by R J Johnson
“Maybe you ought to sit down…” Meade said, trailing off. He knew this was going to be hard, but did it have to be like this?
Her brow furrowed at his tone. “What is it? You didn’t come out here on your own, did you? Even you aren’t that stupid.”
He coughed and shook his head, “Not exactly…”
“Then what?” she demanded.
“Em, Kansas is dead,” he said.
She didn’t react at first. Then her eyes darted up and down his face, searching for any sign he was joking.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
“Kansas… he died helping me get to you,” he said, depressed. “At least, I’m pretty sure he is.”
“You didn’t see his body?” she asked, her voice becoming unsteady.
“No,” he took off his hat, wiping his forehead. “We were trying to get into Shangri-La to rescue you when he was spotted by some of the professor’s drones. They fired, and…”
“And?” Emeline demanded.
He looked at her. “And the radio went dark and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Did you see a body?” she asked.
“No, I was too far away,” he said. “I was the distraction while Kansas used your virus to hack in and disable the security system. They spotted him somehow and took him out.”
“So you think,” she said, pacing around the small room. “For all you know, he could still be out there in the outback waiting for us to bring help.”
“Honey,” he said getting up and walking over to her. “I saw the type of ordinance they unloaded on him. There was no way anyone could have lived through that. Even Kansas.”
“Bullshit,” Emeline said, twirling and looking at him, her eyes blazing. “Kansas is a survivor above all else. You know that as well as anyone.”
“But he’s not invincible,” he said. “And he’d be pissed if he saw us wasting any more time trying to think up ridiculous scenarios in which he might have made it. He’d want us to work on escaping this place so we can get the word back to the MiMs about what the professor and his wife are up to out here.”
Her eyes grew cold. “Just like that huh?”
“He’s out there, we’re in here,” Meade said, shrugging. “Even if we could send help, it’d be too late. We only brought enough supplies for three days.”
She turned on her heel, staring daggers at him, “And what? We should let him die?”
He shook his head, trying to keep from choking up, “Em, honey, I’m telling you, Kansas is already dead.”
She absorbed this.
“It was my fault,” he said quietly, watching her come to terms with it. “If I hadn’t run out here to come get you, we could have gotten a few other friends together and set up a real assault on the professor’s city. I thought we had it handled and I was wrong. Kansas paid for my mistake with his life.”
“Jim,” she said, abruptly turning away. “I want to be alone.”
Meade was stunned but didn’t fight it. He couldn’t blame her for being angry with him.
“Yeah… sure,” he said haltingly. “I think the professor set me up with some quarters down the hall.”
He got up from the bed that she was lying down on and began walking to the door. “I’ll be down there if you need anything.”
She didn’t reply. She was mad at him and if experience had taught him anything, it was best that he let her cool off.
He took one last look back at Emeline and then exited the room, unsure if their relationship could recover.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Redemption
Meade wandered the hallways of Shangri-La, his brain caught in a spiral filled with negative thoughts that alternated between blaming himself for Kansas’s death and hating his friend for dying. Even his rules, the center of his moral universe were failing him.
Rules 9: Obsessing over the past is wasted energy.
Only this time, he wasn’t so sure that was true. Kansas warned him his recklessness would get someone killed and his friend had been right.
Rule 17: Learn from your past mistakes.
Had he though? What had he learned? Kansas had been right. His luck finally ran out and his friend had paid the ultimate price. The only reason Meade ever managed to get himself out of those tight situations was thanks to a pure force of will and dumb luck. He’d never learned how to be cautious or think things through.
He slammed his fist into a nearby wall, cracking the plastic and slicing his hand open. He stared at the blood running off his fist and swallowed back the pain.
That’s when another rule of his came to mind and the rage subsided.
Rule 2: Work hard, learn harder.
Maybe it was time to add a new rule to his moral code.
Rule 26: Fill your bag of skill before your bag of luck runs out.
Meade looked closer at the cut on his hand. It was deep and probably required actual medical attention instead of him ignoring it all night.
He made his way toward Dr. Hahn’s lab thinking there might be someone there who could stitch up his wound – or at least point him in the right direction.
Meade walked through the corridors of Shangri-La, ignoring the stares and whispers of the other people passing by him.
Eventually, he found himself outside the laboratory where he had woken and this whole misbegotten adventure had begun. He entered, the lights slowly flickering on around him. The place was deserted. Evidentially, evil scientists worked on a 9-to-5 schedule.
He moved toward the professor’s desk and opened the drawer hoping to find a medical kit to bandage his self-inflicted wound. The first drawer didn’t prove to be too helpful. It was filled with a random assortment of what he assumed were everyday laboratory tools.
The second drawer wasn’t much better. This one was filled with discarded tablets, armbars and a sundry of assorted electronics.
There were some interesting looking attachments for armbars in there, but he didn’t have time to take a closer look. The gash on his hand was dripping blood and a sudden wave of nausea overcame him.
Meade moved to the other side of the lab, where he spotted a utility closet that looked promising. He opened the door and sighed in relief. Among the stacks of unused medical equipment was a medical kit filled with everything he needed to stich himself back up.
He withdrew the dermablast from the kit and moved over to a workbench where he could get a better look at what he was doing. Dermablast was medical compound designed to reseal wounds like the mean-looking cut on the palm of his hand.
He activated the canister, spraying the thick foam across his wound, as he sucked in air through his teeth.
To distract himself from the pain, he forced his thoughts back to some good advice Kansas once gave him about looking at all angles of a situation.
Why were the professor and Dr. Hahn so eager for their help? It was clear to Meade that Shangri-La had all the resources they needed. Anyone who gave Palmetto pause was certainly dangerous enough.
But what had they seen so far?
People trying to live their lives and do work they considered valuable. He wasn’t sure how valuable it was – after all, more than one of the things the professor had shown him today could be used for nefarious purposes.
But, that’s not the world the professor wants to live in, or so he claims, Meade thought to himself, wincing as he poured some more disinfectant on the cut. He examined his wound. The dermablast was doing its job and he knew there wouldn’t even be a scar.
The door to the laboratory opened and the lights flickered back on. He swore and ducked out of sight, moving toward a supply closet gathering up the med kit as he did so. Someone was coming and he had a feeling it would be bad news if he were discovered.
“…professor wants these citizens rebooted and installed in their slots within the day,” a voice was saying as it entered the lab. The sound of four squeaky wheels rolling along the linoleum echoed in the lab.
�
��What’s the population up to now?” a second, female voice asked. “The colony seeds should have enough units by now to be self-sustaining.”
“These four are late editions,” the man replied. “Creatives according to the professor.”
“Ooh la la, more Creatives?” she grumbled. “How long do we have?”
“Tomorrow,” the other voice replied.
“That’s going to be tight,” the woman said, the frustration in her voice evident. “It takes six hours for the personality reboots alone, to say nothing of the extra time I’ll need for calibrating the emotional q’s and…”
“Then you’d best get started then,” the man replied sounding equally annoyed. “The professor expects these units to be ready before his departure tomorrow afternoon. They need them ready by then for the plan.”
“This is for the plan?” the woman said, her voice picking up energy. “I thought we were months away…”
“The timetable has been moved up,” the man said. “Apparently the professor’s hand has been forced.”
“Then I’d best go back to the office to wake the rest of the staff,” the woman’s voice said, sounding resigned to an all-nighter.
The voices faded as the door shut, the click of the lock echoing through the room.
He waited until he was sure the footsteps had faded away when he felt confident enough to emerge from his hiding place. Four tables had been wheeled into the center of the spacious laboratory, but he ignored the figures under the sheets for now.
He moved toward the door and peeked out the laboratory window. Unfortunately, whoever his mysterious visitors had been, they were important enough (and smart enough) to leave behind guards. Two of them were now standing outside the door.
He was stuck and the clock was ticking. It wouldn’t take long for the woman to return from summoning her staff to the laboratory. If he wasn’t gone by the time they got back, his goose was cooked.
His only hope would be to knock out the guards outside and escape unnoticed before they returned. It was then that his stomach sank when he realized what he needed to do next.
The image of a scowling Emeline appeared on his armbar and he tried his best to look apologetic.
“Em, honey, I know you’re pissed – “
“Oh, pissed doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she replied. Her image winked off and he groaned. She was madder than he realized. He re-opened the comm link, pinging her armbar to try and talk with her again.
“Meade, you really can’t take a hint, can you?” she asked, her image popping up on his armbar again.
He was searching through the laboratory looking for anything that might help him, but so far was coming up empty. That’s when he remembered the strange looking armbar attachments in the doctor’s desk.
“There’s been a development,” he said. “I’m sorta locked up in Dr. Hahn’s laboratory.”
She snorted, “And let me guess, now you need a rescue. No dice. Kansas was right. Figure a way out of these situations on your own. You’ve got the professor’s armbar image. Get yourself out.”
Her image winked away from his armbar and he cursed.
Meade rummaged through the drawer where he had seen the other armbar attachments and picked one up that looked particularly deadly. He installed the attachment, the interface lighting up in front of him.
The display identified targets dispersed through the room and what their weakest points were.
“Promising,” he grunted as he attached a second addon to his armbar. A beam of light extended out of the emitter, and the walls became clear. He could see out into the hallway.
He started in shock for a moment, his jaw dropping in amazement, until he realized he had no idea if the beam worked both ways. If he could see into the hallway, could the security guards posted outside see him?
One of the guards glanced toward his friend and said something. The other guard laughed slightly, neither one indicating they could see him standing there.
He lowered his armbar, feeling relief wash over him.
The fast clicking of heels against the linoleum in the hallway began echoing again. He activated the attachment that allowed him to see through walls and saw the scientist returning to the lab being trailed by two assistants.
There wasn’t much time left now. He desperately glanced at the lab, but besides the tiny utility closet, he didn’t have any options for escape.
He moved past the four tables, his jacket catching on the sheet covering up the four figures, pulling it down. Feeling the tub, he looked over his shoulder to see what happened and gasped out loud.
Quickly dialing his armbar, he rang Emeline up for the third time and aimed the camera at what he was looking at.
“Meade, I know you’re dense but even you can take a hint to…” she began, but paused after she saw the images he was sending back to her. Her voice turned from terrifying to interested in a split second. “What the hell are those?”
There were four figures under the sheets. Two of them were perfect clones of Meade and Emeline. The other two figures’ identities were still a mystery and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know who was under them.”
“I have no idea,” he said, “But, I think it’s pretty clear we’re out of our leagues here.”
“Are they…” she hesitated. “Alive?”
“I have no idea, but I think so,” he said, looking down at the figures under the sheet. Each one was unconscious and naked. They looked like they were breathing, but he had no intention of getting any closer to find out.
“I’ll be right there,” she replied. The last thing he saw before the image winked off was her figure leaping off the bed.
Meade heard the clicking heels of the lab assistants coming toward the lab and he threw the sheet back over the four clones in front of him. He dashed into the utility closet and shut the door gently as Dr. Hahn and the rest of her team entered the lab.
He was really beginning to wish he had turned down Roxanne’s job offer.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Phoenix
Meade activated his new armbar attachment to get a better look at what Dr. Hahn and her team were doing with the clones he had discovered under the sheets.
Dr. Hahn and her team entered the lab, moving toward the four clones located in the center of the room.
“They’ve had enough time to gestate to their proper ages?” Dr. Hahn asked sliding her glasses down on her face, examining a chart that was handed to her by the young woman.
“Specimen Four needs a bit more time since he’s older than the rest,” the younger scientist replied. “The other three have reached their optimal state.”
Dr. Hahn grunted, paging through the report on the clipboard. She handed it back to the scientist standing next to her. “Attach the deep mind processing units. We’ll start with Specimen One. Meade’s brain was the easiest to map.”
Meade wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted by that, but going by the assistant’s chuckles, it didn’t sound like a compliment.
Another member of Hahn’s team approached the Meade clone and began attaching wires to its temple and forehead. Dr. Hahn began busying herself on a computer on the other side of the lab.
The faint echo of a woman drunkenly singing began echoing through the hallway and he shook his head. Emeline was slurring her way through the second verse of one of their favorite classic rock songs.
He pointed the viewer attachment toward the door where he saw her stumble back and forth, trying to find something to grab on to while she walked down the white hallway.
The two guards eyed each other as Emeline approached them holding a liquor bottle in her hand.
“You fellas know where I can get a refill?” she slurred.
“Ma’am, you need to turn around and head back the way you came,” the guard replied firmly. “This section is off limits to civilians.”
“Oh, I bet you let Meade back here though, didn’t ya!” she shouted back to them, swaying bac
k and forth. She took a swig out of the bottle, her face flushed red. “You probably… probably… let him run through this place all willy dilly.”
“Ma’am,” the guard said, approaching her, letting down his guard. “You’re in no condition to be out in public right now.”
The other guard stepped forward, holding a pair of cuffs in his hand. “Come with us please…”
In a flash, Emeline leaned forward and grabbed the guard’s wrist, pulling him off balance and throwing him over her hip.
“Hey!” the first guard cried out, but she was too quick. She leapt forward and stomped on his knee, knocking him to the ground. The guard cried out in pain, but his shout was muffled by Em after she came down hard on him with a haymaker to his jaw, knocking him out.
The second guard turned over, and reached for his armbar to summon help, but Emeline was too quick. She threw a knife that caught the man’s right hand, pinning it to the wall.
The guard looked at the knife protruding out of his hand, the shock preventing him from crying out. Emeline was on him in a flash, using her taser to knock him out.
Meade pumped his fist, celebrating her takedown then used his armbar to ping Emeline.
“You’re absolutely ruthless and I love it,” he said beaming with pride, once she picked up.
She glanced around, looking for a camera. “You saw that?”
“New toy courtesy of our friends here at Shangri-La,” he replied. “I’m in a utility closet while Dr. Frankenstein and her people are busy ‘rebooting’ those clones, whatever the hell that means. I don’t know how much longer I can stay hidden in here.”
“No other way in or out of that lab?” she asked.
“Not that I saw,” Meade said. “Just the door you’re standing in front of.”
“Then we draw her out,” she said. “I’ll blame you for knocking out those security guards and feed her some story about you getting drunk and wild. You’re a runabout, so she shouldn’t have a problem believing that.”
He rolled his eyes and decided it was better to play the bad guy than remain stuck inside a utility closet all night.
