After a three-count, Alista added, “Usually a coalescence transfer requires direct contact with the Neural Nexus or a related system—one that is linked to it,” Alista said. “Electrical discharge must occur, carrying with it the memory engrams that have formed into the cognitive distortion.”
Lucas drifted into his own thoughts. At least now he knew he wasn’t going nuts. The traveler was real and not some prescription-grade delusion brought on by too many trips across dimensions. At least Dr. Kleezebee could no longer use the hallucinations as an excuse not to send him back in to look for Drew.
“Could I have been infected while traveling across dimensions?”
“Not likely.”
He thought about the first time he heard the traveler in his head. It was after a trip to a version of Earth that was perpetually dark. It had a brilliant night sky that was lit up from nebula-sized showers of static discharges—much like standing in a room with a giant Tesla coil sending out chaotic bolts of electricity.
“What if I were exposed to a supercharged atmosphere? Could intense static discharges transfer the coalescence?”
“That might be sufficient,” Flexus said.
“Then it must have happened a few months ago when I traveled to such a planet. The goddamn headaches started soon after. I guess that’s all a thing of the past now, right?”
Both Alista and Flexus nodded.
Lucas offered up a phony smile. “Thanks, I guess. Too bad my brain cells had to be puréed to get that shit out of my head. But at least it’s gone.”
He thought about his wrist and realized he’d lost track of time. He wondered how long it would be before a toxic death served notice. “Hey, ladies, it’s been fun. But I really need to get back to my friends. I know time is frozen and all, but seriously, I need to jet.”
“No need to worry. The Great Loti has neutralized the subcutaneous explosive in your wrist. You are no longer a threat to yourself or anyone else.”
Lucas wondered how she knew what he was thinking. She must be tapping his thoughts again. “I thought you couldn’t steal my thoughts, at least not without asking me first.”
“It was not difficult to determine the reason for your sudden haste to leave. Before you depart, we would like to discuss a trade or some form of compensation for your sonic technology.”
“We are in need,” Flexus added.
“Yeah, I know. But still, I can’t just give up our secrets like that. I’ll have to run it by Professor Kleezebee first. I’m sure he will want to help. But not until after I complete the important mission I was on.”
“Success is not likely,” Flexus said. “Protocol adjustment is necessary.”
Lucas wasn’t sure what she meant. Not that it mattered. “I appreciate the input, but I’m going anyway. Now, if you would kindly show me the way out.”
“As you wish,” Alista said. She looked at Flexus. “Send him back.”
Flexus inserted her fingers into the wall closest to her position. Once again, the surface colors swirled around her hand. The floor opened beneath Lucas’ feet, dropping him into a pitch-black freefall.
NINETEEN
Lucas woke up on his side, lying on a hard surface that felt dirty and rough, like cement, though he wasn’t sure. He rolled onto his back, taking care not to bump his left elbow that was throbbing with each heartbeat. A damp chill shot through his spine from the cold floor, hastening his desire to sit upright. He did.
He looked at his legs and hands, but he couldn’t see them through the darkness smothering the area. There were a half-dozen patches of light illuminating sections of the room from overhead maybe fifty feet straight ahead; they reminded him of an alien bunker scene from the first release of the Xbox video game, “Halo.”
A melody of high-pitched squeaks and chirps echoed from the blackness ahead of him, as the patter of tiny feet scurried in the shadows. He hated rats, and these were close. Too close. Possibly, headed his way. He stood up.
He allowed himself time to scan the parts of the room that were visible and saw at least a dozen sets of multi-colored, ten-inch pipes protected by vertical, wire-mesh cages that stretched from floor to ceiling, spaced evenly at what he guessed were ten-foot increments leading away from him, with a set of switch-back metal stairs tucked in behind the farthest set of pipes. The stairs only led up to another basement. Shit. No sign of the receiving jump pad, Zack, or Rico.
“Adjustment, my ass. Flexus, you crazy bitch. You dumped me in the wrong place,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this is happening again. How can the same shit happen to the same guy, in the same day? Unreal.”
He used his hands to feel the area around him. A damp, flat wall was both on his right and left. They came together directly behind his position. Talk about being backed into a corner.
He craned his neck to look at the ceiling and held out his arms. “Dude. Come on. I realize I’m the last person that should be asking you for help, but I feel like you’re piling it on a little thick right now. All I need is a little help. Not a lot, just a little. After all, how much goddamn crap is one guy supposed to take?”
He walked to the nearest set of red-and-blue industrial pipes where twin overhead lights were burning at full intensity. He could feel radiant heat emanating from the metal pipes inside the wire cage in front of him. Probably steam pipes, with protective cages.
He ran his hand across his sore elbow and felt the fresh, half-inch welt, pleased there was no blood. He pushed his index finger into it. It was soft to the touch, with a squishy lump near the center. He moved the knot back and forth inside the swell, playing with it like it was some kind of trophy. Gonna be a hell of a bruise there tomorrow.
He checked his pants. Dirt covered the sides of the legs and a wide patch sprawled across his butt. He brushed the layers of filth off with his hands, sending a cloud of particles floating into the air; artificial light penetrated the dust cloud in streaks.
Time to find a way out, he decided, walking briskly to the stairs at the far end of the room. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up: There were three switchback staircases and a single overhead fluorescent light near the top. The light flickered and buzzed, standing guard over the desolate stairway, protecting it from the invading shadows.
The scene reminded him of a time eighteen months earlier when he and Drew were trapped in the underground NASA complex, buried under countless floors of twisted metal and crumbling concrete. A Krellian-controlled energy dome had just leveled parts of the University of Arizona campus, including the Science Lab that housed their anti-gravity experiment. The vision seemed so real, as if it were happening right now. Lucas could feel his thigh muscles burning as he relived the agonizing thirty minutes it took to carry Drew on his back up the shaft, one flight of stairs at a time. That had been on a different version of Earth, in a different dimension, but the sense of déjà vu was intense.
Somehow, he and his brother had beaten impossible odds that day. He wondered if today would be different. Once again he had no idea where he was and Rico and Zack were missing. So was the jump pad to get back to the café. The Baaku had just mind-fucked him royally with their hide-and-seek game of Taku Beast buffet, and then the whole evil-eye thing trying to suck his gray matter out through his ears. All of it had taken its toll. He was tired and exhausted. Still, there was work to do.
After a full minute of thought, he decided that this could be another Baaku reality test; one designed to test him further. After all, why would they agree to let him leave so easily after searching for him all that time, then dump his boney ass here instead of with his teammates? And what the hell had Flexus meant by “adjustment”?
He chuckled. Just another glorious day in Paradise. His version of Earth seemed so far away. So did Drew.
He walked up the stairs, taking time to peek around each section of the staircase and listen for movement. It was dead quiet, except for the echo of his own footsteps. He felt safe, at least for now. He w
ent up two more flights, each with sixteen metal steps, to a gray metallic door at the top of the stairway. He studied the red placard with raised, white lettering. It was attached to the door at eye level with brass-colored screws, though it was an inch lower on the right side—someone obviously didn’t know how to use a level properly. Some of the letters were missing, but he figured it said Cooling Tower.
Lucas put his hand on the door knob. He turned it all the way to the left before it released its grip on the doorjamb. He pushed it open a crack and stuck his head inside. It was too dark to see anything. He felt around the plaster wall to the left of the door for a light switch and found a triple switch. But before he could flick it on, he heard someone sneeze. He froze.
Row after row of light fixtures lit up the ceiling of a room that had to be at least two hundred feet wide and twice as long. He jerked his hand back, pulling the door toward his chest, until the opening was less than an inch wide. He focused his breathing to slow it down, but it wasn’t easy with his heart pumping full bore. He managed to calm himself before leaning forward and using only his right eye to see inside.
He heard what sounded like footsteps—which were getting louder—but he couldn’t see anyone. There were hundreds of stacked, dark-green containers blocking his view of the far side of the room. The totes looked to be made of corrugated plastic or some other type of packing material, each arranged in a stacked row from left to right. The ten-foot-tall wall of containers was organized and neat. Every container he could see had sprayed-on white lettering that read TNOT-2.
He waited a good five minutes, but didn’t hear any more sounds. He looked behind him and considered his options. Only one choice: Move forward.
He entered the room, walking to the closest plastic tote. He forced open its lid by using his fingers as a pry bar. He found stacks of spiral-bound printed books inside. Old-school binding to be sure, but that was the norm since the Krellian invasion began a year and a half ago.
The white cover for each book contained the same black letters: “E-Plan. Grid 2. Sector 12.” He opened the book and found at least a dozen pages of topographical maps with local landmarks, highlighted paths, and printed instructions on each. It was an evacuation manual of some kind. But for what? The next two containers contained the same thing, just dozens of the manuals.
Lucas heard a muffled male voice off in the distance. It was coming from the far side of the room, possibly beyond the last row of containers. The man sounded agitated or angry; the inflections in the man’s speech kept turning up a notch. Lucas couldn’t make out many of the words. He put the manual back in the first container and closed its lid quietly. He did the same for the others he had opened, too.
Lucas decided a stealth approach was in order. He took his shoes off and carried them in his hand as he moved forward, walking heel-to-toe in a deliberate manner, wondering if the commotion from across the room was the act of friend or foe. Maybe it was Zack or Rico. Could he be that lucky?
He followed row after row of storage bins that formed a maze-like pattern, allowing him to inch his way closer without exposing himself to direct line of sight. Each time he came to a corner, he knelt down and looked around the corner at ground level. He figured that low-level maneuver would be less likely to draw attention if anyone happened to glance his way, but he saw no one.
He was nearing what he thought was the midway point of the room, when his sock-covered toes began to vibrate. He stopped moving, knelt down on one knee, and put his palm to the floor. The vibration was consistent and rapid. Just then, a low-pitched hum teased his ears—it seemed mechanical in nature. It reminded him of the startup sequence from the immense electromagnet array surrounding the E-121 reactor back home on Earth.
He made his way down three more corridors and navigated two ninety-degree turns. He was standing in the second to last row of the containers near the far side of the room. He looked through the air gaps between the containers in the stack, trying to see if anyone were on the other side, and there was: A tall, bronze-skinned man was standing next to a much shorter, rugged-looking man. Their faces had similar features. Oversized nose, stiff jaw, narrow cheeks, and receding hairlines. Maybe they were related. He listened in on their conversion.
“—look, you need to hurry up. Kristov will eventually notice we’re gone. She doesn’t miss much,” the taller man said, strain and anxiety clear in his tone.
The other man exhaled a billowing pillar of smoke, then coughed twice. “I’ll tell you what, Cary, this is some seriously good shit. Where’d you score it?”
“From this cool long-hair in town.”
“Was it that one-eyed dude, Gaylon? With the braid of gray hair down to his ass?”
“Yes.”
The smoking man nodded, as a teeth-filled smile filled his lips. “I heard that freaky bastard has the best stuff.” He took another long drag, sending the reefer’s glow into overdrive. “Premium.”
Lucas ducked his head to avoid being detected through the container stack. He had seen the legendary drug-dealer, Gaylon Reece, from a distance on his first trip into town, but never met him face to face. He looked like a younger version of the actor Sam Elliot, except of course for the eye patch and severe limp. His reputation as a brutal renegade was well-earned—he was the only dealer brave enough to sell sensory-altering drugs on Cyrus’ turf. But the man was still alive, so he must be both clever and intelligent.
“Come on, Freebo,” Cary said, tugging at the other man’s elbow. “We need to get back. Are we square now?”
Freebo nodded. “We’re solid. But from now on, it’ll cost you double for my sister.”
“Yeah. Okay. Whatever. There probably won’t be a next time. She wasn’t that good.”
Freebo coughed, like he’d swallowed wrong. “I beg to differ. She’s top-flight ass. And I should know.” He tossed the reefer onto the cement floor, then crushed it with the ball of his foot.
“You ready for this?” Cary asked.
Freebo froze. He said nothing.
Cary grabbed Freebo by the collar. “Look, I need you to guard this door and don’t let anyone through except Yakberry. Understood?”
Freebo held up his hands like he was sitting in a strip club getting a table dance and trying not to touch the girl. “I’m still not sure how am I supposed to know if it’s the real Dr. Yakberry?”
“Unbelievable. Weren’t you listening at the briefing?”
“Not exactly. I was sort of staring at Kristov’s tits. I’m defenseless against a serious set of cleavage. Do you think she’s playing hide the sausage with Cyrus? Or maybe Freakshow? Now that’s a visual.”
Cary adjusted Freebo’s collar, turning down the ends. “If she catches you looking, she’ll take your head and not even break a sweat.”
Freebo nodded. “Man, did you see that wicked creature tattoo on her back? I wonder if all the initials are her conquests or something. Definitely trashy, just the way I like ‘em.”
“You need to focus and do your job,” Cary said, letting go of Freebo’s collar. “Just ask Yakberry to answer Kristov’s riddle.”
Freebo grabbed Cary’s arm, as his weight shifted to the left quickly. “I’ll never remember that shit. I’m three-quarters baked already. In another ten minutes, I’ll be—”
“All right, one more time. This time you need to listen and remember or we’re both fucked. Kristov won’t give you a second chance. Or me, for recommending you. She’s probably gonna test you today like she does with all new recruits. You’d better be frosty.”
Freebo pulled down on the sides of his shirt. He straightened his posture. “I’m cool. Lay it on me, bro.”
“Ask him why the zero-point energy of a vacuum in space can’t be interpreted as a cosmological constant?”
“Zero-point what?”
“Zero-point energy,” Cary scolded, rolling his eyes. “It’s like I’m talking to an eggplant or something.”
“Dude, you’re making me hungry. I’ve got a ser
ious case of the munchies right now.”
“Listen to me. You need to take this serious. This is important.”
Freebo used his index finger like a drill, simulating impact with his temple. “It’s like a swarm of micro-bees are burrowing their way into my skull. I hate this fucking shit.”
“Pay attention!” Cary yelled, slapping Freebo with a backhand across his cheek.
Freebo rubbed his cheek. “Okay, I’ll try. Why can’t we just use a secret handshake or something?”
“Kristov wants us to be sure. Nobody here has ever seen Dr. Yakberry.”
“What about a photo? How hard is that? Only takes a second to transmit.”
“Comms are down again. That’s why we have the riddle. It has to be something only the Doc would know.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. I guess.”
“Good. Don’t make me regret getting you in on this gig.”
“I won’t. I need the cash. What kind of name is Yakberry anyway?”
“I think it’s Krellian for bio-chemical super geek.”
Both men laughed, then walked out through the door to their left.
Lucas waited. There were no other sounds or movement beyond the stack, but he couldn’t see every inch of the corridor. Maybe he was alone. “Time to kiss the donkey,” he muttered, as he stuck his head around the last corner. Sure enough, he was alone. He put his shoes on and walked the length of the aisle until he came to the single door at the far end. Next to it was an eight-foot by four-foot plate-glass window. He looked through the window and his heart nearly stopped.
The window overlooked a vast underground hollow filled with a crowd of maybe five hundred armed men wearing full-length body armor and jet-black helmets with facemasks, all standing at attention in single-file rows.
A raised platform stood in front of the crowd with a lanky, blond-haired woman hovering near four people who were on their knees with their hands behind their backs. Lucas couldn’t see their faces; their heads were covered by black hoods. He assumed they were men, based on their build and physique. The scene reminded him of the Star Wars movie, when Darth Vader addressed his throng of masked storm troopers on the massive deck plate of the Star Destroyer.
Incursion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 2) Page 15
