there he was, booming like the voice of God. ‘I know the truth behind what you saw before,’ he said. And you know, for me it was the time…”
Shaper had found a group of armored drones clearing out a surplus military base used as a body harvesting operation in the Sudanese warzone. He didn’t like to talk about it.
“It’s all right.” She squeezed his hand.
He nodded. “Anyway. He came to me, and he said, ‘I will give to you the truth of everything, and what you do with it is your affair. But if you wish to ensure that this happens no more in future days, you will find a woman, and she will give you the means with which to fight. She is in great need of your help. ‘And then he dumped it all into my head. All of it. I didn’t even know what to do with that information. Except sniff you out, of course.”
“I was. So again, thank you.” She reached out to take his ampoule for a long draught. They said nothing more until the end of the flight.
The cylinder of Treehaus Station hung in the eye of the porthole as they drew near, a glittering island of steel and glass in the starry darkness. Just looking at the station did much to lift her spirits. Where the emptiness ate at her, the sight of the station, miles long and girded with rings of light and holographic billboards, reminded her enough of home. Bobbi fixed her gaze upon its length as the shuttle drifted in, passed through the vast mail-slot of the dock, and settled into a slip so that the docking umbilical could reach out and kiss the ship’s hull. It didn’t take long for the plane to empty, and Bobbi felt gravity’s comforting hand returning to her shoulders.
For someone raised on science fiction, or at the very least the human flavor thereof, there was nothing like it. Disturbing as the void had been, entering the station returned her to reality: the entry terminal looked almost like an airport, complete with baggage claim and the like, same stupid advertisements, same inane crowds of tourists. Security was different, of course. No hulking, armored figures in corporate-branded combat armor, just men and women in blue jumpsuits with simple antiballistic vests. Up here, Treehaus’s ruling council of corporate interests put up a bland, united front that on the surface almost looked like an old-style nation state. As she and Shaper passed a pair by the exit gate, Bobbi noted the lack of heavy arms among their gear. Firearms were forbidden on Treehaus, at least nothing your average citizen would recognize. Only coilguns and low-velocity gyrostabilized rockets up there, nothing that could pierce the sealed hull and doom the population to a slow and gasping death.
Their arrived in the back of a rental car, loaded and driven by programmed drones. Bobbi didn’t dare use her headware to make it happen, suspecting what she did about Cagliostro. Instead, Sumire pulled the strings from
Earth, making things somewhat slower, but on the whole safer. Fitting their mask of couples on holiday, Sumire had arranged for fast little electric jobs, a pair of Kuwama Honeybees usable in the station’s center section where the gravity was strongest. They made for their hotel on the Avenue Camalle, up on the sunward end at the tourist playground. Shaper drove as always, preferring the wheel and being experienced driving in the environment besides. It was good that he did, as Bobbi could only gawk as the coupe cleared the exit gate of the terminal and climbed the onramp of the station’s four-lane highway.
Treehaus was like the world as a map, rolled up in a tube and lit from within by veins of collected sunlight that blazed from recessed troughs running in subtle meridians down its length. Bobbi gaped as she beheld green mountains and sprawling lakes, gardens and estates playing amongst the towers of urban centers and habitat blocks in many different styles of architecture. The station’s spaceward end, on the other hand, held a bleak mass of industrial complexes and machinery, the factories that served the station’s corporate masters. A vast trunk of modular sections, conduits and framework, no doubt part of the station’s infrastructure, ran all the way down the axis between the two ends. This was Treehaus– and, for so many, the future.
Again, the science-fiction thrill filled her, even though stations like this had been a reality for thirty years. “This is what we came up here for.” The car sped down the highway and the world rolled around above them. “You know what I mean?”
“Can’t say that I do, boss.” Shaper grinned. “But it’s nice, isn’t it?”
Bobbi nodded slowly. “It’s incredible, but I mean, this is humanity, isn’t it? They aren’t up here, and everything still works. They don’t have to drive our future.”
Shaper pursed his lips a moment. “I guess you’re right on that score, but on the other hand, it’s possible that we’d never have gotten here without them. I do wonder how much of our history would remain had they never come. Whether any of this would be possible. And, of course, it’s also still mostly for the rich.”
Gathering Ashes (The Wonderland Cycle Book 3) Page 46
