by Thomas Stone
Bart gripped the console with sweaty palms and pulled himself up. He felt heavier than ever and wanted to ask Minerva to adjust the gravity within the ship. Breathing heavily, he left the viewing station and worked his way along the passageway back to the main control room.
As he approached the console he always occupied, he saw that not only was Arai sitting at the position, but that the simian was also wearing the VR cap and gloves.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
With the over-sized cap pulled over his head, Arai couldn’t hear. Bart none too softly tapped Arai on the shoulder. Startled, Arai jumped and pulled the cap from his head. He stared at Bart wide-eyed before saying, in perfect English, “Yes? What do you want?”
Bart was taken aback. “You… can talk.”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve always been able to talk. You just haven’t taken the time to learn my language.”
“No, no, I mean you can speak English.”
“Yes. I learned it a little while ago.” Arai’s tail flicked back and forth, its Bedoran gestures totally lost upon Bart.
“How did that happen? How could it happen so quickly?”
Arai shrugged. “Harry’s creation.”
Further confused, Bart stammered, “Wh-what creation?”
“The Crevah, Bart. Don’t you know anything?”
The rapid role reversal was making Bart’s head swim. He needed Minerva. “Where’s Minerva?”
Arai slipped the cap over his head again. “She’s around somewhere.”
Bart stared at the tiny Bedoran. “Where?” he said suddenly, “I need her. There’s a Corporation ship bearing down on us. We need to…”
“I’ve taken care of it,” replied Arai.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve switched on the visual dampers as well as the radar reflectors. We’re moving to a new position as well.”
“How do you know how to do that?”
“I learned.” Arai sighed and peeked out at Bart from under the VR lens covering his eyes. “Don’t worry, Bart. Everything’s under control. Why don’t you go look for Minerva? She was around here just a minute ago.”
Open-mouthed, Bart staggered backward. He was asleep, that was it, and it was all a crazy dream. Either that or he’d gone insane. The thought crossed his mind that somehow he had caught Harry’s infection. No, he assured himself, that couldn’t be. The only way to become infected was from direct contact with one of the creatures. At least, as far as he knew.
Bart exited the control room and chose the passage that led to the crew’s quarters. He needed food to help him think. Perhaps a snack would help settle his thoughts, give him something to distract himself while he figured out what to do. As far as the ship’s operations, Minerva was his interface. She ran the ship. She was the navigator, the chief engineer, the mechanic, and down the list. She was also his best friend. The truth was, he could probably do without Fagen and the others, but he was certain he couldn’t do without Minerva.
Upon entering the chow hall, he abruptly stopped. Minerva sat at the round dining table eating a fudge parfait. She saw him and waved. “Hi Bart.”
Bart approached slowly.
“You’re eating.”
“Yes,” she said, waving her spoon in the air. “This is really delicious. I never knew what I was missing.”
“But you don’t eat. You’ve never eaten. You don’t have to eat.”
Minerva giggled. “Not anymore.” She looked at him. “And you know what? I really don’t mind. I love it.”
Something was wrong with Minerva’s holograph. Bart touched her arm and felt warm flesh. He withdrew in shock and placed both hands against the sides of his head as if to keep it from exploding.
Minerva stopped shoveling ice cream. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t understand this.”
She put her spoon down. “You know, that is so like you. Always involved with yourself without a thought for anyone else. Well, just try to imagine how I feel.”
Bart stared at her, open-mouthed, completely at a loss for words. It wasn’t an apparition before him; neither was it a holographic image. It was real. Minerva was real. She had somehow become flesh and blood.
*
Harry remained on his knees. When Fagen placed his hands on his shoulders, Harry pushed him away.
Jennings’ voice cut through the darkness. “What’s going on? I can’t see a damn thing.” Fagen heard Jennings’ feet hit the floor and then a thud as Jennings tripped over Tringl. Tringl uttered an apology that no one but Harry understood.
“Somebody turn on the lights,” said Jennings as he made his way to the door. He banged on it with his fist. “Hey! Somebody let us out. Penbrook! Open the door!”
“Shut up,” ordered Fagen, “that won’t do any good.”
Noise came from the outside like something being dragged across the floor.
Harry moaned.
“Talk to me, Harry,” said Fagen, “tell me what’s happening.”
A last crash of a door closing shut and Harry lifted his nose to the air. “They were here,” he gasped. “In the complex. Can’t you smell them?”
Fagen tested the air. Smelling nothing but the dust and his own sweat, he said, “No.”
Breathing heavily, Harry climbed to his feet. “They did that to me on purpose.”
“What?” asked Jennings, not comprehending.
“They blocked me out. I couldn’t project. I was locked up inside.”
“Oh bullshit,” said Jennings in the dark, “here we go again.”
The lights suddenly came on and they all blinked up, except Harry. His eyes had taken on their own slightly reddish glow.
Fagen looked at him. “Harry… your eyes.”
“Yes, I can feel it.” Harry settled his gaze on Fagen. “They simply opened up portions of their minds… they knew I was here.”
“They? How many were here?”
“Only one. That’s all it takes to deal with us… you and everyone else.”
“But you said ‘they’.”
“Others were being… channeled through the one.”
Jennings interrupted. “Can you get us out of here?”
Harry crossed the room and placed his hand on the knob. It clicked open. Harry pushed the door aside.
“Anything there?” asked Jennings.
Harry shook his head. “They’re gone.”
“You sound almost sorry,” said Jennings as he brushed past Harry into the corridor. “The corridor is clear. No trash.”
“He had to clear it to make room.”
“For what?”
Harry looked at Jennings. “For himself, for one thing. He can change his shape, but not the shape of the objects he carries.”
Jennings narrowed his eyes. “What are you driving at?”
“Look at the floor. Something’s been dragged through here.” Harry closed his eyes and took a breath. For a moment he remained perfectly motionless. When he opened his eyes again, he said, “They’re gone. Kathleen and the others. They’ve taken them.”
Jennings shook his head at Harry. “I don’t care what you say. I’m going to search every corner of this place until I’m satisfied.” Jennings looked past Harry at Fagen. “Are you with me?”
Fagen nodded his head. “Yeh. Let’s do a quick search. Harry?”
Harry gazed at Fagen with glowing red eyes. It was unnerving and Harry knew it. Guessing at Fagen’s thoughts, he assured him, “It’ll fade away.”
As they moved up the corridor, Harry said to Fagen, “They’re gone.”
“We’ve got to look anyway.”
“I understand,” said Harry, “but I didn’t mean to indicate no one was here besides us. There is someone hiding in here. Another prisoner.”
“Who?” asked Fagen.
“Follow me,” said Harry, “I’ll show you.”
*
“Who is operating the ship?” asked Bart.
“
Arai.”
“Arai? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What’s wrong with Arai? He’s loyal, hard-working, and now he has a purpose, something to do.” Minerva spread her slender hands as if Arai had always been the most logical candidate for ship’s operator.
“Arai is a Bedoran for God’s sakes, he can’t run this ship. He couldn’t find his way to a toilet without getting lost.”
“Did you speak with him?”
“Yes, I spoke with him… briefly.”
“So, did he seem a little different?”
“He spoke to me,” Bart repeated.
“Ever heard him speak English before?”
Bart shook his head.
“Well, there you go,” said Minerva as she took another spoonful of ice cream. “Umm,” she added, “this is so good, I can’t believe it.”
“What happened to you?”
Minerva stopped eating and looked at Bart. She smiled broadly. “Isn’t it great? I’m real.” She stood and pirouetted so he could inspect every centimeter of her frame. Gone was the colorful costume, the long red hair (which, she had claimed, was her true hair color). The hair was now a close-cropped ordinary brown. Her make-up was nonexistent. She wore khaki dungarees with bulging pockets, space shoes – a comfortable cross between athletic shoes and bathroom slippers -- and a rather worn hat sat on the table beside Minerva’s bowl. The hat had been Fagen’s a long time ago. Now, it was wrinkled and faded, frays of fabric strayed from the edge of the bill. The logo across the front was that of the Braithwaite Corporation.
“Let me touch you,” said Bart suddenly, wanting to believe.
She walked up to him demurely, catlike, and hugged his great bulk. She leaned over his prodigious belly, spreading her arms and allowing Bart to do the same with his short, stubby arms.
“You’re real,” Bart said again. “I can’t believe it. How?”
“If I tell you, promise not to get angry.”
“I’ll try.”
“Trying’s no good.”
“All right, tell me.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Okay, but let me go first.”
Bart realized he was squeezing her hard. His large size was becoming apparent for the first time in their entire relationship. “Sorry,” he mumbled, withdrawing his arms and letting her slide down and over his stomach.
“Okay,” she said, “It was Harry’s simulation. It changed Arai, it made him smarter. It gave him something to do, a place to be.”
“But how could a simulation do that?”
Minerva giggled and spread her hands. “I have no idea. It is so far beyond me…“
Bart tilted his head. “Do the kitzloc have something to do with this?”
“They have everything to do with it. They made me alive.”
“You were already alive.”
“Yeh, but I didn’t know what I was missing.”
“Harry’s simulation changed you?”
“Not exactly, but, well yes, I guess you could say so.”
“But how? Out of nothing?” Bart pointed at the food replicator. “Just put you together in the kitchen with a little rearranged DNA?”
Minerva nodded. “Yes.”
“I was just kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You mean they actually put you together in here? With the food replicator?”
“Well, they altered the processors and did some fine tuning.”
“This is going to change everything. You need to go back.”
“I will not. I can’t anyway. I’m just as real as you.”
“I need to plug in.”
“You can, but it won’t be the same. Instead of me in there,” Minerva tapped the bulkhead over her head, “it’ll be Arai.”
“But Arai’s a simian, a monkey!”
Minerva pressed a finger to her lips. “He doesn’t like that.”
*
Fagen looked into the room beyond the open doorway. Lockers lined two walls with benches sitting before them. On the other side of the room was a worn-out couch. A couple of tables with chairs completed the furnishings. There was no sign of Kathleen or Bobbi.
Harry pointed at an open doorway on the other side of the room. “Showers and toilet. The plumbing works.”
Jennings, not wanting to take Harry’s words at face value, checked out the other rooms while Harry and Fagen remained at the only door out.
“Where were they taken?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s likely they were taken to the nearest Crevah.”
“Why?”
“To hide them from us, to gain time.”
“Gain time for what?”
“Whatever they have in mind, whatever it is they’re doing. There is a method, intersecting reasons, for everything they do. Every act is significant.”
From the other room came the sound of running water. Fagen asked Jennings what he was doing. “I’m trying to drown myself,” shouted Jennings. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Harry, let me ask you a question.”
“All right.” The glow in Harry’s eyes had faded to a pale tinge, not nearly as imposing as before.
“When you were infected, you were attacked by the creature, right?”
“Yes.”
“And if it hadn’t been for Kathleen, you would have been killed.”
Harry remained silent. Fagen continued. “Kathleen killed it and helped you get out of there. She wasn’t infected. Only you. She killed a creature no one has been able to even approach. Why is it you and Kathleen were able to do something no one has been able to do, as far as we know, and hasn’t been done since?”
Harry looked away. He knew the answer – he’d always known the answer, but he preferred to ignore it. He drew in a breath. “They let it happen. They let us get away.”
“Why? And why would they let one of their own be killed?”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know.”
*
Bart took a bite of steaming faux turkey. A cup of soda sat next to it. He chewed slower than usual as Minerva watched.
“I’m really unhappy about this,” said Bart. “Can you plug in and, you know, run things? Like you used to?”
“Bart. I’m human now and you’ve just got to get used to it. I can’t plug in – no plugs. But you know, the truth is, I don’t want to plug in.”
Bart put down his fork and wiped his beard. “It’s what we do. It’s what we are.”
“Not anymore,” said Minerva. “I may even change my name. I don’t feel like Minerva anymore. I feel like somebody else. I feel like me. And I like it.”
“This changes everything. What about me?”
“Well, you’re going to change too.”
“No, not me. I can’t. I won’t.”
“Yes you will.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because you’ll have to. Like you said – this changes everything.”
“You mean, like between you and me?”
“Well,” said Minerva, leaning against the corpulent Blane, “you’ll have to shave this,” she tugged on his beard. “And we’re going to have to get you into better shape.”
Blane shook head. “This isn’t happening.”
*
Harry led the way with Fagen at his side while Jennings brought up the rear. They’d discovered the gear for the hunter’s suits and their weapons in another room. At the end of the main corridor, stairs led to a sub-level. On descending, they found branching corridors bathed in darkness. A beep from Jennings’ motion detector caused the group to pause. Jennings looked at the readout. “I’m getting a signature somewhere in front of us.”
“This way,” said Harry, as he took the rightmost branch.
Harry moved purposefully forward while Fagen shined a light down the hall. Harry stopped before a padlocked door and listened. He looked at Fagen and nodded. “Stand back,” said Fagen as he adjusted the inte
nsity of his handheld stunner and pointed the weapon at the lock. A ray of yellow light sprang from Fagen’s hand and fell upon the lock, swiftly cutting through the curved bolt. Fumes of molten metal lingered in the air, clouds surreal in the flashlight beams. The lock fell away.
Harry felt the knob. That too was locked. He visualized the simple locking mechanism and switched the lock in his mind. The locking bolt clicked and Harry pushed open the door. Their lights played over the darkness to finally rest upon a figure lying in the corner, bound and gagged.
Jennings jumped forward. “It’s young Randy Ellis!” He began removing the bonds. When the rag around his eyes was removed, Ellis blinked at the lights. The tape over his mouth was removed. He looked at Jennings. “What took you so long?”
“I got here as quick as I could,” lied Jennings. “Anyway, I’m glad we found you. We thought the kitzloc nabbed you.”
“I thought so too. At first.”
“How long have you been here?” asked Fagen.
“Too long. I was worried the old man had forgotten me. Where is he? Where’s my father?” Untied, the lanky young man got to his feet.
The other three men traded looks. Jennings spoke. “Looks like they made off with everybody but us, your father included.”
Tears filled young Ellis’s eyes and he pressed his lips together to stem the flow. In his effort to take possession of himself, he said nothing.
As they made their way back upstairs, Jennings filled in young Ellis on the events that had transpired.
Emerging from the stairwell, Ellis asked, “What are we going to do?”
Jennings stopped and looked at Fagen. “What are we going to do?”
*
Luther’s fuel depot – little more than a place they’d stashed supplies and fuel – was a dilapidated shack on the outskirts of Boomtown. Tired and parched with thirst, they stumbled out as the truck halted. Most went for the water inside, but Luther remained outside under the rapidly darkening sky. There was a subtle breeze and the temperature was dropping.