by Grant Fausey
“Is it alive?” asked Rallumn.
“Possibly,” responded the researcher. “But it’s also multidimensional. We’re not seeing the whole creature.” Electrical arcs raced across the surface of the biomass revealing the dark shape of the entity hidden within the dark luminescence of the creature.
“It’s a technology I’ve never seen before,” said the scientist. “It draws life from the universe itself.” The entity’s vine-like tentacles split and separated encircled the researcher like those of an octopus, until they revealed the battle-hardened face of the creature hidden amidst the menagerie of wires and ooze that permeated the vortex. The researcher turned pale, her blue-white skin peppered with discoloration and fear.
“Then it is truly living light!” exclaimed the entity, astounded by her discovery.
“Yes, M’lord,” answered Anion. The researcher reaffirmed the discovery with a nod. “If I had to make an educated guess, I would say it’s made of some sort of living energy––an aura for lack of a better term.”
“Can it be reverse engineered?” asked the biomass. A hush fell over the researcher, the rings of distortion passing along the calm pools of liquefied air that surrounded her to the edge of the threshold.
“Perhaps––” she answered, leery of how exactly to respond. “But the symbiont is adaptive. I believe the entity hidden within the vessel may predate our own civilization.”
“Then it is truly an artifact?” squirmed Rallumn. He was feeling the full force of his inquiry. “A remnant of the Indigna?”
“The Kalamar possessed many skills we are just beginning to understand, m’lord,” contemplated Anion. “If this is one of their devices then there is every possibility it holds the key to all your questions. It is one of the most advanced pieces of bioengineering I’ve ever seen. But I still have no idea of its true purpose.”
“And what of the host?” Rallumn slithered back from the edge of the abyss. “Is he of any consequence?”
Anion stepped from the edge of the threshold into the currents of temporal distortion as if putting distance between her and the biomass offered her protection. She held the symbiont within her hand. “The same energy flows within the host that is present within the symbiont,” she told the entity. “However, only the male seems to be responsive to the influences of the device.”
“Then we should discard the woman.”
“Not yet,” rebutted Anion. “The two are blended. The memory of one is inherent in the thoughts of the other. It is possible they were once blended. It would be a shame to dispose of her before a final analysis can be performed.
“Then perform your analysis quickly doctor,” echoed Rallumn’s voice, as the biomass retreated into the recesses of the abyss. “If the Industrialists breach the corridor before we are ready, this insanity will expand beyond the boundaries of both our universes. We must find a way to influence this temporal agent, before there is no choice but to eliminate both his companions from history.
“Understood,” said Anion reluctantly, her lack of enthusiasm evident.
“Computer––” she said with a heavy sigh. “Reset sequence to interactive mode. Scan the symbiont again for any inherent memories.” The hologram rotated on its axis, revealing the essence of a dark-haired, rugged-looking man in his late fifties; his body aglow in an iridescent enclosure. “There must be something we’ve overlooked, something not visible to the naked eye.”
“Inherent memory scan complete,” echoed the voice of the computer. “Data displayed. Interactive mode.”
“And you––” pondered the researcher staring at the brilliant light as she touched the golden amber light of the symbiont. “What’s your story?”
NINETEEN: A Meeting of Minds
• • •
Rusty’s Bar and Grill was the same in any universe, a dirty little backwater joint with messy benches, cluttered tables and shady patrons. One could find the filth he was looking for in any corner of the establishment. Especially, Toman Kane, a grungy little man wrapped in leather hides, a curtain of beads, and dark cape. “You’re sure about this,” wondered Kane. He didn’t like what he was hearing. “They said Sodin?”
Salnex leaned in from where he was seated behind him. “That’s right, said the fuzzy skinned man lingering for a moment, uncomfortable with the details of his latest deal. He didn’t trust his partners, or the uneven balance of power.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“And this Denarak character is behind it?”
“No––some old dame named Malone is pulling the strings,” interjected Salnex. “They think they’re raising a rescue mission to find old man Craton.”
Toman Kane let out a belly laugh, smacked the table just hard enough to bounce the translator sphere free of the table. Kala Nara, a beady-eyed biped, with long dreadlocks, big ears and elongated snout sporting a pair of tusk like front teeth caught the damn thing and popped it back into place before it hit the floor. “I don’t trust this Malone,” continued the fuzzy technocrat. “The bitch is anything but forthcoming. She’d strand us on the other side, if there was a profit in it!”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” said the techno-junky, “but I’ll keep an eye out nevertheless.” Toman caught a glimpse of the hotshot freighter pilot out of the corner of his eye, noticing his reflection in the translator sphere at the same time as Salnex and Kala Nar. He looked up from where he sat at his favorite table to see Jake Ramious burst through the swinging double doors, wild-eyed and confused. He was just looking for trouble.
Salnex pushed aside the translator sphere. “Where are you when I need you, Crimson, or whatever your name is?” asked Jake, as he glanced around the tavern with a wandering eye.
“Indigo is looking for you, if you’re in here.”
“Clones make me puke,” said a shadowy figure at the rear of the tavern. He was standing in the doorway next to Kane. “Can’t stand the sight of them.”
“That’s good to know.” Jake smiled. “You’ve seen Crimson…?”
Samuel Nomad leaned forward across his table, opposite from where Salnex and his cronies were sitting.
“Weren’t you on that train this morning?” asked Jake. He occupied the same space in both universes.
“What train?” inquired Nomad. The young hotshot headed for Salnex’s table, leaned in taking a good look at Nomad from across another table. “Yeah––” he said loud and obnoxious as if he was inebriated, but wasn’t. “You were on the subway … I remember you!”
“What are you babbling about?” Salnex reached for his sidearm, but Kane put a stop to his foolishness, putting his hand over the weapon in order to restrain the sly businessman from doing something equally as stupid.
“I gotta tell you––” insisted Jake. “Its been one hell of a shitty day. Lost my toothbrush, my girlfriend …” The pilot puckered up, looking for something with a little kick. “I’m not even sure which universe I belong in anymore.”
“There you are,” shouted the old trucker. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Figured I’d find you here; we’re in preflight in a couple of hours.” Vex Redford made a beeline for the young pilot––the cavalry coming to the rescue.
“Looks like your boy here has had a little too much of Rusty’s kettle juice already!” said Toman Kane. The clone stood up, hand on his six-shooter like an old gunslinger. “Might wanna hire you another pilot there partner.”
The dispatcher huffed. “I thought the load wasn’t till the day after tomorrow,” insisted Jake. He was definitely in no condition to fly, but with a little coxing, and a lot of coffee, anything was possible.
“Thanks, but he’ll be okay,” said Vex; he knew the big guy was looking for a fight, but he wasn’t going to give it to him. Clones were unpredictable. “He’s just a little disorientated is all. He’ll be good as new in twenty.”
“Right!” Jake stumbled, speaking out of turn. “We’ve been there before.”
“C’mon, old boy. Lets get you
back to the barn,” insisted Vex, holding him by the arm.
Jake caught a glimmer of a firearm out of the corner of his eye. “Sounds good!” he snickered waving to the patrons. “Nice talking to you fellows. Salnex’s eyes went red with anger.
“Why I ought to …” he was suddenly infuriated, looking for a fight; anything to bring down the great Jake Ramious and his puppet, Vex Redford. “That little weasel owes me big time. Cost me one of my best clones! Gonna cost a fortune to generate a new one.”
“What––” said Kane. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“No––you idiot,” glared Salnex.
“That’s Indigo, you maniac,” said the runner. “There’s got to be a better way. He’s already killed you once, maybe twice.”
“Don’t worry,” said the fuzzy guy. “I got this!”
“Got what?” Jake came flying backward through the double doors, and stumbled, twirling around in the center of the bar. Vex Redford did the same, confronted with a swarm of V-bots.
“V-bots,” shouted Jake in the whirlwind, making a mad dash for the door at the rear of the tavern. Rusty went wild-eyed, in an all out frenzy! He wasn’t going to let anything happen to his bar. Jake hit the ground hard, ending up on his laurels with his double-aught six. Vex rebounded to his feet, came up blasting everything in sight, nearly taking out Toman Kane as the gangster slammed a table in half, stumbling over it. The barkeeper brought his guns to bear on Jake and Vex, but the weapon went flying across the room in an attempt to dodge a flying bottle of booze and a gravy chain of condiments.
“That’s about enough of that,” said Rusty, pointing the shotgun at the braggart’s head. Toman Kane shattered, pieces flying in a hundred different directions. “Damn technocrap!” shouted Rusty. His buckshot was everywhere pebbling the tavern floor. “Make a mess wherever they go.”
“Wait a minute,” insisted Vex. The dispatcher rolled the technocrat over, genuinely disturbed. “This tech is based on…”
“Time to go, Boss,” interrupted Jake. The pilot was suddenly sober. Two more v-bots materialized above the bar, just out of sensor range of the old man. The pilot had a clear shot and took it, sliding down the catch line to the skimmer as he aimed for the truck’s cockpit. Jake pulled Vex aboard punched her wide open and dove for the cargo bed, coming up short. The flying pickup truck rocked like a board, nearly sending him overboard as he crawled aboard, Vex Redford in tow.
“Hang on …” said the pilot. “Take the controls, so I can get rid of a few of these pests.”
Vex slipped into the cockpit, grabbed the throttles with a bloody hand, and punched it like a motorboat. The transport’s headlights popped on in streams of light whirling into the evening air making the pickup the perfect target. Jake went for a long rifle, pulling the musket from the side of the skimmer. Old Nikki hadn’t failed him yet, especially when crossing the mist river. He had hunted in the pines most of his life. This was no different. The pilot lay across the rear corner panel, and steadied the weapon, pulling the gun to his eye as he rested his elbow on the deck plate, and took careful aim. A laser bolt flashed past his head recoil off the gun barrel in a flash of electrical arcs. A V-bot exploded in the distance. Still another in the debris, taking its place. Jake took careful aim, following the curve of the anti-gravity pods on the back of the skimmer.
He fired. Old Nikki puffed, her blackened barrel clouded by the burst of white-hot light that splintered the V-bot’s odd shaped head. Jake pulled back the hammer, slipped another charge in the chamber and squeezed off another lucky shot. The bot exploded below the skimmer, its parts racing through the tall timber just above the fog line, where a small spybot reached out and snagged an appendage against the bottom of the skimmer, hitching a ride. Jake steadied his aim, held the musket against the butt of his shoulder and extended his palm along the underside of the weapon’s stock. Fired. The V-bot dodged the shot, returning to its previous course. Hot ionized gas particles pummeled the skimmer leaving a trail of dark scorch marks along with powder burns across the forward stabilizer.
Vex punched the throttles, practically ripped off the main array from the fuselage, barely able to keep control. Jake returned fired. Missed, only to find himself abruptly confronted with the wingless predator as it came up from below bringing the full force of its weapons to bear on the powerboat. Vex banked the skimmer hard to a new course. The vehicle roared beyond the woodlands into the cityscape and vanished into the oncoming traffic, damned near colliding with a flying taxicab. The V-bot shuttered in the wake of the auto’s exhaust and slammed into the face of a tree, spilling the spybot from where it held on to the bottom of the contraption.
“Damn unlicensed junk,” cringed the taxi driver. The burly man nearly dropped his cigar ashes on his lap. “Even the skyway isn’t safe anymore.” Behind him, in the backseat, the passenger leaned forward slightly, downloading information from the spybot onto a handheld scanner, before closing the laptop.
“Where to Mac?” asked the taxi driver.
“Trithen Towers,” uttered Samuel Nomad, answering the driver. The rearview flickered with information, and a questioning eye. “Olive and Ventura!”
Samuel tapped the Bluetooth headset in his ear, answering an incoming call. “Nomad,” said the runner. “No––I’m still in transit. Twenty maybe thirty minutes. No––I could lose the connection.”
“The towers?” questioned the agent. The driver looked back at Samuel and nodded, confirming the route.
“Fine. I’ll meet you there in twenty.” Samuel clicked off the earpiece, and immediately addressed the driver with new directions.
“Assembly Hall, please.”
“Everything okay?” asked the taxi driver; he couldn’t quite see the agent in the rearview.
“Just business,” answered Samuel. “It’s of no concern, but thank you for asking.” The driver glanced at his passenger i his mirror, out of the corner of his eye.
“Troubles at the home office, huh?”
“Damn,” chuckled the Agent, as he gently pulling his Mark six sidearm from its holster, keeping it hidden against his leg. If the driver got too inquisitive, he would be forced to put an end to his inquisition. “Corporate can be so impatient,” he told the driver. “If they only knew the truth …”
“Can’t argue with that,” said the operator. “Yesterday was one of the worst days I’ve had in years. Seemed like every time I start to do something I end up doing something else. Its the weirdest thing. I keep doing the same shit over and over again. Know what I mean?”
“All too well.”
“Sometimes a second chance is all anyone really needs, but damn … it never seems to work out that way.”
“You got that right.” The driver rolled his unlit stogy between his lips, eyeing the traffic as he turned onto the freeway on-ramp.
“Can you get me there posthaste?” asked Samuel. “I don’t want to be late.”
“Not a problem,” confirmed the baldheaded Middle-Eastern man, “but it’ll cost you a little extra. Transition fees and such!”
The runner nodded his approval, looking out the window in the direction of the Assembly towers. The taxi accelerated up the on-ramp, lifting into the air as it crossed the islands of California. It took only a moment for the automobile to converge on a sea of red dots, joining an endless stream of traffic.
• • •
The hover skimmer was down. Vex Redford out. He was headed for the office, Jake in tow. The young pilot wanted to report the incident to the authorities; at least, see if he could get damages for his ripped blue jeans, or the blood stains on his jacket. Either way, their encounter was too close and the old trucker was already on the move. “It won’t happen again,” Vex Redford told his pilot.
Jake latched the rifle, securing the weapon to its holster on the side of the hover vehicle. “I suppose we’re hunted men now, right?”
“No,” said Vex. “They wanted something else.”
“What?” J
ake locked eyes with the hauler jockey.
“I’m almost certain of it.”
“You can’t be serious?”
Vex wiped his hands on a rag.
“The Industries are evil, plain and simple,” he told the pilot. “That thing at Rusty was proof of that! There’s something going on here, something more than a little corporate profiteering. The Industrials are up to something. I can feel it. We need to make a difference, before they’re untouchable.”
“I have news for you, pal––they’re already untouchable.”
“We’re going need a new kind of soldier … a warrior.”
“You’re gonna need an army.”
“Gentlemen,” said Krydal Starr, her sweet voice interrupting the train of male egos. “We’re here for our preflight briefing.”
Jake looked over at Vex, already in love.
“I believe you’re expecting us.”
Vex glanced up to see a small group of people standing at the rear of the loading dock: Three men and three women.
“This is my survey team,” said Krydal, nonchalantly. “And our head researcher, Renniska Brennan.” The young pilot leaped down from the dock, and immediately took Krydal by the hand, greeting her with a handy twinkle in his eye.
“Pleased to meet you,” said the young woman.
“Most sincerely,” said the pilot turning around to face Vex like a dog in heat. The young woman was absolutely beautiful, but way out of his league as far as he was concerned.
“Welcome to Hauler’s Incorporated,” interrupted Rooka, dropping down from the engine after sticking his head out from beneath a cowling.
“Thank you,” said Krydal. “This is all quite exciting. Have you ever been to Sodin?”
The rodent stepped off the platform, wrench in one hand; grease-covered rag in the other. “Just a milk run,” claimed the hauler captain. “Three days out, three days back, excluding the time you need to spend on the surface.”
