“5-59-118, 5-59-119…” But the next one had its number worn off.
Of course.
I turned back to the desk and walked over. On the counter, there was an old-style bell.
Ding!
I waited for thirty seconds, and nothing happened.
Ding!
Still nothing.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
A short, disheveled man popped up behind the glass and roughly barked at me, “What do you want?!”
Surprised, I pulled it together and pointed. “I need to know if five-fifty-nine-one-twenty is that box over there.”
“Five-fifty-nine-one-twenty? What the hell do you want with five-fifty-nine-one-twenty?”
I motioned with my hand. “It belongs to a friend of mine. I want to know if anything has been delivered to it.”
His whole face scrunched up, and it seemed like he was trying to figure out who I was. “You’re lying.” He disappeared below the counter as fast as he had appeared.
I blinked rapidly in disbelief, then scowled in anger. Ding! Ding! Ding!
He appeared again. “What do you want?!”
What the hell? This guy is nuts. “Five-fifty-nine-one-twenty. What’s in it?”
His face revealed pure ire. “You a piece of shit cop? We don’t work with piece of shit cops.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not a cop. I just need to know what’s in five-fifty—”
He eyes darted back and forth between what seemed like the door and the PO Boxes, and it freaked me out. I said, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He seemed genuinely shocked. “Wrong with me? You’re the prick who came in here asking bullshit questions. Now leave.”
Since I was getting nowhere fast, an idea came to me. “How many credits will it take to get you to stop acting crazy?”
His eyes lit up. “Credits! Yes. Two-hundred, and I’ll stop acting crazy.”
He might as well have slapped me in my face. “Two-hundred?! Are you serious?”
He nodded furiously. “Yes. Crazy.”
I looked around and sighed. “How do I pay you?”
He again nodded like a fool, then pulled out his netphone with an odd-looking program up and typed in the number 200. He slipped it through the only opening in the glass wall. “Pay now.”
I hesitated. “I don’t want this traced back to me.”
“It is double relayed, fool. You’re buying chicken wings. It’s safe.”
With flat lips, I put my thumb onto his device and took my gouging without a hint of emotion. “Fine.”
A cheesy smile stretched across his face. “Thanks.” He disappeared below the counter again.
It was becoming painfully obvious just how necessary the glass wall was.
“Hey!”
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! I’d dented the bell with the heel of my fist.
“What do you want?!”
I talked through my teeth. “Tell me what I want to know, or I’m going to—”
“Someone comes in at nine AM every day to look in five-fifty-nine-one-twenty. Sometimes, there’s mail. Sometimes, there’s nothing.”
I looked back at the PO Box and took a deep breath. I pulled out my netphone. “Eight-thirty-five AM. Can I wait here for twenty-five minutes?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Can you?”
I huffed and turned around to lean against the counter. I’d waited ten minutes before the door sluggishly opened. A rail-thin woman, who was barely wearing any clothes, stumbled through the entrance and to the counter. Judging by the smell that followed her, she must have been drinking since the night before. I stepped off to the side to give her ample space to conduct her business, and so I could breath. She mumbled something seemingly random and slid something through the opening in the glass. In turn, the man behind the counter slid her something back. She stumbled out. Somehow, I knew she wasn’t anyone I was interested in.
I waited another ten minutes, and the door flung open. In walked a tall, slender man, dressed…interestingly. He had a golden cane and a long purple jacket with brown trim. His purple pants were skin tight except at the bottom where they sort of flared out. I scooted off even farther to the side as he approached the counter, and he extended his arms to reveal his bleached-white gloves.
“Hey, Marvin. Who’s the friend?” He nodded in my direction. “He your parole officer?”
Marvin grunted. “He’s here for five-fifty-nine-one-twenty.”
I sighed at his revelation to a stranger.
The man’s confident expression washed away, and he proceeded with his business. “Let me get two smooth criminals and a side of beat it.”
He might as well have been speaking a different language, but Marvin slid him something through the glass and the man walked away looking as happy as can be. Just as he exited, a shorter person in a hoodie walked past him and headed toward the PO Boxes. Their hood made it so I couldn’t quite make out their face. I turned back to the glass to act casual but continued to watch out of my peripheral.
Sure enough, they pulled out a key and pushed it into what had to be five-fifty-nine-one-twenty. I was about to go talk to them when Marvin made the strangest noise with his tongue between his lips. By the time I turned back, the person in the hoodie was on their way out.
“Excuse me!” I shouted.
The person turned back to look at me. Their hood was tight, but I could still tell they were clearly spooked. They spun around and bolted out the door. I sprinted in pursuit, bursting through the door. Once outside, I couldn’t tell which way they went, so I turned in a circle.
There!
I saw the back of the hoodie enter an alleyway across the street and dashed as fast as I could to keep up, but by the time I was in the alley, the person had turned off. I kept moving so I didn’t completely lose them. I came to a T-intersection and looked both ways.
There!
I saw them to my left for a brief second before they turned right. I ran the fifty meters, turned right, and they were gone. I stood still for a moment and tried to catch my breath. Then, I resumed walking to see if I might eventually spot them. After a minute, I was ready to give up.
Whack!
“Shit!” I’d been clobbered over the head with something rock solid. Thinking quickly, I fell to the ground and rolled away from whomever was behind me. I popped back up and kept my eyes on the wooden board the person in the hoodie was wielding. Winding up, they gave another hard swing, but I dodged it. Instinctively, I grabbed the board and twisted it out of their hands. They punched me in the ribs, and it hurt, but I’d felt worse. I returned a punch, and awkwardly connected with their shoulder. It was enough to stagger them, and for a moment, I thought I had the upper hand. They quickly recovered, crouched down, and swept my legs from under me.
“Oof!” I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me. I gasped for a moment and blinked rapidly.
When I finally got my breath back, all I could see was the wooden board moving rapidly toward my face. I rolled over just in time to hear the wood slam against the concrete as I hopped to my feet. With both fists, I was ready for a fight. The person in the hoodie put both hands up and stood on the balls of their feet. I moved in and attempted a right jab. They countered and punched me in the chest. The blow wasn’t too strong, but I didn’t want another one. Spinning around, I attempted a roundhouse kick that flew over their head as they slid under me and punched me in the supporting knee.
“Ah, shit!” My leg buckled.
Again, I fell onto my back and watched helplessly as my attacker retrieved the wooden board. I was still reeling on the ground when they once again tried to make mush out of my brains. I dodged just in time as the board hit the concrete again. I rolled back and up to my feet and was ready to charge when they finally shouted their first word to me.
“Stop!”
I did, dead in my tracks. The voice was distinctly female and somewhat raspy. Looking at her, I was finally able to see the details of her face. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. We were both catching our breath when she spoke again.
“Look, I’ll have your credits on Friday. Now, leave me alone.”
I shook my head. “You don’t owe me anything. I just had a question about your PO Box.”
She sighed. “It’s not for sale.”
“No, it’s not that. I sent two letters to it over the last week, and I haven’t gotten a reply.”
She huffed at me. “Oh, it’s you. Well, leave me alone. I don’t need some asshole stirring shit up.”
I chose my words carefully. “I don’t want to stir shit up. Twenty years ago, I met a good man named Charlie Rios. He told me that if I was ever in the city that I should check in on his family for him. He told me to tell you the password ‘Drony Cunningham,’ so you’d know I wasn’t messing around.”
The woman shook her head violently in the hoodie. “No. That’s bullshit! Da…Charlie Rios has been gone for years. No one could know the things you put in those letters! I don’t believe it!”
My eyes got very wide. “I promise you. I knew him better than anyone.”
She started to wheeze and was about to hyperventilate, so I rushed over to her. She flinched at first, but then couldn’t help but fall into my arms.
“Inhaler in my right pocket,” she gasped.
I reached in and grabbed it for her. She crammed it in her mouth and squeezed hard. With deep breaths, she finally calmed down and looked me in the eye. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”
Chapter 8:
A Thin Line Between Love and Fate
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” Dr. Campbell whispered to Dr. Martin as they finished their preparations, then she shook her head. “I just wish it wasn’t like this.”
They were all set for the world’s first neural transfer involving humans. In the main lab area, the red doors had been closed, the curtains removed, and the equipment sterilized. Lying on the tables, the two subjects were wearing helmets, connected by cords. White mist emanated from the lifeless subjects. The lab assistants were on standby if needed. Campbell put the main computer station through the paces, while Martin kept an eye on the terminal behind her.
Thompson walked up the stairs and planted himself behind the two doctors. He spoke firmly. “Dr. Campbell, move the procedure forward quickly, but do not be careless.”
She was deep in analysis of her program when she droned back. “Yes, Dr. Thompson.”
Martin finished reading the last lines of code and said, “We’re good to go.”
Campbell positioned her finger above the green button and said, “Dr. Thompson?”
He hesitated for just a moment, and then the evilest grin yet curved up his face on both sides. “Proceed!”
With a press of the button, the newer lab came to life. The electricity flowing through the lab was muted, and the machines around the subjects were quiet. The lights flickered on the gauges, and the IVs dripped silently. The large monitor across the lab had a screen saver of a digital blue diamond that moved around the screen. It disappeared as a program window popped open to replace it. The title bar read:
Oceanic Laboratories - Neural Transfer Application Initiated
Only a singular progress bar appeared, and the number began to grow. As Campbell tapped a couple more buttons and turned one dial, the number steadily climbed, closing in on fifteen percent. Looking down, she saw the mist rising from her subject, then flipped a switch.
This was Martin’s first procedure in the new lab, but out of habit, he lifted his head as the procedure progressed. He was met with the relative silence of the state-of-the-art equipment. He quickly realized that there would be no symphony. There would be no ballet. When he heard percussion, he was shocked. Then, he realized it was just his heart beating out of his chest.
The progress bar was closing in on fifty percent when a red light appeared in front of Campbell. “That’s strange.” She rattled off half a dozen lines of code while keeping her eye on the light.
“What is it, Dr. Campbell?” Martin did his best to seem genuinely concerned.
“It’s the host. Her core temperature is uneven. There are pockets of hot and cold.”
Thompson leaned in, speaking through his teeth. “Fix it now or else.”
As the fear grew in Campbell, she frantically tried to adjust the warming device that helped facilitate the transfer. In a panic, her mind raced until she realized that if she didn’t try something drastic, they’d lose the host all together. “Enacting a manual override for the temperature.”
Martin shouted. “But that’s never worked! You have to be precise to a tenth of a degree!”
Campbell replied, “You have a better idea?!”
Martin thought for a second, then shook his head. “I’ll do my best to support you from here.”
Typing away, Campbell got to a point where she was satisfied. “Ready?”
Begrudgingly, Martin conceded. “Ready.”
Campbell pressed the Enter key, and the monitor flashed a warning message.
Manual temperature manipulation has been implemented for Host Subject.
Proceed with caution.
The progress bars slowed significantly, and Campbell was in control of thawing her subject. With her hand firmly on the temperature dial, she moved it as steadily as her nerves would allow. Each time she went too fast or too slow, a warning message would appear with a corresponding color for the temperature issue.
A red window popped up.
Host Status: Warming too quickly.
Dr. Campbell slowed down.
A blue message flashed.
Host Status: Warming too slowly.
Dr. Campbell went back and forth the best she could.
“Steady, Dr. Campbell. Steady,” Thompson urged. Dr. Martin was torn between seeing Campbell accomplish the impossible and letting Thompson’s evil plan succeed. But it quickly became obvious that Campbell couldn’t sustain the temperature for the duration of the procedure. Soon, their fears were validated when a dark red message appeared.
Host Status: Overheating
Then, a gray message box.
Neural Transfer deemed unsafe. Aborting procedure.
Transfer Subject Status: Stable.
Host Subject Status: Deceased.
“Goddamn it!” Thompson was furious as the program terminated and the process came to a failed halt. “Who is responsible for this? Dr. Campbell, why did it fail?”
She gave an honest shrug and tried to hypothesize. “I don’t know. All the numbers looked good after the transfer subject and host came back from the cryo-lab. I suppose it’s possible that something was off. Dr. Martin, did you notice anything irregular?”
Martin frowned. “There was nothing obvious. I suppose with such a rushed procedure, we could have missed something.”
Thompson took a deep breath and bellowed, rattling his thin frame. “Don’t put the blame on me, Dr. Martin! I gave you everything you needed to be successful, and you failed. We’ll be scrutinizing the results, and there will be hell to pay for any malfeasance. Now, get you and your staff to the analysis lab and find me a new Goddamn host!”
The doctors and staff scurried to the other room. Dr. Campbell initiated the search at the computer terminal with Martin by her side.
As the screen flashed through different records, Campbell leaned in and whispered to Martin, “I saw the numbers, and they looked good at first. Then, I ran the negatives to be sure. She didn’t get the proper dose of stabilizing fluid. Did you…know?”
Dr. Martin shook his head. “I was just trying to work fast. Is this my fault?”
; Campbell exhaled hard. “I’m not trying to point a finger. I guess we just need to find a new host.”
From across the room, the assistants were getting antsy. Finally, Phil spoke up. “Doctors, what are we supposed to do? We feel helpless over here.”
Campbell walked over and put her hand on Phil’s shoulder. “We’re going to figure this out. Hopefully, we’ll have a new host soon, and we can try again.”
Guards stormed into the lab with Dr. Thompson behind them. “Take Dr. Martin out back.”
Campbell exclaimed, “What is the meaning of this?!”
The guards grabbed Martin, and Thompson, seething with anger, replied, “He replaced a portion of her stabilizing fluid with saline.” He turned to Martin. “Do you take me for a fool?”
Martin pleaded to absolve everyone else. “I promise you, no other staff members knew anything about this. I’m the only one who needs to be punished. Please. Leave them out of it.”
Campbell’s face exploded with contempt, looking at Martin. “Rex, how could you?!”
As rare as it was, Martin had the feeling he’d done amazingly original work. While it would cost him his life, he could die happy knowing he may have thwarted the plans of a madman.
His eyes pleaded with Campbell as he said to the room, “Don’t worry. You all will be safe.”
The men were dragging Dr. Martin through the doors when the lab’s computer sounded off.
Ding!
“Wait.” Curious, Thompson put his hand up to his guards. He crept to the monitor to see the results. He carefully studied each entry on the list, and after reading the fifth line of potential hosts, he pulled out his gun and aimed it at Phil’s chest.
Bang!
The staff and doctors shrieked. Campbell, Armando, Jamal, and Cindy rushed to Phil’s aid.
Martin wailed, “You bastard,” while struggling in vain to get free from the guards. “Why the hell did you shoot him?!”
Between Two Minds: Revelation Page 13
