Lucid Reality, page 3
“Quentin,” she said, kneeling down next to him.
He gave a small curious groan of awareness and tilted his head, listening intently, but did not open his eyes.
“The Abbey Ferrer has passed away. His jailer is coming to dispose of the body,” she said. She spoke in the literary code they had chosen to avert the understanding of those prying ears. Few were familiar with the story of the “Comte de Monte Christo,” Quentin’s favorite childhood book.
The professor gave a faint smile that emphasized his hollow cheeks and deep eye sockets. Years of neglect from imprisonment had savaged his body. In such times of health and medical miracles, this was deliberate cruelty. His once strong features and limbs hung with sallow limp skin. Her trained eyes saw the mark of forced sedation. He would need intensive recuperation when they got home.
“Mercedes awaits her Edmond’s return,” she said and smiled. She shot a look over her shoulder to see if anyone was paying attention. The staff had seen her in his room many times before and so ignored her.
“I counted the stones of my cell and called them by name. They bid me farewell,” the professor whispered. It took a moment for her to work out what he meant, then she smiled. Quentin was ready as he could be.
Dr. Junker sat down and leaned against the wall with him. Coiling her long skirts around her legs, she leaned against him to help warm his frail body. His hand slipped out of the folds of the blanket like a frightened child, and she took it. All they could do was wait for Mother, Billy Joe, and that dangerous woman to come for them, she thought.
~~~
Someone’s hand gently shook Dr. Junker’s shoulder, waking her.
“Yes?” Dr. Junker said, looking up. The quartet of orderlies stood above her and Quentin. Her eyes fell on the open snap on their dart gun holsters.
“Dr. O’Chaudry requires both of you immediately,” the first one said politely. He gave her a wane smile designed to calm her suspicion.
“What is this about?” she asked, stretching the sleep out of her limbs. Quentin looked around blearily.
“He didn’t say,” another said and reached down to help her up. Another helped the professor. “We are to take you both to him right away.
She stood up, dusted herself off from the dirty floor, then reached down to help Quentin to his feet. Inwardly, she cursed Bonavitae for all the sedation they gave him that had him so unsteady. As they began to lead the way back, she remembered the quarantine.
“Wait. He’s back there? We don’t have any protective gear,” Dr. Junker exclaimed.
“Not to worry. The patients are in clean confinement so there is no threat to us,” the first orderly explained. With this assurance, she acquiesced. “If you insist. Lead the way.”
With the help of the orderlies, the transit was less terrifying this time. The four men transferred them between containers as if they were made of spun sugar.
Once inside the last container, she saw that Dr. O’Chaudry had heavily modified the interior. Wired guards stood watch instead of orderlies. The heavily armed and armored mench stood ready. This was not a quarantine unit. It looked more like one of her husband’s splicing labs. What was Bonavitae’s real agenda?
“Dr. Junker, thank you for coming so promptly,” O’Chaudry crossed the tightly packed space, hand out to greet her.
She pursed her lips and did not accept his hand, keeping hold of her brother-in-law’s instead.
“What’s this about?” Quentin asked. His eyes flicked around the room, scanning for things important only to him. He clenched Dr. Junker’s hand tighter at the sight of his captor, making her wince inwardly at his intense grip.
O’Chaudry pulled back his hand, rubbing his fingers together as if to scrub away the rejection.
“I thought I’d offer accommodations to you in here. They’re a bit better than what we have in the other container. We even have a bed free for Quentin.”
She said nothing, scrutinizing O’Chaudry like a dangerous reptile.
“Come now,” Dr. O’Chaudry said. “This has been a colossal set of unfortunate circumstances. Here you arrive to visit your brother and a Black Void occurs. You cannot blame us for that. These circumstancesare a catastrophe of such magnitude that few ever experience.
“There are several things I blame you for. Ending up in a cargo container because of a natural disaster is not among them,” her tone was clipped and formal.
“Civilized comforts go a long way to make such experiences tolerable.” O’Chaudry gave her another warm smile. “Sit, and have a drink with me,” he enticed.
Dr. Junker’s eyes became slits under furrowed brows.
“Do you think me so completely rattled by current events as to forget what is happening? Let alone what you’ve done to Quentin? You honestly believe I can be handled with cheap, shallow gestures and flattery.”
Dr. O’Chaudry let out a snort of frustration and his expression hardened.
“I suppose not, yet I had to make an effort. Trauma caused by disaster often shakes minds into a more agreeable nature. Particularly if they are less emotionally stable. Like your family.”
“Ah. Now we dig down into the truth. All this has been personal for you!” Dr. Junker shot back.
He gave a sneer in reply.
“The catacombs,” mumbled the professor. “The catacombs of Rome.”
Doctor Junker realized Quentin was aware of what was going on. They were caught in the trap she hoped to avoid.
“Case in point. Another one of his insane susurrations,” Dr. O’Chaudry sneered. “Orderly, sedate the patient.”
“Run, Edmond, run! Your deception is discovered! The keys are out of reach!” Quentin erupted and made a break for the door.
“Orderlies!” O’Chaudry barked. The four wired mench subdued Quentin before he made it three steps. Dr. Amanda attempted to shield him but was deftly removed from the struggle by O’Chaudry.
“No, my lady. We will not be having you interfere anymore,” he growled through clenched teeth.
Quentin collapsed a few seconds later. Mumbling strange quotations from a dozen books, he fell asleep under the weight of the drugs. Tears welled in Amanda’s eyes. The orderlies picked him up and put his sleeping body in restraints on the open bed.
“What… what are you going to do?” she stammered.
O’Chaudry walked over to a small computer station mounted beneath the container’s load monitor. A wired caninoid with several sophisticated computers sat beside it and gave a nod to Dr. O’Chaudry.
“I am solving several of my problems at the same time. Pardon me a moment.” He ran his hand through his slick black hair and looked up at the comm lens and gave the gesture to begin to the caninoid.
“Who is this?” came Holly’s voice through the speaker.
His tight sour smirk materialized. “This is Dr. O’Chaudry. Put whoever’s in charge on the comm. I assume it’s this dataoid of yours, Mother, correct?”
“A holodisplay burst into life and projected a miniature image of Mother instead of a readout.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“I am taking charge of this voyage,” O’Chaudry declared, his smile loosening a fraction.
“Like purg you are,” Mother shot back.
“We are changing course to Carmadon 5 instead of Nova Tortuga.” His tone like a drawn sword.
The image of Mother paused as she whipped through the ship’s navigation system.
“That’s a high-security corporate zone! What makes you think we’ll risk our lives and allow you to deliver us into your company’s clearly irresponsible hands?” But then she saw Dr. Junker.
“That’s right. I have your ally and her brother-in-law. Unless you want something horrible to happen to them, you will do as I command.” O’Chaudry looked like the cat who ate the bird.
Mother pinched the bridge of her nose as if in great spiritual pain.
Dr. O’Chaudry smugly piled on. “I suspect you are already calculating a way to have your cake and eat it too, so let me save you the time. You aren’t going to be able to use the gravity fields to subdue us, because we have hostages. That’s on top of the hundreds of innocents you could doom to the slow death of floating away. I doubt you’re like several of my patients who are capable of committing mass slaughter.”
Dr. O’Chaudry’s eyes danced with vicious savor. “Furthermore, you do not have any combat force of which to speak. Your pilot is down with synapse burn which means you can’t try any fancy aerial acrobatic tricks of. That mechoid loadmaster is not a combat model. The truck stop whore isn’t capable enough to subdue my nurses, let alone my orderlies. We’re in breathable airspace, so you can’t knock us out with a low air pressure pocket or toxic gas.”
Mother glowered at the administrator. It lacked all her impressive gravitas when she stood only seven inches tall.
“I should also mention that your tug’s computers are severely compromised. Thus, we have taken control of the coupling system. Any attempt to cut us adrift will result in that tug engaging in an emergency stop. Our full unmodified mass will free-fall straight through you. Yes, that will leave us drifting ourselves, but we will have power and an emergency beacon, while you will be dead.”
“And you took control of our outside comms,” Mother observed.
“Of course. We can’t have you tattling to some party who might decide to meddle.”
A frustrated tear rolled down Dr. Amanda’s cheek, her hands clenched into fists. Everything had flown apart in such a short time.
“So there you are. Powerless to say no to my orders,” Dr. O’Chaudry stated, spreading his arms wide with a satisfied smile on his face.
“Carmadon 5 you said?” Mother seethed.
“Correct.”
“It seems we have no choice,” Mother surrendered.
“How long will it take to arrive?” O’Chaudry asked.
“About eighteen to nineteen hours according to my best estimate,” the caninoid said.
“You don’t know?” Dr. O’Chaudry’s growled.
“Of course he doesn’t know for sure,” Mother interjected. “You said it yourself. Our computers are compromised, maxed out, and need a lot of repair and data maintenance. This is about as clear an answer as you’re going to get. Eighteen hours-ish, barring any complications with our transit.”
“Don’t forget, I’m watching you,” Dr. O’Chaudry warned.
Mother snapped off the comm leaving Dr. Amanda alone and terrified.
6.
“Now step up. That’s it. Good job,” Holly encouraged as she guided Winston to finish another set of ladder climbs from the keel airlock gangway.
The holoprojector burst to life and Holly let out a squeak of surprise almost losing her grip on Winston. Mother materialized.
“Don’t forget, I’m watching you,” Mother growled, twisting her expression, mocking Dr. O’Chaudry’s last words. “I’m watching you!” She parroted again and began stalking around the cab. “I’ll give you something to watch soon enough, smart-ass.”
“You scared the cheis out of me!” Holly shouted.
Mother glared back at the assassin for daring to yell at her and blanched. Her jaw dropped when she realized what Holly had been doing with Winston.
“What do you think-? He’ll fall! Are you trying to make things worse?” Mother protested.
“No. He won’t,” Holly yelled. “I’ve been beneath him the whole time, and it’s not like he’s too heavy for me to handle.”
Mother arched an eyebrow. “I guess that could be considered an expert opinion from a woman who spends lots of time with men on top of her.”
Holly gritted her teeth. She took Winston to his pilot’s seat and sloppily dropped him in before wheeling on the sassy dataoid. “It’s been working! The larger range of movements sped up his recovery. He’s mumbling now and again and walking almost unassisted!” she shouted back.
Billy Joe woke up and came out of his rack.
“What’s going on, Mother?” Billy Joe asked.
She gave the indu a withering stare. Now him too? She didn’t have time for this. She split her mental processes in two so she could multi-task, her primary consciousness dove into the Sierra Madre’s servers, while the daughter copy took over her hologram’s interactions with Holly.
Mother’s primary self found herself in a factory without end or purpose. Huge industrial machines surrounded her like a mad tuneless cathedral of smoke, sparks and noise.
She grimaced, assaulted by the stench and cacophony before changing the simulation settings. Then came blessed, scentless silence. Using a secret command override on Billy Joe she yanked his consciousness into the simulation with her for a private talk.
Billy Joe spun around in confusion as he spawned in the instance with her. “What? How?” He floundered for a second as he processed what happened to him. “Rather rude, Mother. Even by your standards,” he said with a shaming shake of his head.
She opened her mouth to deliver a sour quip but closed it. He was right. She nodded with a cleansing sigh.
“I’m sorry, Bubby. I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you. We don’t have time for ruffled feathers.” She realized how rare even a qualified apology was from her, and Billy Joe’s face showed it. “So this is how you spend your downtime, Bubby?” she asked, changing the subject. A hydraulic press crushed out a giant gear next to her.
“I find it soothing,” Billy Joe said with a shoulder shrug. “Why’d you drag me in here?” he asked, clearly still cross at the liberty she had taken with his code.
“We needed a private talk. O’Chaudry’s taken hostages and seized control of most of the Sierra Madre’s computer network. And on top of that cheis buffet, he is demanding we reroute to Carmadon 5.”
“Y’all think it’s safe to talk in here if he’s taken control of our network?” Billy Joe fretted.
“Yes, I do. He may think that DoberMan he’s got working for him is some top-notch hacker, but he’s not a dataoid. That’s like sending a dog to catch a shark in the water.” Mother’s smirk was a thing of super-villain perfection. “He sees what I want him to see, and I’ve taken several precautions to keep your personal drives safe.
I’m certain they’re more interested in the show going on in the cab with my duplicate avatar arguing with Holly. That hacker’s attention is focused hard on her and her bountiful pontoons. Caninoid or not, he’s still male. Let’s see who can figure out that Turing test first! As for you, your body is watching the two of us fight with fretful looks. You’re welcome.”
“That’s fine and dandy, but how is this helping our situation?” Billy Joe complained.
“We need to do two things, and do them fast. First, I must find a way to secure all the Sierra Madre’s data networks. Second, we must pull together and rescue our new patroness. This should put another big feather in our cap if we pull it off,” Mother said with a smile.
“But don’t he have a whole mess o’ armed guards and stuff?” Billy Joe said. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m not a combat mechoid.”
“Billy Joe,” Mother said, coming close to him. She patted his cheek tenderly. “You can’t remember, but I know precisely what you are and what you can do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the indu fidgeted, gliding back away from her at a snail’s pace, eyes wide with worry.
Mother winked at him.
This activated a long-dormant key in Billy Joe’s code.
A set of deeply sequestered data, implanted when Billy Joe was fresh off the nanofab, went active.
She watched the code override and begin updating parts of Billy Joe’s operating system. His avatar froze, pixelated, then flickered as his operating systems rebooted. Mother smiled in satisfaction. “Don’t you worry, Bubby. You’ve just changed the balance of power. When you’re done rebooting, I’ll see you on the outside.” She logged out. It was time to put the third part of her plan into action.
7.
The Sierra Madre obeyed O’Chaudry’s hacker’s commands and kept course through a thick dust layer. It hissed and crackled against the canopy and the sky went from deep orange to red as they descended deeper into the Dream, leaving the hot upper layers behind.
“All right, all right! You did what you thought was best!” Mother shouted. She turned her holographic back on Holly to gaze out of the canopy, squinting at the diamondoid glass panes. “O’Chaudry’s hacker is a pinhead,” she growled. “This dust must be etching the canopy. That’s going to require replacement or professional polishing.”
“Wha?” Holly grunted, perplexed by the conversation change.
Mother fired off a fast text to Holly titled:
“Read Me Before You Say Another Stupid Word!”
Mother turned and knelt down next to Winston. It was for show, but she knew bionts forgot how dataoids worked if they mimicked their behavior. Never give a sucker an even break. Winston’s eyes slowly blinked in an unsynchronized fashion, like a cat in a sunbeam. He was mumbling the “Tadercrisps” jingle to himself.
Holly gave an irritated snort as she read the title on her cybercomm. She flopped down in the navigator’s seat that she had adopted as her own for the voyage and read the message. Her expression tightened as she read Mother’s summation of their current predicament.
“You want me to keep walking Winston or not?” she asked out loud.
“I think you managed to get yet another man over the hump, as it were,” Mother snipped.
“You know… There are nicer ways to say that,” Holly grumbled, sick of the attitude. With a sigh, she turned on her music and started texting Mother through her cybercomm.
~
NIGHTSHADE1: “So, what do we want to do about our new status as hostages?”
MOTHERADMIN: “Take a moment to look at our flight plan on the pilot displays. Do you see the Sierra Madre headed to Carmadon 5?
