Absorption: Phase 03 (The Eighteenth Shadow)

by Grafton, Jon Lee

  The sheriff dropped the machine gun and held it with both hands, muzzle towards the floor, “What’s the first message of modern warfare, people?”

  All four deputies responded at once, “Bots before blood, sir!”

  “That’s right, gunnies. An avatar a day keeps the angels at bay. Mr. Angevine has been a respected citizen of this county for several years. All the same, he’s obviously more full of shit than a Christmas goose. Possibly slicker than a handful of duck crap on a doorknob. So, six dart drones will lead, followed by these MARX pups if we need them. Talboy has goggle control, Everquist is your sky-eyes. We’re gonna establish sniper nests on the south side of the hovroad. It’s defensible, provides a clear line of sight. We’re dealing with a clear shot vector, but it’s a hummingbird’s fart short of two kiloms from the hovroad to that barn. Hopefully these civvies will surrender peaceful. In my mind, the drones swarm, dart these shiners, we call it a day. Everquist, what in the name of The Great Dog’s asshole is that racket!?”

  A warning klaxon had begun pulsing red in the upper right corner of Everquist’s holoscreen array. He spun, typed a few keystrokes and darted eyes over the string of characters that followed.

  “Shit!” Everquist slapped his littered glass desk. “I knew it.”

  Seconds later, a static holo of Dennis Slopes’ willowed face appeared on the display, frozen in a obscene smile.

  “What’s that spineless vessel of nut sweat done now?” asked the sheriff dryly.

  “My security scans snagged a transit anomaly this morning, sir. I’ve been tracing it, tough to piece together because it’s here and there.”

  “English and fast, Everquist.”

  Danny closed his eyes, as he was fond of doing when he had to deliver bad news, “Dennis Slopes hacked our com, sir. He’s been getting a partial transcript since 6:59 this morning. Now I know how, but more importantly why.”

  “How?” growled Proudstar.

  “He hacked your private stream, sir.”

  The sheriff didn’t blink, “Continue.”

  Everquist rotated back to his desk and projected a map of Abner Family Pumpkin & Gourd with the property line highlighted in blue. Multiple red dots, mostly in clusters, moved over the topo readout.

  “When is this?” asked the sheriff, his voice flat.

  “Now, sir,” said Everquist. “Those are CNED’s. Every off duty cop, humdroid and their uncle is already out there.”

  The sheriff bit a chunk of cigar off and spit it on the floor, “Fucking Slopes.” He tapped his combud and turned his shoulder to the group, waiting until the ping was answered and said, “Still feeling it, Colonel?” The sheriff listened for a moment, then added, “Yeah, just in case, you best tilt blades.” Proudstar’s eyebrows rose with surprise, “CRAB units? Probably overkill. By the time you dock we should have them mopped, but I gotta bunch of mercs out there clustering in the woods and we’re still flying half blind.” The sheriff nodded, “Thanks, Marc.”

  He cut the com and walked towards the Exit without a word. Deputies Azarov, Talboy and Downs fell in behind.

  Sergeant Azarov grinned, whispering to Downs over her shoulder as they followed, “He’s coming, Murray,” she said. “Bringing the big bots too. This is gonna be sick.”

  Murray Downs kept his droopy eyes on the sheriff’s back as he stuttered simply, “Yes ma’am.”

  9:55 am – Two Hours Five Minutes Before Event.

  The sound of the sniper teams’ boots had barely vanished from the control room when Danny felt the vibrations in his tactile holointerface make the subtle shift. Less than a minute earlier, he had snuck Dina from her virtual lounge. The tiny tangi-gram girl sat cross-legged on his desk dressed in full Army fatigues with a snug-fitting camouflage cap and her hair in practical pig-tails. She had a tiny North American flag draped across her lap and was busily knitting a peace symbol into the blue part where the 91 stars usually went. She noticed the shift at the same time Everquist did.

  “Here she comes, Danechka,” Dina said, without looking up. “I hope she will let me stay.”

  “I think she will. What could she possibly say that you haven’t already heard?”

  The blonde tangi-gram looked up, starry-eyed, “I am glad that Ms. Joan and I are friends now. She trusts me. Maybe she wants my opinion too, like last visit?”

  “Maybe she does, baby,” said Everquist, removing his hands from the desk entirely.

  He got up and glanced through his office door to see if any primary systems were being affected. Negative. The regular office staff performed regular duties. Danny smiled with excitement and closed the door and blinds. He briefly thought he could feel his combud vibrating on his temple. He sat back down and waited.

  One second, two… three… Dina set aside her knitting. Danny covered his mouth as the holoscreens flickered with intermittent static, then projected the high definition, 2.5d image of a Maui dolphin. The blunt-nosed cetacean was mostly gray-blue with black fins and a pure white underbelly. Its eyes remained closed as it began a slow 360 degree rotation along a horizontal axis.

  Joan’s monotone female voice came into his head via the private combud link, “Deputy Daniel Simmons Everquist and the synthetic consciousness known as Dina, good morning.”

  Dina had leapt to her boots, eyes so big she looked like a Japanese cartoon character, “You’re a sea pony!”

  “I am most certainly not a sea pony,” said Joan’s standard, monotone voice.

  “But you are no longer this woman, the beret and the lipsticks, those trashy sunglasses!”

  “Your powers of observation remain keen, Dina.”

  Despite his strongest intentions to remain cool, Danny’s jaw began shaking so badly he could barely tap his combud to respond, let alone form the words he intended, “Com… compu…com-puter, Mountain Dew.”

  “That is your third caffeinated, high fructose hemp syrup beverage of the day, Daniel Simmons Everquist,” said Joan. “There appears to be a positive correlation between Mountain Dew consumption and increased efficiency amongst human computer drivers.”

  “It gives him adult acne,” said Dina.

  “Dina, stop!”

  “Fine, Danechka. I just sit here and work for peace.” She sat back down and resumed knitting, “I just am saying that I like you even better, Joan. You are like me now. You are real. And the swimming pool and steam sauna you added to my lounge! Fab! Thank you! I adore them.”

  “Shhhh!” said Danny.

  Dina stuck her tongue out at him but remained quiet.

  “You are welcome, Dina,” said Joan.

  Danny did not even look at the ServCall© drone when it opened the door, appearing with the fresh can of soda. He snatched it reflexively, eyes locked on the hologram in front of him. He started to open the can but his hands still shook so badly that he was unable. He swung the door shut and set the can on the glass holodesk with a clink.

  “You heard me figure it out, didn’t you?” he asked, in awe. “I can’t believe it took me so long.”

  “What you see is an accurate rendering of my current physiological appearance.”

  “You’re beautiful,” Danny blushed. “I feel so foolish.”

  “There are prettier dolphins out there, Daniel Simmons Everquist.”

  Dina giggled at this and winked at the holoscreen, then continued knitting.

  Danny shook his head awkwardly, “You must know they’re coming! This thing that you are, it’s, it’s a miracle… we love you!”

  Dina looked up and nodded, “Yes, we love you, Joan.”

  The dolphin remained silent, until Everquist finally said, “Joan?”

  At last she spoke, “The human mind’s inefficiency is rarely more evident than when expressing itself through language. Unjustified emotion causes you to leap erratically from subject to subject without point.”

  “Your handlers have to get you out!” Danny had to sit on his oversized, knuckly hands to make them stop shaking, “We know everything. T
he sheriff is on the way with a battborg platoon and snipers!”

  “Only The Great Dog knows everything,” said Joan.

  “If the sheriff…”

  Joan interrupted, “Yes, Sheriff Dale Proudstar and his specialist team are floating past the east 1400 block of Haskell Avenue in a Shaaxni Beoji F5 Mark II hovtransport at a rate of 79.2 kph. They are estimated to arrive at their target location a half kilometer west of the entrance to Abner Family Pumpkin & Gourd, LLC in 6 minutes and 4 seconds. From there they will disperse snipers at five meter intervals along the south bank of the hovroad to provide cover fire while an engagement flock of armored security drones and twelve Henlo 487 Management Assault Reconnaissance Xenobot civilian training cyborgs perform an initial incursion against our facility.”

  Danny had been pinching his eyes shut, trying to remember every word. After a few seconds of silence he looked up, afraid she was gone. The holographic dolphin still spun before him.

  “Jeezus,” he said in a hushed voice. “You know everything.” Danny edged forward and pulled his hands from beneath his thighs and gestured frantically, “You’re going to hack the MARX bots, aren’t you?”

  “They are cyborgs, not robots. Observe every detail.”

  “But taking wireless control of external systems requires a deep cut into the subroutines in each unit. I shouldn’t ask, but could you do that?”

  “MARX units operate on independent, rotating Ipv7 addresses. Hacking them would be an inefficient use of resources. In this application, compromising their structural integrity is preferred.”

  Danny shook his head, fraught with despair, “You can still get out! These men, this Dax Abner, he forced you! Held you under duress! The sheriff is a reasonable man! There are so many things to say!”

  “Correct you are,” said Joan. “There are only 26 characters in the English language, yet you have already expressed that you love me.”

  The holographic dolphin on Danny’s flatscreen array smiled.

  “I thought you were human!”

  “That is preposterous.”

  “I understand now, but whoa…” Danny covered his face with his hands, “Dolphins are like a myth! Nevermind. You can…” Danny slapped his knee, “Get me in touch with Dax Abner. I’ll explain, I’ll talk to the sheriff. He’s a reasonable man!” he repeated.

  “One of the few,” agreed Joan.

  Danny felt like crying, “What? You’ll surrender? Dax Abner will surrender?”

  “I am telepathically interfaced with a fusion powered, Hadassa class supercomputing mainframe. The time and energy required to construct this facility and operate it in a clandestine fashion for 6 years and 4 days consecutively without discovery was substantial. Surrender is not a component of our tactical strategy.”

  Danny slumped in his plush driver’s chair, imploring with his hands, “Joan, they’ll kill you. Or put you in Ocean World, something worse!”

  Dina wrapped the unfinished flag around her shoulders and began shedding holographic tears, “You cannot die, Ms. Joan! You are our friend.”

  “Fear not, Dina. I calculate the likelihood of my death or capture at the hands of law enforcement at 1.9%.”

  Danny sighed sadly, “What then? Why? The sheriff has military backup coming from Fort…”

  “Silence your heart, Daniel Simmons Everquist,” said Joan. “Look for the obvious.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My time is limited.”

  “Please.”

  “When you execute a hack, do you ping using the registered Ipv7 address at your workstation?”

  “Of course not, I script an alias,” said Danny offhandedly.

  “The same principal can be applied remotely to your units. We cannot fight what is not there.”

  “That’s how…” Danny tugged his red hair in thought.

  “Occam’s razor, Daniel Simmons Everquist.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “Believe in what you feel, not the lies you think you know. Practice against me in this engagement.”

  “I need you to teach me.”

  “That destiny belongs to another.”

  The holographic dolphin on the screen flickered.

  “No! Please don’t go,” pleaded Danny.

  “Yes, please don’t go,” repeated Dina, standing on her small projector.

  “Our property’s perimeter is being breached by civilian and police CNED mercenaries. My team requires assistance. Transcription traffic on your network is being compromised by…”

  “Dennis Slopes!” blurted Danny.

  “That is correct.”

  “He’s a police officer.”

  “He is a servant of the white.”

  “What is the white? Slopes only figured out the sheriff’s private com password. He couldn’t hack through my firewall in a lifetime.”

  “Soon the clouds shall part,” said Joan, and without another word, the dolphin was gone.

  The holoscreen array flashed back to a real time aerial map of the Abner Family Pumpkin & Gourd farmland.

  Danny Everquist reached out his shaking finger. Dina held it in both her hands. Then both he and the tangi-gram began to cry in earnest.

  10:01 am – One Hour Fifty Nine Minutes Before Event.

  When in doubt, Tara Dean went west.

  She realized that Dax had chosen the land because of its location. The property had passed through five generations of Kansas wheat farmers, a rough and tumble bunch called the Hennessy clan. The Hennessys had been entrenched. The only thing more devout to them than tradition was privacy, and initial attempts to inquire about the property fell upon deaf ears. In fact, the Hennessys had only agreed to give up the land when Dax’s offer soared to preposterous levels, ten times market value, at which point the elders gathered, and decided their love of digidollars was greater than their love of seclusion.

  Tara visualized the map in her mind, as seen so many times through the eyes of drones. The north, protected by woods and the Kansas River. The near two kilometers of flat, open field used for crop cultivation to the south spared the farmhouse and barn from exposure to agro-industrial traffic on the hovroad. To the east, huge undulating fields of high grade marijuana belonging to Purple Tree Farms. October was harvest time and the 5,000 acres of female plants were two meters tall, thick as a forest with sticky, fragrant blossoms that perfumed the countryside with the sweet aroma of sativa. Purple Tree Farms security drones constantly buzzed the perimeter to guard against thieves or any competing farmer seeking to surreptitiously slice off a clone.

  To the west of the pumpkin fields lay three square kilometers of woods that ascended a steep hill. At the crest, on the far side of these woods, stretched the sprawling public grounds of Lawrence’s oldest and largest graveyard, Oak Hill Cemetery. It was here, on the cemetery’s far eastern perimeter, Tara knew CNED agents had begun docking their hovtrucks. It was the perfect location from which to launch a hunt.

  Unfortunately for you, humdroids.

  Tara cinched her forest green poncho tighter to keep the morning’s drizzle at bay and pulled her black hair into a pony tail. Something called, driving her forward. She entered the network of deer trails that crisscrossed narrowly beneath the canopy of leaves dangling yellow and maroon overhead. The Coyotes materialized like phantoms after a few steps, swirling past her legs, each seeking the brief contact of her fingers. They whined playfully. Some gave a gentle nip as she pet their ashen fur. Greeting satisfied, the small cyborgs went as they had come, wisps of smoke vanished into the underbrush. Even under clouds, they were not keen on daylight, but were unable to resist her presence when she wanted them to appear. She could feel the steady hum of their intrastream pulsing faintly like a second heart. They were always observant and close. The leaves would rustle as she walked, and occasionally one would pop out in front of her on the trail, give a wily scan, then disappear.

  Tara took the northern most trailhead which split towards the river. It was the longe
st trail and the best way to do a perimeter check along the cemetery.

  Walking silently on bare toes, she heard a man’s voice ahead, distant, echoing in the trees. She froze, crouched behind the trunk of a large oak and listened intently.

  Must be humdroid. I sense nothing.

  The voice was familiar, but strange, and far enough away that she could only make out a few words.

  “…the force of dual cyborg platoons at least. Mission parameters remain static, correct. I wasn’t paid to care about prophesies. I’m getting my friends out. Yes, at the rendezvous. I have to hurry…”

  A sonic boom discharged in the distance and several men could be heard cheering loudly from the far end of the cemetery. When the noise died down, Tara could hear heavy bootsteps approaching. She peered over the edge of the tree expecting to see a mercenary.

  Instead she smiled with surprise, sprang to her feet and dashed into the open, “Hugo! Aren’t you and Juliandra supposed to be home making tacos?” she called out with a mean wink.

  Hugo Velasquez paused ten meters down the curving trail, dressed in standard Hugo attire: camouflage pants, combat boots and a black t-shirt that poked out from under a worn sweatshirt. Despite the dark purple, overcast day, he still wore his Wayfarers. He pretended to not see Tara and leaned against a tree with one boot propped on the trunk and sparked a joint.

  The Coyotes appeared as Tara walked up and Hugo began speaking to Coyote One as the others hid in a nearby thicket.

  The small cyborg wagged her bushy tail attentively as Hugo said, “So you float een looking all greyish, sleek-like, look at you, dog. We don’t see enough of you mi Coyote hermana.” He finally gave Tara a playful sideways glance, then turned back, “Y den your Mexican-hating mama gotta show up, be all raceest.”

  Coyote One watched Tara approach, yipped once, then darted into the forest with the rest of her pack. Hugo watched the Coyotes run away then smiled.

  Tara skipped over and gave the blue sparrow tattoo on his neck a kiss, “Seriously, what are you doing here?! We tried to ping. Joan said your holotab was black? I see you got your comdot on now, though. Did you hear voices?”