“That sounds like plenty.”
“It will be more than sufficient.”
“Three shots?”
“Negative. We do not want to incinerate the vessel prematurely. Our target is the nexus broadcast diode which trails the dirigible. The nexus diode maintains the Govcloak. Once destroyed, the craft will be without firewall and I can take operational control.”
“At that point we will be exposed?”
“The attack on my intrastream will commence within 60 to 90 seconds. There are 7,894 atmospheric cleansing dirigibles in use worldwide. The vessels’ travel patterns envelope the globe in an interwoven matrix, ensuring no portion of the ozone layer goes without maintenance for more than 1.4 hours. A typical, drone-enhanced takeover is not possible. NAUS C643 is currently located above Hays, Kansas, approximately 373 kilometers due west of our location at an altitude of 17.9 kilometers with a velocity of 119 kph. Our drones have a maximum functional altitude of 830 meters.”
Dax’s amber eyes scanned the information in front of him for another way, but there was none.
“Hitting that diode will be a difficult shot to execute without incinerating the blimp in mid-air.”
“Unit AK9MILalpha has a highly advanced onboard targeting array, however the THOR unit is capable of discharging only a single burst of transorbital laser light from its TOHO mortar per hour. The initial shot must destroy its target.”
“You could still say no, Joan.”
“I have lived in this artificial Eden for too many turns.”
Dax blinked, then pressed his hands against his knees and stood, “Very well. In another rendition of this scenario, I would like nothing better than to stay and discuss the quantum mechanics of consciousness absorption.”
“I would like that as well. A hovtruck containing four CNED hunters has just docked one kilometer west of the driveway on Douglas County Hovroad 1500. Shall I alert a DOGS unit?”
“No. Do not engage unless they are on our property. I’d say it’s time we awoke William. I’ll bring him a coffee. The sheriff’s geese must be on the way?”
“They will be spooled to launch within five minutes.”
“Centibots?”
“The only operational centibots are located at Fort Riley in weapons R&D. Since our location is now known, their function is irrelevant for this engagement.”
Dax’s expression calmed.
He put his fingers on the glass where Joan floated between the electroencephalogram terminals, “If they decide to stay, Dorothy will want to be with you.”
“They will stay.”
“Everything depends on it,” said Dax quietly. “I am helping Dorothy sleep as late as I can this morning. Her presence is crucial. William however, must rise. The borgs need him.”
Dax walked around the left side of the aquarium and was almost to the hall when Joan’s voice stopped him, “Daxane Julius Abner?”
“Yes?”
“The atmospheric cleansing dirigibles are firewalled by four white dolphins interfaced in RAID. Once I hack their network, they will seek my location. At least one is always bridged to the cloud. If all four attack at once, my ability to maintain system control will be compromised.”
“They will overpower you?”
“Correct. It is conceivable that they could take control of our systems, excluding the tethered DOGS units. If that happens, temporal cascade must be initiated manually. The war dawns.”
“Our desired outcome.”
“The war of the dolphin,” said Joan. “You will have 120 seconds to escape once manual wormhole collapse is initiated.”
Dax knocked on the wall beside him, “Perhaps it won’t come to that.”
“Anything is possible. I will see you again, Daxane Julius Abner.”
8:41 am – Three Hours Nineteen Minutes Before Event.
“Noooo!!!” William shouted.
He found himself sitting bolt upright in bed, the dream of bloodied, harpooned beasts already fading. The Winchester 30:06 was in his hands, a round chambered. Sweat ran down his forehead. He was pointing the firearm directly at FREYA, finger caressing the trigger. The borg had forced the door open and sat with her head cocked, whining sadly. The wooden door’s old fashioned knob was now a ball of gnarled brass laying in a scatter of splinters on the floor. The Rottweiler’s synthetic tongue fell out of her mouth and she panted happily, then whined again. This time more desperately.
“Okay, hell. Gimme a moment.”
William looked at Dorothy, surprised to see her still asleep as she rolled onto her stomach with a moan.
“Hell,” he repeated, dropping the rifle and rubbing his face.
It was unusual for Dorothy to not awaken first. He was grateful for it today. He leaned the rifle against the bed and pushed the hair from his eyes. The LED on his holotab blinked rapidly on the bedside table. He stood and walked to the kitchen sink with the tab in one hand and splashed water on his face. FREYA came and nipped at his leg.
“Stop it.”
FREYA whined and sat, watching with demanding attention, peddling her forepaws.
William returned to the bed and pulled on the same pair of hempjeans he had been wearing the night before. Boot-socks, boots, T-shirt. He leaned over and kissed Dorothy’s shoulder, then gathered his hunting rifle and went into the hall, closing the shattered door behind him as best he could.
“You can’t just break shit whenever you want.”
FREYA paused at the top of the stairs and looked over her shoulder. Satisfied that she had fully awakened her master, she disappeared, hopping down to the main floor in a single, precisely calculated leap.
William pulled the silver comdot from his jeans pocket and affixed it to his jaw. Its LED blinked in time with the holotab’s. He took the old oak stairs a step at a time, cowboy boots banging on the risers.
He tapped the comdot, “Dax?”
“Good morning, William,” The voice surprised him from around the corner at the bottom of the stairs, not on com.
Dax appeared with two cups of steaming coffee in hand, “Good night’s rest?”
“Not really. Do I smell hemp-bacon?”
Dax was dressed in one of his finest taupe suits, perfectly pressed sharkskin. A maroon, silk handkerchief was folded immaculately in his upper left pocket. Even William was taken aback by how sharp the man looked.
“It is indeed bacon,” said Dax. “Tara and Goran thought it might be nice to make everyone breakfast. This may be our last chance to enjoy a proper meal together for awhile.”
William came to the end of the stairs and pulled his hempstraw cowboy hat off the hook beside the door, looking skeptical, “Tara’s cooking?”
Dax chuckled, “Point taken. Technically, she’s there for moral support. Goran is doing the actual food preparation. Cat is supervising.”
“I heard that!” Tara’s voice rang down the hall from the kitchen.
“Yes, my darling,” Dax replied with a smile.
William pushed his head to one side, popping the vertebrae in his neck, “You guys are weird.”
Dax shrugged.
William looked at the pale, wet day beyond the square glass window in the front door, “Not that bacon and a cup of joe don’t sound epic,” he turned back, taking the coffee, “But shouldn’t we be gettin’ the sky outta here? Instead of makin’ flapjacks?”
Dax leaned on the banister, “As I assured you last night, all is…”
“Secure, I know. Joan’s gotta be hacking some major friction.”
Dax conceded, “There is no doubt there. However, with the structural modifications made to the house, it would literally take a lightning gun to penetrate these walls. In the meantime, there is breakfast. But before we eat, I was hoping you’d be in the mood to shoot some geese?”
“Geese?”
“Well, their technical designation is Lockheed ER2 Avian Camodrones.”
“I assume Joan is trailing these ducks?”
“That she is,” sa
id Dax, walking past him and picking up a second hunting rifle from a gun rack by the front door. Dax efficiently checked the magazine and chambered a round as he spoke, “Joan dear, how much time until camodrones are in range?”
Joan’s voice came through the comdot on William’s jaw first, “Good morning, William Thomas Angevine.”
“Howdy, Joan.”
She then split the stream and spoke to both men, “The camodrones will be in optimum firing range in 97 seconds. They are traveling southeast along the river at a median elevation of 562 meters. A firing position adjacent to the back door of the farmhouse is recommended.”
“That’s a long shot,” said Dax. “Which is why I thought you’d want these,” he offered William a pair of binocular Ray Ban’s.
William declined and sipped his black coffee with an appreciative grimace, “No thanks. I’ll do this the old fashioned way.”
“Fairly enough,” replied Dax. “I, however, do not have quite your… talents.” Dax put on the binocular Aviators and activated the HUD, “Joan, you seeing my world?”
“I am, Daxane Julius Abner.”
William inclined his head at Dax and nodded towards the front door, scratching his sideburns, “Well, good morning then. Let’s shoot some geese.”
“Badass! Zoom in!” said Brick Talboy. “Riiiiight… there! That sandbar by the dam. Judy and I dropped our hovbikes under the overpass. She let me hit it.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Deputy Danny Everquist, “Who takes a betty on a date to a muddy river?”
Talboy was standing behind Danny’s chair and pushed his carrot-toned head, “It was sex, not a date, tech-boy.”
“Get your filthy mitts off me!” yelled Everquist.
“Show me anyplace you’ve shagged a betty in the last 185 years!”
“My girlfriend isn’t…”
“Even alive!” finished Talboy.
“Whatever! Why are you even in my office!?”
The sheriff’s voice boomed across the com, “Deputies! Shut pie holes. Distance to target?”
“Tactical on your holo now, sir,” said Everquist.
“I see it,” said Proudstar. “These birds have good optics.”
“High def vidorbs, sir. The rain and drizzle is cutting down on apparent resolution, though.”
“How long?” asked the sheriff.
“Forty five seconds out. Banking our flock off the river now.”
“Got it. That wind turbine Abner has is big. You think that’s the power source?”
“No way. Not if they’ve got a dolphin. Let alone their fleet of company hovcars to charge, two tractors and a registered heavy hovtruck plus warehouse bots, environmentals, etc. It would take five turbines that size to boot the CPU alone.”
“I don’t get where a dolphin lives?” asked Talboy. “Or what a dolphin has to do with anything?”
“Probably in the barn, and don’t worry about it.”
“All the Abner bi-annual scans are good going back 6½ years. I looked.”
“They’re just scans, Brick,” said Everquist. It’s not like the Fire Marshall or county ag inspectors actually go out there. We use drones for everything.”
“So?”
The sheriff said, “Talboy, your brain’s outpacing your salary. Just focus on the layout in case I need to send you in there to shoot someone.”
Everquist giggled and sipped his Mountain Dew, “Idiot.”
Talboy shoved the back of his head, “Tech-boy!”
The young deputies began to fuss but controlled themselves as the sheriff barked, “Look sharp! The barn and house are coming up. Never seen it from this angle,” said Proudstar, curious. “Look at that lawn! Maybe after I arrest Abner, he can give me some yard tips. Who are these guys? Coming around the house with a dog, big fucker. Magnify quadrant A.”
They were following the vidstream from the lead camodrone. Everquist carefully slid his index finger across the glowing tactile interface, magnifying the men so the image was momentarily out of focus.
“Rifles!” said Talboy. “.30 caliber, mid-century build, sir.”
“Everquist, if facial recognition is correct, then that’s our Mr. Bill Angevine smoking the cigarette?”
“That’s right, sir. Abner is the one in sunglasses with the orange hair dressed like he’s going to a society dance. Given the weather, I’m guessing those shades are for targeting. They’re making no effort to conceal themselves. All scans report organic on the dog.”
“They’re sighting!” said Talboy excitedly. “Look, look, look!” He pointed wildly at the screen.
The magnified vidstream now showed the men by the farmhouse in high definition. The black dog stood absolutely still beside the figure tagged William T. Angevine. The man docked the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and knelt, sighting at the sky, his face mostly obscured by an old fashioned glass scope.
“Sir?” said Everquist. “Should I get our drones out?”
“You have full parameter data yet?” growled the sheriff.
“Negative. 39%.”
“Keep on course. These birds are moving high and fast. They’ll have a tough time, even with HUD specs…”
“Angevine isn’t wearing any…”
“Firing!” yelled Talboy, slapping the back of Everquist’s chair.
Puffs of smoke erupted from the rifle barrels, one after the other. Talboy bounced on his toes, both hands digging into Everquist’s foam headrest.
The vidstream relays shook violently. They all blinked in shock. A red warning flashed the text EXTERNAL IMP MALFUNCT… and the stream to both of Everquist’s holoscreens went dark.
The computer said calmly, “Camodrone CG01 disabled, stream transfer in progress.”
“They just took down one of our birds!” howled Talboy.
“Main vid! Any other drone, now, now, now!” yelled Proudstar.
“On it, sir!” said Everquist, typing furiously.
The vidstream from the second drone reappeared momentarily, long enough for them to see William Angevine look away from the rifle’s sight, pull a hit off his cigarette and wink. The dog, now seated beside him, continued to remain absolutely still.
Dax Abner fired. The second drone’s vidstream wretched with static and also went black.
EXTERNAL MALFUNCTION.
“Camodrone CG02 disab…” the com stuttered, “Units CG02 – CG04 disabled, reporting external environmental impact(s).”
Sheriff Proudstar hollered as if in pain, “Did that motherfucker just wink at me? Dogdamnit…!”
Everquist sputtered, “I’m sorry sir, they’re automated for a redundant switch in case of failure. Our altitude and speed should have made them untouchable with bullets! But… primary and secondary streams are dead!”
The sheriff snarled, furious.
Deputy Danny Everquist spun around in his workstation chair. He and Talboy looked at each other, eyes filling with stupefied wonder.
“Everquist!” said the sheriff, “Tell me we can spin at least one of those ducks for a higher pass?”
Everquist looked at Talboy like he’d been knifed as he replied, biting his lip, “Uhh, there’s not gonna be another pass, sheriff. We just got blown out of the sky.”
9:05 am – Two Hours Fifty Five Minutes Before Event.
Dorothy dreamed of thunder, claps like gunfire, boom! Pop-pop! Bam! It did not scare her, though she unconsciously gathered the morning covers more tightly. As a little girl in Salina, her parents used to walk her out into their front yard to watch the thunderstorms tearing across the plains from the Denver high-country. Her father liked to set up three Adirondack chairs in the lawn facing west. From there, the family would watch the storms gestate until the first pellets of violet summer rain drove them inside laughing. Those storms freighting in from the west were like purple-black cloud monsters 1,000 kiloms tall. They billowed and cooed. They smoked and swaggered. Out in Salina, the sky wore boots and owned the Earth. It was bigger than the world itself
and carried with it the smell of fire and grass, dust and lightning bugs.
When Dorothy opened her eyes, the storm had passed, leaving behind the sort of gray, drizzled overcast that made one think of London in October. The slate-toned clouds hung low and the day was windless and still, save the lingering rain’s steady patter on the yellowing leaves outside their window. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and watched a bluejay land briefly on a branch, preen himself, then flash away in a streak of white.
Her mouth was dry. The headache was spreading along her temples. Dorothy was most definitely not born with an immunity to hangovers.
“Dogdamn Tara,” she said to herself, sitting up.
She tied her straw colored hair into a bun to keep it from her face.
“Time?”
“9:06 am – central standard time,” said the house com.
Why had she slept so late?
Because Tara has turned me into a drunk.
The smells of coffee and bacon filled her nostrils. Goran was obviously up and cooking as he liked to do on weekends.
Dorothy looked around their apartment. Everything was the same, but this morning she looked on it with new eyes. She glanced at a colorful, green tapestry thrown across the couch where she and William had watched many a holoflix. The tapestry was outdated, no longer her style. The apartment looked strange. Like a home assembled by another person.
Goodbye.
Everyone was in the kitchen when she came down dressed in her ubiquitous overalls.
“Ahh, we’ve been waiting on you, dear,” said Dax invitingly.
She ignored him, irritated with Tara. Dax was guilty by association.
She sidled up to her husband who stood beside a window that looked across the lawn. The woods were hard to see for the mist and clouds.
“Hello, babe,” said William, unfolding his long arms to put one around her.
He kissed her on the forehead and turned so they faced the group.
“I missed you this morning,” she said sadly. “You smell like cigarettes.”
He smiled, but said nothing.
“What happened to our apartment door?”
“FREYA.”
“I see.”
Goran stood on a broad step-stool before the stove cooking, stone-faced, with Cat perched on his shoulder facing the group. The Felix ducked and mewled happily at Dorothy’s arrival. Goran had a standard bionic hand attachment connected in place of the plumbing wrench, which made him seem like a more run of the mill dwarf. He briskly worked the skillets with an enjoyment only Cat’s behavior evidenced, serving the last of the pancakes onto a platter. Dax and Tara sat at the big round dining room table before the picture window. Dax faced the table. Tara gazed outside, lost in some dream. She watched for something in the gray light. Something that no one else could see.
Absorption: Phase 03 (The Eighteenth Shadow) Page 13
