Earthweb

by Marc Stiegler

  CJ loped up to Morgan in the corridor, but turned her attention directly on his gray-feathered companion. "So, Sol, ready for a snack?"

  Solomon fluffed her wings and agreed. "Lunch time."

  Morgan looked at each of them in turn. "Don't I get a vote?"

  CJ and Sol answered in unison, "No." Sol simultaneously sang the words and whistled the first verse of the Fred Astaire classic, "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off." What really scared Morgan was that CJ joined in, right on cue. Sol was actually pretty good with a tune, though he'd never tell her so. Might give her a swelled beak.

  They went toward the buffet room. Most of the people on the base ate there. With silent assent, they passed it by; too much noise emanated from the double doors. They continued on to the dining room and its relative quiet. The dining room was considerably more expensive, but that didn't matter at all for the next two weeks.

  CJ made that peculiar shake-roll motion universal to women with long hair as they sat down.

  Morgan chuckled. "Your hair used to be longer."

  CJ smiled in surprise. "How'd you know?"

  "My wife used to flip her head just like that in the winter when she wore her hair long. Then when spring would come she'd cut it off, but it still took her a few weeks to break the habit." He flipped his head in a gentle caricature of his wife, or C, or both; he wasn't sure which.

  CJ's eyes laughed as she said, "Very observant. A rare quality in the male of the species."

  Morgan just looked at her for a long moment. Finally, for no reason he understood, his mouth spoke the word at the front of his mind. "Refulgent."

  CJ blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

  Sol answered for him. "Beautiful bright."

  CJ turned to Sol. "Could you tell me exactly what you mean by that?"

  Sol whistled mournfully.

  Morgan explained. "CJ, just an hour ago you were trapped in an armored frame with one arm and one leg locked out, with periodic shocks hitting you. I know what those shocks feel like, too."

  The waitress arrived with their orange juice. CJ sipped as Morgan continued, "You'd just run six kilometers, killed fourteen murderous robots, and dragged yourself the last hundred meters to the control room." He held up his hands in wonder. "Now you're as bright and cheerful as if you'd spent the whole time napping. You're refulgent."

  CJ tapped her chin with her forefinger. "Hmm . . . you make me sound sort of like one of those old watches. CJ takes a licking and keeps on ticking."

  Morgan spluttered in his orange juice. "Exactly what I meant," he said in mock reproach. They started to laugh. Morgan stopped abruptly, as an alarm bell went off in his head—nineteen days.

  CJ picked out the thought as if she had originated it. She reached across the table and put her hand on his. "You can't think about it like that, Morgan. You've got to learn, somehow, to live today even though tomorrow you may die."

  Sol chirruped, "CJ smart, boss."

  The waitress arrived again, with CJ's shrimp salad and Morgan's onion soup. Morgan idly poked at the cheese on top of the soup, wishing he had something to say in reply.

  CJ broke the silence. "Well, I think it's time for you to live a little."

  Morgan looked at her with the beginnings of alarm.

  She continued. "Go ahead and be a sourpuss for the rest of today. But tomorrow, at sixteen-hundred, be ready for a change."

  Morgan asked, "What exactly is going to happen at sixteen-hundred?"

  "Well, for one thing, that's when our last sim ends, right?"

  Morgan nodded. "It may take longer if you're still alive, of course."

  CJ laughed. "Yeah, but it'll take less if we beat tomorrow's SimHell the same way we beat this one."

  Morgan grumbled. "True enough."

  CJ recognized the irritation in his voice, and somehow brightened even more. "So, I'm still surprising you, aren't I? Go ahead, confess." She leaned forward and spoke in low tones. "Nobody else has to hear it. Go ahead, just whisper it in my ear."

  Morgan closed his eyes for a moment, and then leaned forward. "You are a wicked, wicked woman. And if you aren't careful, tomorrow I'll help the robots."

  CJ sat back up. "I knew I was still surprising you," she said cheerfully. "I'm going to surprise you at sixteen-hundred tomorrow, too." She looked at his bird. "I'm sorry, Sol, but this is a trip just for two. You'll have to stay here."

  Sol grackled, "No problem. Boss go." She whistled a few bars of "Moon River."

  Morgan retorted, "There is no way I am going anywhere with you alone."

  Sol answered, "Gotta go, gotta go." She nipped Morgan on the ear, then said, "Ouch!"

  Morgan snapped his head over. "Ouch!" he grunted, just a second late. Sol always beat him to that punchline.

  Morgan glared at the bird. "Bite me again and you're cat food," he promised.

  Sol whistled a few notes of "Don't Worry, Be Happy." She then defended herself. "Sol good girl. Boss go."

  CJ held her hand over her mouth to muffle a belly laugh. "Listen to your bird, Morgan MacBride."

  "CJ good girl too," Sol said. "Boss go."

  Morgan growled. Sol was so insistent that he undertake this venture with CJ, he wondered if Sol already knew what CJ had planned. But how could Sol know if Morgan didn't? He opened his mouth to ask, but then thought better of it. If Sol had learned how to read minds, or CJ had learned mastered telepathy, he didn't want to know. He felt outnumbered badly enough as it was.

  * * *

  Paolo shook his head as he jammed the suitcase into the front trunk of his daughter's vehicle. "Honestly, Princessa, I think they're paying you too much money."

  Mercedes looked at him with suspicion, knowing she was being set up. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

  He pointed at the sleek white racing stripes streaming down the sides of her cherry-red sports car. "For one thing, this vehicle is far too fancy for a kid of your immature and inexperienced years." He swept his accusing finger back to the rear engine cluster. "Second, this box is just too hot for a speed glutton like you."

  Paolo could see his daughter's grin appear as she walked to the rear of the car and caressed the top engine nacelle that distinguished the speedster from a run-of-the-mill family car. Paolo cleared his throat. "I think you should leave this machine with me and take the family boat instead. I'll take the risks and work out the bugs. What do you say?" He continued to point at the offending car with his finger.

  "You know what I say to that, Daddy." She swaggered over to him, grabbed the offending finger, and twisted it till it pointed back at him. "I have to have this car for your own sake," she said with wide-eyed innocence.

  Now Paolo knew he was being set up. "Oh, this should be good. Go ahead, strike me down with the brilliance of your rationalization."

  "I bought this sports car because it's faster, so that I can get here more quickly and easily, so that I can come down and visit more often, and stay longer when I arrive." Her eyes twinkled with effervescent fire. "You know how I love to come down and visit."

  Paolo laughed. "Well done, Princessa. A brilliant defense."

  Paolo heard quick footsteps coming down the steps. He turned to watch Sofia hurry over.

  Sofia waved. "You can't leave without a hug, darling." She came up and caught Mercedes in her traditional bear hug. Paolo watched Mercedes gasp for air with his usual amazement; Sofia looked too thin and small for the wiry strength she put into her abrazos.

  Tears filled Sofia's eyes. "We'll miss you so much."

  Mercedes looked away. "Don't cry, Mom." Now there were tears in Mercedes' eyes as well. "If you cry every time I come down here, I might not come back."

  Sofia laughed and wiped her face. "I know. Maybe you'd better get out of here quick, so you don't see it."

  Mercedes smiled as she hugged her mother again. "Okay, Mom." Mercedes turned to hug Paolo one last time.

  Paolo murmured. "Go get 'em, kiddo."

  Mercedes frowned. "I'm not a 'kiddo.' "

&
nbsp; Paolo smiled as he completed the ritual. "You're absolutely right, kiddo."

  Mercedes sighed and climbed into her skycar. Paolo took his wife's hand and they stepped off the landing pad. The air filled with the soft whine of the turbofans as Mercedes lifted off and accelerated north.

  As the car disappeared, Sofia wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled his neck. "Darling, there's something I have to ask you."

  Paolo recognized the tone of her voice, and tried not to let her feel his muscles tense up as he prepared to encounter whatever terrible, sneaky question she had. "Uh, oh, what is it?"

  Sofia laughed gently, and her soft warm breath tickled Paolo's ear. "Are you really the 'Predictor'?" she asked.

  Paolo squirmed in her arms and held her more tightly. "Well, not exactly. After all, sweet Sofia, the 'Predictor' is a mythological creature of superhuman powers."

  She lifted her head and looked into his eyes with her most dangerous form of sincerity. "But, corazon, you are a mythological creature of superhuman powers." She put her head back on his shoulder, snuggling even closer somehow. Paolo started to rock sideways, holding her in his arms. Sofia continued dreamily, "I suspected you were the Predictor." She sighed. "I guess I can't tell anybody, can I?"

  Paolo suppressed a shudder of terror. "I think that would be unfortunate for all of us, mi alma."

  A soft mewling of passing sorrow escaped her lips. "I didn't think I could. Oh, well."

  They walked back to the house awkwardly, wrapped around each other in a hold they had perfected long ago.

  * * *

  Selpha ate breakfast while carefully keeping her eyes off her touchscreen. She had mustered the courage to go to Reggie Oxenford's site and buy the article about herself, but now that his text filled her screen she found it quite impossible to bring herself to read it. For the first time in over a decade she was afraid.

  The Shivas had never frightened her, really. They had never struck anyone or anything close to her, and although she would soon be able to see it as a bright spot among the stars, even then it would just be a dot, it would not look dangerous. And the scenes she watched of the Angels, fighting and dying in the sandstone corridors of the beast, seemed no more real to her than some of the serialized movies on the Web.

  But she could still remember her sense of fearful uncertainty when the airplanes flew over her village and scattered huge loads of palmtops across the landscape. Thousands of bright red little parachutes filled the sky, dangling little gray boxes beneath them. She had known that something momentous was happening, something that would change her life, something that she did not yet not understand.

  Selpha almost laughed, looking back on her fear then. Working at the tea plantation, taking care of her sister Dorothie and her autistic son Peter, how could her life had gotten worse? Well, she considered, it could have gotten worse if her husband had come back from Uganda, or if her father had returned from the dead, but the Top Drop had hardly seemed likely to produce such ill consequences.

  And Reggie's article was even less likely to hurt her. Indeed, what possible damage could it do? She turned to the touchscreen and began to read. A tentative smile slowly grew across her features, unfolding into a grin. Goodness, Reggie wasn't joking when he called this a series about unsung heroes. Had she not intimately known the person he described, she would have thought that this woman in Kenya was a hero too. Of course, she had not told Reggie her real motivation for her assiduous work on the 'castpoints for Shiva assaults. She didn't know whether Reggie would really understand. As she read further, though, she concluded that he probably would have understood, and would not have changed the article. He would have made her sound heroic anyway.

  Selpha heard Dorothie's bare feet half-skip into the room. Dorothie's eyes went wide as she saw Selpha in a rare moment of good cheer. "Goodness," Dorothie exclaimed, "Did someone pump laughing gas into this room?" She sniffed the air cautiously.

  Selpha looked away in confusion. "I was just reading Mr. Oxenford's article," she said.

  "Ah, did he make you out as a true and wonderful Hero?" Dorothie asked, scurrying around the table to peer over Selpha's shoulder at the touchscreen.

  Selpha flicked the screen off.

  Dorothie exclaimed, "Hey!"

  "If you want to read it, buy your own copy." Selpha said. "It isn't very interesting. I was just being impressed because Reggie knew things about our lives that we didn't even know."

  Dorothie put her hands on her hips. "Indeed? Like what?"

  "Well, did you know that here in the Nyanza region was the first place they ever dropped palmtops?"

  Dorothie nodded. "Of course."

  Selpha clapped her hands together. "Ah, but did you know why?"

  Dorothie watched her through narrowed eyes. "Nooo . . ."

  "As you'll recall, General Samuels had just taken over Earth Defense. He made the first palmtop drop here because, even then, he was thinking that they'd eventually want to put a heavy lift drop port here, and they'd need a skilled labor force to make it work."

  Dorothie looked out the window as she pondered that, and nodded. "Makes sense, in a way, but . . ."

  Selpha completed the unfinished thought. "But it would require a lot of planning ahead. He had to know that he couldn't build a useful drop port here until after the next Shiva had come and gone. On the first day he took over, he must have already been planning multiple Shiva-attacks ahead."

  "Smart guy," Dorothie agreed. She point out the window. "What's going on out there?"

  Selpha got up to look where Dorothie was pointing. She saw a huge stream of trucks fly by.

  Dorothie asked, "You think they're going to the port?"

  Selpha shook her head. "No. The heavy lift cargoes can't be trucked in. They come by boat, or they come on the railroad." She clucked her tongue. "They must be on the way to the General Dynamics missile plant." Selpha couldn't see the plant from here, but there wasn't another place such a continuous stream of trucks might be going.

  Selpha herself had worked at the General Dynamics plant for a while after moving to Kisumu. They had needed network-admin-level software expertise, and she had been a natural fit. So she'd let them employ her while she was getting the people and material organized to start her MindTools Elementary school franchise. Her stint with General Dynamics had been short but informative. They had taught her a great deal about the HellBender series of missiles. Even then, those missiles had seemed too fast and powerful to be stopped by anything, but Shiva III had stopped them cold. She knew from her friends at the plant that the newer HellBenders were even more remarkable, but Shivas IV and V had stopped them just as easily. Well, almost as easily—she'd read that one HellBender had gotten a good hit during the Angel One assault.

  Selpha continued, half to herself. "I can't imagine what they're doing. You only send truck fleets like that to ship new kinds of hard-to-manufacture parts."

  "Like specialized electronics?" Dorothie asked.

  Selpha nodded. "Right. But you'd only go to new parts like that if you were making a serious model upgrade."

  "So? What's wrong with a model upgrade?"

  Selpha shrugged. "It just seems incredible to me that they'd change models right now, in the middle of the Month of Shiva. Right now they have to be cranking out missiles as fast as they can—as you should know, because your no-good boyfriend Joseph is working the midnight-to-eight shift, right?"

  "Joseph's a very good boyfriend, Sis. Stop digging at him."

  Selpha continued, ignoring Dorothie's reply. "That plant is running twenty-four hours a day." Selpha shook her head again. "They wouldn't risk such a disruption unless they thought the new improvements could make a big difference. A really big difference."

  Dorothie approved. "Good. I hope they've found something that can knock that cursed Shiva back where it came from."

  "I suppose." Selpha turned. "It's time for you to go to work, young lady," she said. "And time for me to work with Peter."

&n
bsp; Dorothie gave Selpha a quick peck on the cheek and headed for the door. Selpha went into Peter's room.

  Peter sat in his chair, shaking his head, tapping his feet together. She walked to the computer and turned on the recording of an Angel's armor frame tapping on the wall of the Alabaster Hall of Shiva V.

  Peter stopped wiggling in his chair, then said, "I don't know what it is."

  "Please try, Peter." Selpha played the sound again.

  Peter curled up into a fetal position and fell sideways in his chair. Selpha turned from the computer and knelt beside him. Her every instinct screamed for her to wrap him in her arms, to hold him till he felt better. But she knew that he didn't like to be touched, particularly when he was in this state.