Absorption: Phase 03 (The Eighteenth Shadow)

by Grafton, Jon Lee

  This too irritated Dorothy as she glumly took her usual chair.

  Dax stood and brought everyone around with a clap, “We’re all here then. Here, let me help you with that,” he said, sliding a hand under an unwieldy, large plate of bacon and eggs that Goran was struggling to set on the table.

  Dax leaned across, carefully placing the bacon and eggs in the center of the large table beside bottles of Tabasco and ketchup, salt and pepper shakers shaped like drones and a roll of paper towels for napkins. Dax smelled like flowers and a distant hint of mild cologne. Tara kept her back to the table, eyes on the trees, even as William came and sat beside her. Dax took the platter of pancakes and set it on the table also, then reclaimed his spot on the other side of Tara.

  Dorothy watched with irritation as Dax reached and brushed a dangling strand of black hair behind Tara’s ear, finally snapping her from the daydream. Tara turned to face everyone at last.

  “Get on up here, big boy!” she said as the dwarf climbed into his seat with a cup of coffee held gingerly in his bionic grip.

  Dax had long since commissioned a furniture maker in the city to build a custom chair for Goran that placed him at eye level with everyone else when seated at the kitchen table.

  “Do you always have to be sarcastic, Tara?” asked Dorothy. “It’s not always funny.”

  She picked up her glass of orange juice and drank from it coolly, taking in everyone’s surprise.

  I don’t feel like being nice.

  Tara feigned being above reproach, “Looks like someone didn’t get their full eight hours…”

  Dorothy served herself a pancake and some scrambled eggs, “Well maybe if you hadn’t gotten me shitfaced so you could stick your hand down my pants, I would have. Oh, wait! And if I didn’t have to evacuate from a speakeasy, watch you mind-screw a cop, then run to the hovcar for our lives… I would have gotten a little more rest.”

  Tara smirked, “It’s not like I have to get you drunk to get my hands in your pants. Or your husband’s.”

  “Bitch!” said Dorothy, tears forming in her pale blue eyes. “How would you feel if I shagged Dax?”

  Tara cocked her head, “Wouldn’t blame you. I mean, look at the man.” She petted Dax’s shoulder.

  “You make me sick,” said Dorothy, setting down her silverware and starting to stand.

  William stopped her, a hand on her wrist. His eyes were soft. They were full of love. They pleaded for her forgiveness as only the eyes of a husband can. William had told her after all. It had only been once. A long time ago? Not only did Dorothy believe this, she knew it wasn’t his fault. It was Tara’s.

  All of it.

  Tara started to speak but Dax silenced her.

  He waited, encouraging everyone to serve themselves with a series of quick glances, staying chipper, “On a more practical note, in the interest of full disclosure, I’d like to begin by saying that we should really do this more often.”

  Cat pawed the air enthusiastically as Goran served himself a healthy stack of flapjacks.

  Tara rolled her eyes.

  Dax looked around the table, “Let us beat no bushes. Each of you has the same question; shouldn’t we leave? If law enforcement has marked us, should we not load the hovcars and flee?”

  Dorothy took a couple of halfhearted bites of pancake and leaned her head on William’s shoulder, “Well? Shouldn’t we? We have more money than Dog, Dax.”

  Goran ate greedily while Dax spoke, seemingly unconcerned with the details of this topic as if he and Cat had long since made up their minds.

  Dax said, “A more than valid point, Dorothy. If it were but for the health of our bank accounts, I would say off with you, and Dogspeed. However, it is the safety of team members not currently present that has my concern.”

  Dorothy felt ashamed, “Where is Hugo?”

  “Holotab off. He isn’t wearing a comdot,” said William, pushing a fork full of eggs into his mouth. “He’s either smarter than us, or just lucky.”

  “Certainly,” said Dax, “if there’s anyone who can keep a low profile, it’s Hugo. Did you know he was the only one of you who insisted on being employed under an alias? He is as far off the grid as a human being can be in 2082. If an emergency arises, Joan will activate his holotablet manually.”

  “Oh my Dog,” said Dorothy, “what about Joan?”

  She had a sudden urge to run to the dolphin.

  Dax called their eyes, “Let me be clear. You are free to leave. Right here. Right now. As I warned each of you, a day would come when we must say goodbye to Lawrence. As for Joan, the Israeli has been summoned, yet finding an aquatic dolphin transport on a Saturday in Kansas is not as easy as one might think.” Dax paused and smiled, moving his glance around the table, “So you are all free. Take a DOGS unit and float. Your bank accounts are untraceable. A new life awaits.” Dax tented his fingers, “Or… you can meet us at Secondcity in a month’s time as planned. You all know in your hearts this is about something greater than riches.”

  Dax again paused to let them think and nibbled elegantly at his eggs.

  Dorothy knew her husband’s answer. She squeezed William’s hand under the table and looked at him, smiling faintly.

  He shook his head, “I have to. I’ll put you in a hovcar with LOFN and meet you at the rendezvous. Your parents will be happy to see you.”

  Tara shoved two strips of bacon in her mouth at once and talked while chewing, “Why do we have to rendezvous in Salina? Can’t we rendezvous in Rio?”

  Dorothy snapped, “If Salina’s not good enough for you, princess, then go ahead! See how long you survive without the rest of us cleaning up your shit trail.”

  “Awwww, spoken like a true Kansas girl!” sniped Tara. “Sorry some of us don’t want to live someplace where overalls are actually considered a valid fashion choice!”

  “Your slutty yoga pants with a permanent hole in the crotch are better?”

  Tara’s face grew red, “At least I know how to dress like a…”

  Dax waved his hands across the table in front of him.

  Dorothy felt the wave of calm hit before he even spoke, “Ladies. While I can appreciate the complexities of navigating a relationship as multifaceted as your own, I must ask you to reserve your debate on fashion for another day.”

  Tara again rolled her eyes.

  “Whatever,” said Dorothy.

  “The bottom line is this,” said Dax. “Tara and I are going to remain behind with THOR and two of the DOGS units until we see that Joan is away safely.”

  “Meow,” said Cat the Felix plaintively.

  “Goran and Cat as well, of course,” Dax nodded gratefully to the silent dwarf.

  William picked up Dorothy’s hand, “You know I have to…”

  “Oh, shut up.” She laid on the sarcasm thick as she raised her glass of orange juice, “We’ll have a nice breakfast, stream a holoflix since it’s raining, make some popcorn…!” She pulled her hand away from William, “None of us are leaving, Dax, so cut the crap. How big a pickle are we choking down here?”

  Dax arched an eyebrow, “The full force of CNED is closing from the west. Thus far, the DOGS units have been able to dispatch them with the usual methods of intimidation.”

  “Killing them, you mean,” said Dorothy. “The ones you can’t mind-screw?” she asked, saving that for Tara.

  “We are not,” said William. “Since we’re evacuating, there’s no need to make them disappear. We’re just scaring them enough to run.”

  “Something worse than CNED will be here soon.”

  “Indeed,” said Dax. “Which is why if you do choose to stay, Joan would undoubtedly appreciate your assistance in the control room, Dorothy.”

  She looked at William, searching for some promise that there lives might one day be free of this. The still was where they had fallen in love. But it was certainly not where she planned to spend the rest of their days. Her husband’s strong, blue eyes briefly melted away the anger in her he
art. His eyes held a power that Tara’s never could.

  The bitch.

  William’s face was grizzled and unshaven, the wrinkles around his smile more pronounced. His hair was flattened from already seeing some morning beneath the cowboy hat. She would fight and die for this man.

  Dorothy turned to Dax, “We’re in. I need a quick sonic to get last night off me, then I’ll report to Joan. Is she all right?”

  Dax smiled pensively, “She’s… as she needs to be.”

  Tara jarred the table with her leg, standing abruptly to face the window.

  “Darling?” asked Dax.

  Dorothy caught herself, unsure why she was so angry with Tara that morning, but she couldn’t help it, “What’s wrong, princess? Fifteen seconds pass without you getting all the attention?”

  Goran, who had been eating and drinking coffee without a care in the world looked up and grunted once, then carried on.

  “Truer words, Goran…” said Dax.

  Dorothy kept her gaze on Tara, hoping for some response, but there was none. Her attention was locked on the world outside.

  Dax took Tara’s hand, “Do tell, darling?”

  Tara snapped to and slid behind him, running out as she called, “They’re back!”

  “Don’t go alone…” said William.

  The front door had already slammed and Tara was skipping across the lawn towards the woods. Dorothy was never more grateful to William than when he chose to sit back down.

  Dax blinked affably and returned his attention to breakfast, “The Coyotes,” he said. “Good timing.” Then he yawned and gestured cordially, “Dorothy, be a love? Pass the butter?”

  9:49 am – Two Hours Eleven Minutes Before Event.

  Deputy Danny Everquist input the final command line and lifted his hands from the holographic keyboard, “That’s the last. Execute.”

  The computer replied instantly, “K9 MARX-CATS units 1-12, command control Talboy, Brick – driver ID verified.”

  “Sweeeet! I’ve never had all twelve on a leash at once,” said Talboy. “These Sheps are gonna make those shiners wish they’d knelt and seen Jesus dance! Controls are the same, tech-boy?”

  Danny swiveled in his chair to face his tattooed, Napoleonic colleague. “Knelt and seen Jesus dance? What are you even talking about? Yes, obviously controls are the same. It’s not 2020.” He swiveled gracefully back to his workstation with a sigh, “Visuals and telem are through your HUD, holotab controls are just a cleaned up version of the sim interface. They are called semi-autonomous for a reason. Just tag hostiles, deploy and you can auto-toggle between units on this slider if one gets damaged.”

  “Talk dirty to me!” said Talboy, rubbing his palms together. “Kevlar jackets! Famostone chassis construction! Take a mean, mean Fido to mess these guys up.”

  The two reserve SWAT deputies Sheriff Proudstar had pinged into HQ had just arrived. The man and woman stood outside Danny Everquist’s office door, listening to the deputies’ banter with varying degrees of interest. Both wore full body armor. The man carried an M92 Mantis sniper rifle. The woman’s weapon was a lighter but far more destructive M92L rapid fire particle weapon. Her rifle’s solar stock glowed green against her bullet proof vest, making the back half of the gun look like it was made of pale jade.

  Camilla Azarov was in her mid 30’s and was nicknamed The Badger. She had completed two tours of duty in the jungles of Venezuela during the Amazonian Revolution of 2071 in the days when Sheriff Proudstar was still Lieutenant Colonel Proudstar. Azarov’s black, wiry hair was bobbed short, and her mouth was a narrow, mean line. Her rare presence in HQ never failed to make Danny Everquist shrivel like a frightened turtle.

  By contrast, Deputy Murray Downs a slack-backed country boy in his early 20’s. He looked uncomfortable and puffy in his armor, and his rifle could have easily been exchanged for a fishing pole were it a sunny Sunday in June. Downs was quiet and modest, with droopy eyelids and hair the color of last year’s straw. He stuttered yessir or yes ma’am in response to almost any communication, even if it made no sense. Deputy Downs also happened to hold the state law enforcement record for consecutive drone target strikes at over three kilometers with a projectile based weapon. At the moment, however, he was gazing lankily through Everquist’s door at the exploded diagram of the German Shepherd MARX dogs as though he were a moth and the holoscreen candlelight.

  Azarov spoke curtly, inclining her head at Downs as she examined the dog-shaped chassis on Everquist’s monitor, “Shepherds are like wolves, something in them strikes up that primal fear. But not half as scary as Colonel Smith’s Dobermans, eh Murray?”

  “Yes ma’am,” said Downs.

  “Is the Colonel really coming?” asked Talboy. He lowered his voice, “I’ve heard things.”

  Azarov lifted her chin, “Heard things? The sheriff told you?”

  Talboy looked at Everquist, then back, “Naw. The sheriff doesn’t talk about his war days. Venezuela some, but not Iran. But I know there are stream hubs where they still call Colonel Smith The Butcher of Chābahār.”

  Everquist stuck his neck out like an inquisitive stork, “That doesn’t sound good, Talboy.”

  “Aww, it’s just rumors,” said the short, wiry deputy. “Something about a cyborg massacre, innocent women and children in the final days of the war.”

  Camilla Azarov’s voice was cool, “It’s no rumor, jarheads. Apollo’s crazy. And it wasn’t women and children, you putz.” She leaned into the office and spoke more quietly, “It was 200+ Iranian infantry.” Downs, Everquist and Talboy leaned closer, attention rapt as Azarov continued, “The Iranians had been using those dirty nukes towards the end. Remember, one took out over 4,000 of our troops at The Battle of Iranshahr?”

  “That was like the final big battle,” said Everquist, picking up a Mountain Dew as he listened.

  “Right, it was all borgs after that.” Azarov lowered her voice even more, “The colonel’s cyborg regiments were almost finished sweeping the south clean. When the bomb went off, he lost it, friends died. He and his drivers sent fifty Gen 1 Doberman RIOT units into the center of Chābahār against this Iranian company that was hole up in a bombed out apartment high-rise. They had already surrendered, were awaiting escort out. Colonel called it a malfunction.”

  “They hacked the logs after?” asked Danny, swallowing his Adam’s apple.

  “Yep,” said Azarov. “That’s the word. Dobermans went level to level, door to door using the service stairs. There was no barricade they couldn’t dig through. Within an hour, they’d torn these 200 guys into small pieces. Some of the soldiers jumped from windows rather than be ripped apart by the dogs.”

  “That’s some ill heart,” said Talboy with a long whistle.

  “Yep,” said Azarov. “Sheriff Proudstar refused the order, wouldn’t send in any of his own platoons. That’s why he doesn’t talk about Iran.”

  “Crazy sky,” said Talboy. He patted Azarov on the back, “How come you never told us before?”

  Azarov sneered, caressing her Mantis rifle as her cold eyes slow-turned to face the deputy, “Touch me again, Talboy, I’ll kill you and drink your blood.”

  The deputy withered, “Whoa, whoa, whoa… we’re just talkin’, Badge!”

  Danny Everquist was about to use the opportunity to land a sarcastic jab when Sheriff Proudstar entered dispatch control and strode with purpose to Everquist’s office.

  “You idiots didn’t hear it from me,” said Azarov quickly before moving back through the doorway.

  Murray Downs and Talboy came to a half-passable attention. Camilla Azarov snapped to form like her back was a steel rod. In combat boots the sheriff towered over them all, especially Azarov.

  Everquist didn’t miss how the sheriff nodded at the small woman with respect, “See you wore your party dress, sergeant.”

  Azarov rarely smiled, though her tone softened, “Hoo-hah, sir.”

  “Don’t light a spliff yet, people. We ain’t even outta the
hovlimo,” said Proudstar.

  He was dressed in light body armor and standard issue camouflage hemp pants, biceps and forearms rippling with bandy muscle. The experience of seeing a D$1,000,000 worth of avian drone technology shot from the sky had put the sheriff in a foul mood. He looked like a grumpy, ash colored grizzly bear and carried an old M4A2 machine gun over his shoulder. Everquist canceled the com’s environmental klaxon. A half-massacred cigar smoldered beneath Proudstar’s mustache. Every eye in control glanced at him, and he met those eyes.

  “Okay team,” he nodded at the woman, “Azarov, you’re borg secondary. Talboy gets hurt, goes batshit… fall to the transport and steer these poodles best you can.”

  The young woman snapped her boot heels, “Sir.”

  The sheriff continued, “We’re dropping the hovtransport up the hill a half kilom on CHR1500, protected by the western strip of woods. Now,” the sheriff blew a cloud of cigar smoke across the room, “Buddha fuckin’ bless, you are three of the best snipers in the Union. And Everquist is the finest com driver west of the Mississippi. But that don’t mean we’re invincible. We are going in blinder than a freshly crapped possum, facing unknown tech, so trust your eyes first, HUD second.

  Sergeant Azarov frowned, “Meaning, sir?”

  Sheriff Proudstar gave the tiny deputy a fatherly smile, “What I mean, Camilla, is if you see a Cocker Spaniel clocking 100 kph over open turf, but your HUD is telling you it’s a bunny, shoot the fucker anyhow.”

  “Heard, sir,” said Azarov, though it was clear from her expression that she didn’t exactly understand.