by Grant Fausey
Reuben Taylor, the Senator from the Industrials homeworld, engaged the two humanoids, while Indigo withdrew from the forefront keeping to the shadows for a long moment. Brennan interrupted the trio, with a cheerful thought. If someone wanted to destroy the competition from the inside out, rob the Trini Corporation blind so-to-speak, another dastardly deed to alter the course of the future, he would only need to overhear one of their conversations. The thought of one of the five great houses falling simply by misplacing a few pieces of junk was miraculous. Even Brennan felt inspired by the success of the endeavor. Salnex would be pleased.
“Gentlemen,” said Reuben Taylor walking ahead of the group. “We’re ready to begin the next phase.”
The two scientists were pleased with themselves, praising the endeavor. “You’ve done wonders,” echoed the Senator’s voice. “Especially, now that we’ve perfected the regenerative process. It’s all we hoped for and then some.”
“And the Industries growth project?” asked Lexus. Brennan turned an ear. He had heard tell of planets made to order, but the reality of the attempt had escaped him.
“It’s a virtual fountain of youth,” said the Senator. “Now that we can accomplish it on a planetary scale, anything is possible.”
Planets made to order, thought Lexus McKay. There was a sense of pride about the project; it was accomplished.
“All we need to do now is …” Alexander cut her companion off mid-sentence. Taylor wasn’t paying attention. But they needed him to be.
“Which brings us to our next topic, Senator,” said Alexander. “Our little matter of creating artificial life. We would like to use a woman as the test subject.”
“A woman?” The Senator stopped, took a hold of the walkway railing and waited like a tourist at an amusement park. Brennan was suddenly apprehensive. The Senator was shocked. “I have to tell you boys, the thought of creating a being superior to man doesn’t sit well with me.” The Senator turned away from the troubling scientists. “I’m all for the Human project and all, but the thought of living machine technology being used to create life …” Taylor was finally showing his true colors. “Well––that’s a bit out of my league now, isn’t it?”
“Look,” exclaimed Alexander Bay. “It’s not that difficult. We’re dealing with only the evolutionary principle at this point, not some new generation of trade slavers. We’d have to degenerate the evolutionary state of the Acreen to even resemble man.”
“You’re talking scary stuff,” disagreed the Senator. “But I’ll consider your request. I intend to keep my eye on your progress, personally. We can’t let this thing get out of hand.” Brennan raised an eyebrow. “In the meantime,” said the Senator, “keep up your work on the Regen process. I have to address the Assembly on this very subject this afternoon.”
The scientists sobered. Taylor was speaking directly too Brennan, but discretely. He wanted him to keep an eye on the scientists. Not let things get out of hand. “We’ve lost Neffum Claris,” he told the administrators. “A mishap at the facility on Sodin.”
“I had no idea,” reiterated the corporate facilitator, shocked. “How––when?”
“Tomorrow,” said Taylor, his voice a whisper in his ear. Brennan took a step back. “Arrange it! Make it look like an assassin. I don’t want to know any of the details. But keep the message short, sketchy. The true meaning needs to be oblivious to the courts. Let’s say there’s a new faction in town; someone we’re unaware …”
“This game you’re playing is dangerous,” insisted Brennan, stepping away from the scientists. “Just one miscalculation and the competition will overwrite everything we’ve accomplished. The Assembly won’t be able to ignore it forever.”
“I understand,” said the Senator. “But I think there is a way to turn this to our advantage.” Taylor poked Brennan in the ribs, whispering to the fat man. “What if we were to create an entirely new universe; one ripe for the type of commerce the Industries is capable of devouring?”
“An entire universe?” rebutted Brennan. “Shouldn’t we at least wait until we’ve done more testing?”
“Well–– no,” answered the Senator, disinterested. “It’s already in process … the Eden sector.”
“You’re playing God!” said the administrator, apprehensive.
“It’s important the Industries be allowed to continue their research!” Taylor insisted. Brennan thought otherwise. There was far more at stake than a few company secrets. The wealth of entire worlds, entire civilizations were ripe for the taking. “Its time we act.” Brennan raised an eyebrow. “With Neffum Claris out of the way, we can move to the next stage.”
“You and Rex figure this one out all on your own, or did Salnex help?”
“Does it matter?” Brennan stopped mid-stride and turned around to face the dignitary. His long flowing robes streaming in the morning breeze. “I’ll have nothing to do with this,” he said with a quick gesture of his three-fingered hand, slicing the air in front of him palm down.
“Neither will I,” snapped the Senator. “But get it done.”
Brennan walked away; better to confess his sins in front of a hoard of bounty hunters then in his master’s own presence. The bureaucrats in the big house would undoubtedly muster to the cause of their ill-fostered universe, but that was the least of his problems.
“They’re playing both sides,” said Indigo.
“Corporate wants us all dead,” answered Crimson. “Salnex knows that as well as you do!”
“Maybe we should accommodate them. I’ve been looking for an excuse to eliminate both of these rat bastards for years.”
“You haven’t seen him lately, have you?”
“Who–– Salnex?” The symbiont chuckled with a half laugh. “If he’s not lying dead on the floor in the lab on Sodin already, I know just where to find him.”
THIRTEEN: Changing Tides
• • •
The offices of Haulers Incorporated were quaint, a couple of two-by-fours nailed together at the back of the building covered in cheep paneling, paper products and a bulletin board, all of which, were housed in a buck-building with just enough space available to hold a ground hauler and the carcass of a rusty old dragon-wing transport being refurbished. Vex Redford, the foremost authority on all things freight, an old star jockey himself, a trucker at heart who specialized in short run, off-world deliveries of both passengers and freight was also Jake’s boss, and his star pilot wasn’t there yet. But that was nothing unusual. Vex and his mechanic, Rooka Trent, a slick-eyed lab rat with dark hair and field glasses, were on their own most of the time. Not that either of them cared. The universe made up for it, a minor adjustment here or there to the timeline, altering the events of their lives in order to reorder the essence of an emerging pattern. Something neither of them took the time to notice. Especially, near flight time.
The freighter logo patch on the back of Rooka’s uniform sported a distinctive: “Hi”. The same logo appeared on each and every cargo pod in the place. Once in space, the company identifier was visible for half an orbit in any direction. The freight depot, however, was little more than an obscure warehouse hidden on a backwater street in freighter town, a level below the main concourse; about two kilometers from the spaceport. Jake was late of course, so Vex was busy dialing his antique cell phone, reiterating his need for a pilot. Jake concurred, although he was having anything but a normal day. He had left Krydal’s place in a rush as if he didn’t belong there, which infuriated her. Yet, she paid no mind to the encounter, remembering the incident just as it happened fifty-eight years earlier, when she was faced with the past of an alternate future. Her adversary had run the gambit, putting her on her guard, while in her younger companion ran headlong into the front grill of a Suburban Utility Vehicle nearly scaring the panties off the driver.
The woman’s twin daughters, Lisa and Laura, a couple cute dark-haired preschoolers were anything but in the middle of a crisis. Their mother, however, had hit Jake with her
SUV and was having a fit on her cell phone. It seemed the officer on the other end of her 911telephone call wasn’t listening. She tried to explain the situation to the man at emergency services remembering the incident distinctly. What happened in the past affected her future, and visa versa. Despite the encounter, she had no choice but to take matters into her own hands and demand some answers. She was nowhere near the road to retribution than Jake; however, the pilot didn’t waste any time. He bolted from the accident like a frightened school kid, running across the parking lot down and into an alley. Apparently, shuffling himself into oblivion. He was frightened, alone in the downtown shipper district, a block or two off the New Los Angeles Spaceport Transit Hub. And, he was late. The quickest way to the terminal was the State Street crossing. The Manhattan Bay Bridge ran along the beachfront property to the underside of pier four hundred eighty-nine, where he could exit the platform next to the Marina; about a block from his townhouse apartment on the upper Westside, near the bayside complex. He felt strange, but had no grasp on the real gravity of the situation. Both universes were converging, forming a single memory. It was a little disconcerting, Jake needed to talk to Krydal and clear up the mess, but the universe was literally changing around him, everywhere he went.
The elevator door swished open on the twenty-third floor of the Trini Corporation’s work hovel. Jake stumbled out of the lift into the hall, disoriented; yet, remembered not to catch his heel on the hoists loose runner bar. His head was spinning; his throat choked up, as if he was suffocating; even the ceiling lights were a blur. Something was desperately wrong. If only he hadn’t run off that morning, maybe he could make things right. So far, the morning sucked.
What’s wrong with me? he asked himself. He was having trouble self-evaluating, but had no intention of passing up the coffee machine. Crimson loved lattés and cappuccinos. Krydal on the other hand had cause for a cup of something hot and chocolaty. Chocolate lattés, of course, hit the spot. “Look at my hair,” he said in a rush, wide-eyed: his skull reminiscent of the crazed old woman’s hairdo he remembered seeing in his awakened nightmare. Jake grabbed a bottle of water on the way out, dumped it on his head and pushed back his curls, dodging anyone he saw along the way. He was in transit, on his way to Krydal’s cubical. If he was right, she was already at her desk, working, and probably ready for lunch.
A friendly voice blurted over the intercom. An announcement. “Yes,” uttered the young, dark haired beauty trying to do too many things at the same time.
“Jake’s here,” said the lobby receptionist; her voice unmistakably drawn, as if the intercom had somehow slowed it down. She could barely hear her over the crackling. “Should I send him up or …”
“Who?”
“Your boyfriend, silly––Jake!” She was out of character. “Are you okay, Ms Starr?”
“Ugh––no,” answered Krydal. She fumbled with the intercom. “I’ll be right out.”
“I’ll let him know,” said the receptionist
Jake took a sip of his morning brew, nodded to the receptionist on his way down the hall toward Krydal’s cubical, and stopped. The lobby elevator dinged again, attracting his attention. He was worried. There were thousand different scenarios running through his head. What if she wouldn’t forgive him for being such a jerk, or running off like that? He had to man up; face the consequences.
“She’ll be right down,” said the receptionist. Jake looked over at the handsome young woman seated behind the semicircular desk and smiled. He couldn’t help but notice the cleavage spilling out of her low cut blouse just as the door opposite him opened. She was quite busty.
“Hey Jake,” said the crazy old woman with a toothless smile as she stepped off the elevator. “You okay … you had me worried.”
Jake went wild-eyed and panicked. The brunette rushed over to help him, trying not to make too big of a scene in the middle of the lobby, but the receptionist was already. “Ms Starr,” said the young woman, inquisitively. “Should I call 911?”
“Where’s Krydal?” Jake glared at the woman, afraid of her. The woman with the crazy hairdo came into focus. “Where’s my girlfriend?”
“I’m right here,” said the old woman trying to reassure the pilot he wasn’t crazy, but Jake didn’t respond. He wanted no part of the wide-eyed old woman, and damned near had a heart attack when she put her hands on him.
“Oh, my God––” shouted the pilot, paying witness to the old woman’s facial features. Her jaw line and eyebrows changed right in front of him, right down to the color of her eyes. Every wrinkle disappeared, as if by magic. She was young and vibrant. “What the hell is going on here?” bolstered Jake, heading for the door past the kiosk, his hand tight in hers. If nothing else, he was scaring her.
“You’ll be okay,” she said. “Just hang in there. I’m calling the paramedics now.” The receptionist bent over him like the old woman, shedding her clothes, suddenly a completely different person, as if she had shed her skin. The receptionist dropped her phone.
Jake flinched. Krydal was changing, becoming a woman he had never seen before. “Krydal,” he said exiting the building. The pilot was in a complete panic; his hand shaking, like a madman. Krydal was right behind him, in a rush, racing down the steps in front of building to where the landing met the sidewalk. Jake looked back at her, confused, unable to breathe. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket, and pressed the speed dial button, but there was no service. His phone was useless.
“Gamy,” he screamed. “This is crazy.” He practically shook Krydal out of her skin. “What the hell is going on here?”
“I don’t know,” she shouted
“About time you find out, don’t you think, hotshot?” chimed the symbiont, her voice a ripple of distortion echoing off the glass building behind him. The air fluttered, altering the logo nameplate. Jake sprang to his feet, spun around taking a defensive posture as if he had done it a thousand times, but there was no one there except the two of them. Still, he heard the voice of another in his head. He could almost see the reflection of someone else in the water. A tall, dark and handsome humanoid from what he could tell. But there was something odd about him, and it didn’t set right with the pilot. There was this eerie feeling, as if he was in two places at the same time. The star jockey dropped to his knees in the sand, landing under the pier. He covered his eyes and pleaded with himself, concerned with the voice in his head. He was either ignoring it, or he was losing his mind. It didn’t matter which, he needed to get a grip on reality.
“Show yourself,” said the pilot in a panic, rattling Krydal. The apparition of a man, dressed in futuristic combat armor, an overcoat and a wide-brim hat, rippled in the reflection, plainly visible in the water. He was standing in the exact same spot as Jake, reflecting in front of Krydal.
“Time to get a hold of yourself, old man,” said the apparition. “Figure out what’s happening to you, before she erases us both from history.”
“Shit––now I’m seeing things!” shouted the hauler jockey, looking down at his alternate seeing his own reflection in the water.
He spun around; faced two or three different directions. “This has to be a bad dream,” he told Krydal, wrapping his arms around her. “Next I’ll be talking to myself.”
“Afraid not,” said the apparition.
“I heard that,” said Krydal. Crimson leaned in, cuddling to the freighter pilot. “You’re in my head, aren’t you?” There was no answer. “None of this is real!”
“What are you talking about?” asked Krydal, slipping back under the pier.
“The name’s Jake Ramious,” said the apparition. “People call me Indigo.”
“Quit the crap!” snapped the pilot.
“This is nuts!” said Krydal
“That’s my name––I’m Jake.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I’m a part of you,” countered Crimson. “Or at least I will be.”
“What’s wrong?” questioned Kryda
l. The reflection of the assassin reached for her counterpart, disturbing the water.
“I have to change breweries,” conceded the pilot, shaking his head. “Now I’m talking to myself … hearing voices.”
“Not so much,” said Indigo. His voice strained.
“Wow––you picked a perfect spot, baby,” said the temptress. Jake was definitely distracted.
“You’re just a figment of my whacked out imagination, that’s all,” he said under his breath, disconcerting.
“What baby?” insisted the corporate liaison! “What you talking about?”
“Perfect ending to a perfect day,” said the pilot. Jake chuckled in spite of himself.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” said the reflection. “Getting drunk isn’t going to solve anything.”
“Right,” said Jake.
“What’s on your mind, babe?” asked Krydal.
“I need you to remember,” said the pilot.
“Remember what?” asked the young beauty.
“Everything.”
FIFTEEN: Turning Points
• • •
“Trinod Rex, I presume?” asked a rather stout individual, with long braided hair, neatly trimmed mustache and eyes as blue as a mid-day’s sky, as he greeted him at the gate. Rex looked back at the gray-faced man with a wide smile. “I hope you had a pleasant flight.” The genetics engineer tugged on his jacket, and proceeded ahead of the courier, making sure to look over his shoulder. He was free and clear, as far as he could tell. No trigger-happy fingers within reach to steal the show.
“As well as can be expected,” he told the greeter; his answer, on the move, although he had no idea of where he was going. “I assumed it would be first class, but apparently someone was ill-informed.”
“Evidently,” Jacob Mantel agreed cracking a smile. “Someone didn’t get the memo!” Nevertheless, the stout little man was well informed. It was the visitor who had loose connections. As far as being kept in the loop, Jacob Mantel was as well informed as anyone else in high places, but then again, his patron’s arrogant negated any semblance of decency. Nature by its own cause demanded he show him a lesson. Rex was all the proof he needed. The skinny little man had beady eyes, a tall forehead, arms like a Neanderthal and the heart of a pagan.
