With an injured shoulder I was not as able to shoot as I wished, and Petch was covered in blood, whether it was all Teena's or some of it his I did not then know, but he was moving painfully. I later learned he had taken two ricochets, much more severe than my shoulder scratch, yet somehow he managed to remain upright and mobile despite pain and blood loss. We drew down together, aimed, and opened fire simultaneously. The bot went down, but not before getting off multiple shots. One creased my side, digging an open furrow in the flesh, more than a scratch, exquisitely painful, but a long way from life-threatening. Even so, the bot was vanquished far easier than we had dared hope.
We scrambled back to where we had left Teena. She was unconscious and breathing shallowly. Her pulse seemed weak. We had to go for it; it was now or never. Reinforcements, theirs, were on the way.
We got ourselves out through the grate, some difficulty with an unconscious woman. Teena’s a big gal, and limply unconscious, she’s a burden. With my injured shoulder and knife-edged pain in my side, I was rather hampered and the stream of blood leaking down my arm from the shoulder wound made things slippery and painful but we managed. Petchy slung her over his shoulders in a 'fireman's carry,' and we took off on a fast hobble. Distant weapons began firing in our direction, though thankfully ineffectively. I felt dirt and gravel hit my legs several times as bullets stitched the ground around our path.
I had started for the portal location where we had arrived, the expected portal back to Planet Oz. Petchy shouted, “No. This way!” and we went over the outcropping and past the cave and straight away from the citadel. We ran a while and then had to stop, out of breath. We had been running, fueled by adrenalin for a while now and even that was running out. We were close to the absolute end of our endurance. The heat, bad air, lack of water, and blood loss was taking its toll.
Petchy collapsed, dropping his burden. He was exhausted, nearly unconscious, unable to continue. I reached deep inside, found one last reserve and picked up the comatose Teena, my injured shoulder screaming in pain, the furrow in my side chiming in with its own exquisite chorus. Steadying my burden and prodding Petchy, we started again. Petch struggled to his feet, leaning on my arm even as I held Teena. We were both barely able to hobble, propping each other up as we somehow staggered forward. Petch said there was a friendly portal ahead, just a little way. We started for it, stumbling along like zombies, supporting each other and carrying the unconscious Teena.
Brain fog was descending. If we didn't get water and some decent air soon, we were going just to lay down and die right here. And I mean within seconds. Somehow we staggered forward. Petch found the friendly portal he sought, and it was open.
I put Teena down and shucked myself of everything I was carrying. Mostly that meant dropping the vest with the tools in it. Petch dropped his vest and checked that there were no other foreign objects on our bodies. Then with my last ounce of strength, steadying Petch and shouldering Teena again, we stumbled through the portal!
Plaza
We staggered through the portal into bright sunlight and a throng of people. We collapsed in a heap, bloody, bruised, several gunshot wounds; Petchy had picked up two bullet wounds, neither too severe ordinarily, but he had lost a lot of blood. One grazed his side, and one nipped him in his buttocks. I hadn't even been aware of his wounds at the time. I had no idea what condition Teena was in, but she was not yet dead else we would not have made it through the portal.
We had emerged right into the middle of the Plaza where this whole adventure had started, a naked and bloody mess. I must have passed out, and someone must have called 911 because the next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed and some very serious cops were standing over me demanding explanations.
What could I tell them? Let's see how that plays out!
“Officer, you see I was recruited, really kidnapped, by aliens from another planet, taken to a dinosaur infested, stone-age world where I was meticulously trained, and then we went to a dead planet controlled by an evil Artificial Intelligence that was destroying all human life in the galaxy. We destroyed the AI and saved the galaxy, and oh, by the way, the beautiful young woman with me is my great-grandmother and the older man with us is her grandson and my father.”
Yeah, that's not gonna go far.
I played dumb, pleaded ignorance, and refused to talk. Along the way, someone told me Teena had died of her injuries, and they were going to book me either for murder or manslaughter, depending on what story I could make them believe.
I broke down in tears and asked to see her body. They refused, nor would they let me see Petch. We played that game for two days, and finally, someone claiming to be my lawyer came to see me.
The cops initially refused to leave us alone. It took some arguing, but pleading attorney-client privilege my visitor finally got me alone. He pulled out his smartphone and launched a radio app and turned the volume up to the maximum.
Then he leaned in close, put his lips next to my ear and in a soft whisper he asked me, “Did you succeed. Did you infect the AI?” I stared dumbly. Then comprehending he was in on the joke, I nodded imperceptibly. “Whew, what a relief. We have been working on that my entire life, since long before I was born in fact. Great job! Did you get the database?”
“Teena said she had it, but they said she died. I don't know what became of it, or her body, or anything.”
At that, his face fell. Then he said, “I am not the only asset from the off-world team here, others are to address those two, but I don't have any information about that. I do not know what happened. I have a limited mission. I am here to get you out, and beyond that, you know far more about it than I. We had a devil of a time finding you. You were not supposed to come here, but it's ok, it all worked out. I would have been here a lot sooner otherwise.”
I nodded. Apparently, he was a limited clandestine 'asset' unaware of much of the larger organization. “They're trying to charge me with all sorts of murder and mayhem. What about the charges, will they stick. What is gonna happen next?”
He replied, “Again, I don't have all of the data, but in a few hours I will be back. This time I won't be a lawyer, I will be an NSA agent. Have to wait until after shift change, so the cops won't remember I was your 'lawyer.' You are going to be 'renditioned' to a so-called 'black site,' or so they will come to believe, because of 'terrorist connections.' We will simply walk out the front door and soon all police and hospital records will be purged. This never happened.”
“Where am I going?” I wanted to know.
“I don't know. My task is to get you away from the cops and erase any record of your presence here and take you to a safe-house. Beyond that, you will be guided by someone else. You will probably need to be off-Earth for a little while until we clean up all of the mess, but then you can come back and resume your old life if you want. None of that is my call though. I'm just to get you to the safe-house and purge the records.”
That made sense I guess. I needed to be scarce until the data of my appearance here is expunged, and local cops have forgotten me. Then it should be safe. “If anyone asks, I would like to spend the off-Earth time on our 'Planet Oz.' I have friends there.” He nodded and then shut off his phone and stepped to the door and had a few words with the cops, then left.
I relaxed after that, trusting that I would shortly be rescued, and hopefully be back with Lolita soon. I was not surprised then when a ‘man from the Government’ visited me. Fortunately, my silent act was well ingrained after the last few days with the cops hovering over me.
He came in and showed his Government badge. I should have figured it out when I saw my 'NSA guy' was not the same man as my 'lawyer,' and the shift had not yet changed. I guess I was slow today. Silly me, I just assumed that they were anxious to get me out and had pulled in another agent.
Oops!
When he pulled out a thick file and started asking me question after question about things I had no clue about, I soon began to twig that this was not my extr
adition team. This was, in fact, the Government! He interrogated me for two solid hours!
His first question immediately put me on guard. “What were you and your sister doing in Australia last year?” I said, “I don't have a sister and have never been to Australia!” He didn't like that. “We ran your DNA. You and that woman you came in with are closely related. I think she's your younger sister. Is that right?”
Hmm, wonder what he would say if I told him she was my great-grandmother. I said “Who?”
He became exasperated. “Your DNA or that of a close relative was connected to a terrorist act last year. We're running a full panel on you all now and I am betting it will confirm that she is your sister and he is your father and one or all of you are our terrorists!”
“I don't have a sister, and I am an orphan, never knew my father.” Well, it was mostly true.
“If you don't have a sister, then who was the naked broad who came in with you?”
I reverted to my initial cover story. “I don't know who you're talking about. I was mugged and shot. I was going about my private business, alone, when a big gorilla of a guy stuck a gun in my face and demanded everything I had, shot me and I woke up here!”
This was not going to go well!
On and on it went. We did that dance until he got tired of my 'attitude.' I even gave him my real name, told him I was an unemployed engineer in pressing need of a job. I had just come from a job interview when I was mugged.
I even asked him for a job!
He didn't buy it. Along the way, through our little dance, he insultingly commented that no one with my physique could be a computer engineer. What can I say?
I told him that just because I keep fit does not diminish from my computer skills. Being unemployed left me with time on my hands.
I told him if he didn't think I was an engineer, have one of his techie types question me.
That might have been a mistake; It gave him ideas!
He decided that rather than bring someone else here, he would take me to their facility. He called the doctor in and consulted with him, and then moments later I was in a wheelchair, handcuffed to the chair, hands, and feet, and being wheeled out of the hospital!
What happened after that is a blur. I was put in a room and questioned. Mostly I just sat and practiced my stupid face. Occasionally I would rotate my dumb face into display just to break the monotony. Once or twice I trotted out incredulous and stupefied to see if they were paying attention. Several hours into our session, three guys in white shirts with pocket protectors came in, looking so much like they stepped out of a 1950s Sci-fi movie that I laughed at them. Government geeks. Were they kidding me? Hilarious! Was I actually supposed to take this seriously?
They started peppering me with questions. At first, I resisted, thinking this was all some kind of joke, but I quickly realized they were just what they appeared to be, computer nerds pulled straight from the IT department, sent in to find out if I had mad skills or was a poser. Their starched, unlikely appearance aside, they were my kind of people after all. I started talking to them, as long as they stayed on matters of technology. They quizzed me on everything from WiFi to ISDN, from firewalls to honeypots. When I started explaining ipchains, how to configure it and the differences between ipchains and iptables, the lead guy called a halt. He pronounced that I was the real deal and I should be working there with them. “Make me an offer!” I said.
I guess I passed muster as a techie. That's something no one is going to be able to fake.
They left me alone after that for several hours. I took a nap.
Hours later, it might have been the next day, I'm unsure, my Agent came back. His name was Alex, he said, and he was suddenly much more friendly. He brought me some street clothes. I eyed them curiously. How long since I wore something like that. A year? More? I didn't know, but a long time. The time on Planet Oz had been many months. I thought again of Lolita and my son. Indeed, he had been born months ago. Was he walking yet? Probably not, but soon, I guessed. Then I thought of Teena. What had become of her?
As I was dressing Alex became apologetic. He said the initial DNA analysis had been flawed. They had done their own analysis and got completely different results. They no longer thought I was in any way connected to the events in Australia, whatever they were, and no relation to the mysterious woman or the man. He had also confirmed my identity, my tech cred, and probably my bank account too. At least they recognized I was a solid citizen and not connected to whatever terrorists they might be hunting.
Casually, feigning a lack of interest, I asked what happened to the other two. He admitted he didn't know but thought they had been taken to another facility. That puzzled me; I wondered why they would take a corpse. But I dared not ask. Had Teena truly died? Or was that misdirection. I had no clue and dared not betray the depth of my interest.
When he gave me the clothes, he apologized again for the inconvenience, saying he now knew I was a solid citizen, but without my wallet and ID, it would be inconvenient at first. He even gave me a little 'walking around money' as he called it, to help until I got squared away. He apologized again for the harsh questioning and shook my hand. A few minutes later I was on the street, wondering what to do now!
Evidently, someone was still pulling strings for me. Something odd happened to that DNA data. I was free, out of jail, and mostly recovered from our ordeal on 'Planet K.' Well, I was ambulatory, rehydrated and functional. I still had a cough, and had numerous scrapes and some terrible-looking bruises, scrapes, an extremely sore shoulder, painful stitches in my side, and felt very weak. I'll take it.
I walked almost twenty blocks to the old dilapidated storefront where this had all started. It was boarded up, apparently vacant. I thought I had understood this was an essential facility for them, a stable, reliable portal that they kept watch on and guarded. I camped out in front of the building for a while and people-watched. No one came or went, no sign of life. Just ordinary pedestrians and the occasional colorful counter-culture type passed the storefront without a glance.
Finally, I abandoned my vigil and walked up the hill toward my old bedroom. I wondered if my landlady remembered me, wondered if my things were still there. I wondered if my bank account was still active and wondered if my meager funds were still there. I was going to need to eat soon, and the few bucks Alex gave me were not going to buy much more than perhaps a fast-food meal or two. I was feeling pretty scared. If I had no home and no money I was in a bad way. Sleeping under the overpass was not attractive.
I was in luck. My worries were groundless. My landlady was glad to see me and my room was just as I had left it. Except cleaner? Yeah, someone had definitely cleaned. My landlady had not re-rented it, which was a surprise, but it turned out my rent was paid up, the room was still mine. The plastic bag of clothes, wallet, Droid, keys and assorted miscellany I had thought abandoned so many months ago was in the top drawer of my dresser. The Droid was even charged!
I pulled out my tired old laptop, and it booted right up despite months of sitting idle. I logged into my bank account and let out a low whistle. I had scarily few bucks the last time I logged in. Now the number was so large I considered it must be an error. But no, there had been a huge deposit the 16th of the month every month since I left, and my rent had been paid in full and on time.
* * *
It's now been six weeks. I have heard 'nothing from no one.' I have money in the bank and time on my hands. I bought a very nice, very expensive state-of-the-art laptop and I have spent the last few weeks writing this memoir of my adventures, most of that time spent sitting right here in the Plaza, sipping my Arabian Mocha-Java. People-watching, reading the garish ads in the urban rag and writing. No one would believe me if I tried to sell it as factual, but it might find an audience in the science fiction marketplace. I can always self-publish it as an eBook.
Still, though my memory is clear, I find myself occasionally wondering if it all really happened. I am confident, mak
e no mistake, but I have absolutely nothing to prove it. I often find myself wishing I was back with my Lolita. I think I miss her the most. She's a sweet, fun gal, and I wondered about her baby, my son. I wondered what sort of father I would make, but I knew enough about their society to know he will be well cared for and loved. I refused to burden myself with the guilt of being a drive-by baby-daddy. That society looks at these things differently.
Still...
I always carry a raincoat these days. You never know when someone might find themselves naked in the plaza, in urgent need of civilized camouflage.
Once I had satisfied myself my bank account was flush, and it wasn't a clerical error, I approached my landlady, and we reached a deal to sell me the house. The cash infusion ensured her financial health, and we made arrangements that she would continue to run the place as she saw fit, collect the rents from the other tenants and keep anything left over after expenses.
I only wanted a dependable place to live when in town that I didn't have to work to keep. I did relocate from the tiny, tiny sleeping room to one of the larger apartments, a room large enough for two, should I have a guest, and large enough to allow for a decent desk.
I required one additional duty of my former landlady. Care for my pets. I now have two cats and a dog. The tiny, saucy gray feline I named Lolita, the big orange one I named Athena. The stocky, good-natured bulldog is Petchy. I wanted to ensure someone took care of them when I traveled.
I joined a gym and have been regularly working out. After having spent so much energy and effort on my physical training on Planet Oz, I felt I had an obligation to maintain myself. I had no wish to turn soft and flabby again. I found myself 'going easy' when others were around, not wishing to risk unmasking as a superman. I suppose whatever genetic endowment I had, either from birth or as a result of manipulation for the mission, has put me beyond the capabilities of anyone I am likely to meet here. I wasn't doing the hard training Petch and I had subjected ourselves to, I had no wish to spend six or seven hours a day at it. A good hour or so, three or four times a week seemed enough for maintenance.
Chromosome Quest Page 23