Shadow Dragon

by wade coleman

  “Yeah, that’s a bit inconvenient, but as a thief, it was only a matter of time before I needed a mesh. Too bad we can’t write it off as a business expense.”

  Daniel smirks and removes the extended rack on my bike and replaces it with saddle bags. Kim walks in with her pack. I stuff both our packs in the compartment, one on each side.

  I put on my helmet and Kim puts on hers - a gift from my mom. I get in front, Kim in the back, and we head out, dodging our neighbor’s goats in the street. We exit Ceres front gate and head south until I find the old road to Napa. A breeze brings the ocean smell. Kim matches my movements, leaning into turns.

  After five miles we take a right and head east. Another five miles and we take a road north into the Auto Boneyard.

  When the drought hit California, the jobs dried up, and people couldn’t afford to buy gas for the cars, so the repo companies took everything. They stockpiled the cars and trucks in neat rows. Then the dust storms hit and buried the cars under mounds of dirt. It cost more to dig out a vehicle and haul it to a scrapyard than you get for the metal, so square miles of old cars and trucks sit half-buried in the sand.

  At the end of the road is an old wood building, a single-story metal building on the left.

  I park in the circular drive. A man approaches. It’s Doctor Nick in overalls with his noticeable belly in the lead. He walks up to me, extends his hand, which envelops mine. “Welcome, Welcome.”

  My hand comes back gritty from car oil, and I look around for a towel. I hate getting my clothes dirty, so I hold my hand away from my pants.

  “Come.” He points to a path leading to the back of his home, an old wooden building from before the Bio War, the paint peeling.

  We enter a utility room. A door to the left reveals a basement. At the bottom of the stairs is a concrete floor, a section in a corner screened with shower curtains.

  Nick sweeps the curtain back. In the center is a dentist’s chair. One wall is lined with shelves; under it is a large metal table with instruments. He washes his hands in the utility sink. I do the same, relieved to get the oil off my hand.

  He takes a brush, and he scrubs his nails. “Good news. You get a free upgrade.”

  I dry my hands. “What?”

  Nick breathes through thick nostril hair. “On the shelf is a bioimplant. Go… get acquainted.”

  On a metal table is a plastic milk jug with the top cut off. At the bottom is an inky mass. It’s alive and senses my presence, sending tendrils to the surface. As I put my finger near the creature, it sends up a black thread that brushes against me. I immediately pull back. The implant sends out more tendrils from its central mass, searching for me. It’s eerie, seeing something so alien seeking contact.

  Nick puts his hand on my shoulder. “She likes you…You should name her. Natasha is a good name.”

  “What generation is she?”

  “Fifth. But Natasha, a good girl. She gives you no trouble.”

  Bio-implants started as devices that augmented memory. By the third generation, they held so much knowledge people were too overwhelmed to handle them. Ask for instructions to bake a cake, and you got a chemistry lesson. Artificial intelligence was added to sort through the data. The first generations were twitchy; the new Mark sixes have fewer complications.

  I grow anxious, “A third of the Mark fives drove the owners mad. So, I prefer a mesh, much less risk.”

  “Your father called me. He says his Hermes, a good boy but have some trouble. Needs my help now, could not get mesh. This is better for you. You no want. Fine.”

  Kim looks at me.

  Nick combs his nose hair with his fingernails.

  I sit in the dentist chair, “Alright, let’s do this.”

  Nick rolls up the metal table closer with the implant in a plastic container.

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “Natasha makes a home inside your skull. She grows into your brain so you can communicate.” He lifts up my sleeve, giving me an injection. “This will keep you still.”

  My limbs grow heavy, and suddenly I can’t move.

  Nick picks up the plastic jug and puts it under my nose. Natasha’s tendrils reach out, slide up my cheeks, and then finds my tear ducts.

  Crawling around, she finds her way to the back of my eyeball. There’s a sharp pain behind my eye. I can’t blink. There’s a popping sound inside my head. I try to lift my hands to pull her out, but I’m paralyzed. My eyes tear up. Trying to scream, all I get out is, “Eh!”

  Kim lets out a gasp, grimacing. “That’s so fucking gross.”

  “It’s painful, yes,” Nick says. “But she’s almost done.”

  The pain stops, and the bio-implant slips through my skull bones and enters the brain.

  “It takes a few days for Natasha to make the connection, so she can talk to you,” Nick says.

  When we’re all done, Nick picks me up and carries me to a mattress in a dark corner to the cellar. “You stay here, Need time to adjust. No light. No noise. Tomorrow, you come upstairs, walk around. Next day you go.”

  He shuts my eyelids and gives me a shot. “This a mild sedative. Try to sleep.”

  Laying on the mattress on a concrete floor, I contemplate the fact that I have a life form building a nest inside my head, sending branches into my brain. It’s either this or prison, so it’s not a choice. The fish paralyzer wears off, and I manage to roll on my side.

  * * *

  I’m playing five card draw with a man with black faceted eyes. I’ve won a huge pot, and I am accused of cheating. A man with jet-black eyes cuts off my head with a sword, and the pain is like jagged thunder.

  * * *

  I wake up in a cold sweat and look at my watch. It’s 10 AM the next day. My bad dream fades as I splash cold water on my face. I get a towel out of my pack to dry off. After eating two protein bars, I head up the steps.

  Outside the edges of objects are so crisp, they hurt my eyes. The leaves rustling sound like glass breaking. Sitting on the steps, I wait for all these sensations to pass.

  My eyes still tingle where the bio-implant entered. The fifth generation is the first to send feelers into the portion of the brain that controls the arms and hands. They were programmed with complex skills, the most common being an aircraft pilot. The artificial intelligence was erratic; the two-year survival rate was seventy percent. Doctors tried to remove implants, but they dug in, eventually killing whomever they possessed. They worked out that bug in the next generation.

  Walking to the front yard, I find Kim under a large oak, swinging the baton that she unclipped from my bike. She’s wearing shorts and a wife-beater. Kim moves like a dancer, using the baton as a prop.

  She notices me watching and stops. “What are you smiling at?” Kim asks, always the skeptic.

  “Your stripes flash in the sun.”

  She changes the subject, “Let’s get something to eat.”

  We walk in the back door. Kim goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge.

  “I don’t think we should be eating Nick’s food.”

  “Me and Nicholas have come to an arrangement,” she replies.

  I pause for a moment, letting this sink in before I realize what it implies. And suddenly, I’m very sad. “Oh?”

  Kim makes lab-grown meat sandwiches with a tomato from our garden.

  She sits down, putting a plate in front of me, and we eat.

  “I get that you’re a good guy. I get you to like me, but I’m a lesbian, Hermes.”

  “Fuck;” I whisper. Kim’s been using me. I should be mad; instead, the news deepens my blues. I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye.

  Taking a bite out of her sandwich, Kim chews and continues. “Nick and I worked out a trade. This helps the both of us.”

  “Yeah…okay.” I nod and look elsewhere.

  “Are you crying?”

  I get up, wipe my eyes, cross my arms, and then look outside. In the backyard is a clothesline with Nick’s underwear and pitted T
-shirts hanging on it.

  Walking back into the kitchen, I make large gestures with my hands. “I don’t know where I stand with you.”

  “Hermes, sit the fuck down and eat your sandwich.”

  I sit down and eat, staring at my plate.

  “I swear to God, you’re higher maintenance than Cindy.”

  Her remark makes me smile. At least she’s comparing me to her ex, so Kim must have some feelings for me. She finds me a not so dirty dish towel, and I use it to blow my nose.

  Standing next to me, she punches me affectionately in the shoulder and says, “I like a good fuck, but with men, it’s just sex.” Kim walks to the door. “I’m going to see Nick.”

  I decide to go for a jog to clear my head. Heading north, I run on a gravel county road lined on each side with stripped-down cars covered in sand and sagebrush. I jog four miles west and eventually start heading back.

  A few miles from Nick’s house, a voice suddenly comes to life in my head.

  “Hello. This is the initial activation of the Globe-X Mark 5 implant. To respond, please speak.” Her voice is as smooth as ice, and I raise my eyebrows.

  “Mark, can you hear me?” The voice says from behind my ear.

  “My name’s not Mark, it’s, Hermes.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. My records show that Mark was to be my host.”

  I slow to a walk. “Something came up.”

  “I understand, sir. What would you like to call me?”

  “Your name is Natasha and don’t call me, ‘sir.'”

  “Hermes, would you like to take the time to register your new purchase?”

  “No, and never ask me again.” Once a company gets your email and phone number, they’ll hound you with offers to upgrade all the time. It never ends.

  “There’s no need for you to raise your voice. You can also use the visual interface. Would you like to see it?”

  “Not now. What else can you do?”

  “I’m a standard pilot package. After ten hours of flight school, you will be certified with a multi-engine license.”

  I’ve never been on a plane in my life. It’s a completely worthless program, but I don’t share any of this with Natasha.

  After jogging back to Nick’s house, I take a drink from the garden hose and stretch out under an oak tree. The sun bakes the driveway in the late afternoon heat. Going downstairs, I take a sponge bath in the utility sink. It calms me down after all the weirdness of the day. Then I sit on the mattress, turn on my phone and check my messages.

  One’s from Dad. “10 AM tomorrow, here, off-the-record meet with police.”

  My heart skips a beat, and I lay back in the bed. “Natasha, turn on the heads-up display.”

  A transparent screen appears two feet in front of me, floating in space with a standard display.

  “How do I write messages on the screen?”

  “Just speak, I’ll do the rest.”

  “Do you have access to the Net?”

  “No. I can help you with a purchase of an external interface. Would you like to buy one now?”

  “Not now.”

  Feet walk overhead along with the sound of clanking pots.

  “Natasha, do you have any preloaded software?”

  “I come equipped with the financial and secretary programs. I have preloaded all of Mark’s important names, dates, and passwords, but they’re two years out of date.”

  I think for a minute. That means Mark had important information hardwired into the implant.

  I put my hands behind my neck and interlace my fingers. “Do you remember any of his recent passwords?”

  “With the loss of… power, information has been lost, it will take time to sort what is left.”

  “Do you know how Mark died?”

  “I remember is a dark-haired elf tossing my head into a tub of organ preservative.”

  “I see…”

  “Would you like me to delete passwords and personal information?”

  “No, not just yet. Who was this guy Mark?”

  “Mark Lukas was the CEO of Blue Algae Inc. He got an implant so he could pilot the company jet.”

  “What kind of jet?”

  “A Learjet 35D.”

  “Hm.…” The gears turn in my head. “Does he have an account at the airport?”

  “Yes. It is used to pay for fuel, maintenance, and parts.”

  I lay there thinking. I could turn on my cell phone and do some checking, but I can’t risk being tracked. It will have to wait.

  “Would you like to listen to some music?”

  “Sounds nice, what have you got?”

  “Everything recorded.”

  “I’m feeling moody…let’s listen to She Talks to Angels.”

  I lay back, letting the sulky voice of Chris Robinson find its way into my pores. The change in the guitar gets me to my feet, and I sing with Chris while thinking of Kim. “Yeah, she talks to angels, say they call her out by her name.”

  Pacing in time to the music, I let the guitars weave and wash through me, soothing the burn. Natasha displays a screen with two bars that line up when I sing on key.

  Dancing an African four-step, I sing “Yeah, to her that ain't nothin', but to me, yeah me, means everything.”

  The clarity of the music almost hurts, the strings of the guitar surround me. I lose myself in the song and shake the bad mood like a dog shakes out water. The music winds down and I head back to my mattress.

  Kim is standing on the steps, leaning on the railing. Half her face is smiling, the other half sad. “Feeling better?”

  I nod.

  “Cindy could sing. She was a tenor like you. I’m a baritone.”

  “How come you know so much about music?”

  “I was raised in a Catholic orphanage. Everyone who could carry a tune was in the choir.” She heads up the steps. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Supper is a bowl of stew and a baguette for each of us. Kim sets the table while Nick, setting in his chair, watches her move around the kitchen. I want to grab his nose hair and pull it out.

  Once we all sit down to eat, Nick asks, “She talk to you?”

  “I have audio and visual. Natasha says the tactile will kick in after a few days.”

  “You be a good typist.” And Nick bangs his fist on the table, laughing. “I know. It no good skill, nobody types anymore.”

  Nick rattles on, keeping a stream of background noise. His beard collecting breadcrumbs like Velcro collects lint.

  I finish eating and get up. “Kim, can I see you on the porch?”

  Going outside, we stand next to my bike parked under the oak to keep the sun off of it.

  “I have a meeting with a cop tomorrow at ten. It’s best you stay here. I’ll come to get you when they’re gone. Is that okay?”

  Kim puts her arms around my neck, interlacing her fingers. “Think again, college boy. Till this is over, we’re joined at the hip.”

  “A lesbian and a straight boy joined at the hip?”

  Kim and I lean against the tree and look at the crescent moon. She doesn’t want to be seen by the cops, so I think of places for her to hide. Maggie’s home would be a good spot, but I don’t what to involve her. Plus, Maggie’s a lesbian, and I’m not ready to share Kim just yet.

  “In our basement is a false wall and I could stuff you there. We need to return when it’s dark so no one will see us.”

  “What time?” she asks.

  “Two AM.”

  “Okay, I’ll see ya then.” Walking back inside, Kim says, “Right now Nick wants to watch dwarf porn and eat popcorn.”

  “Sounds like paradise to me.”

  The most common mutant sub-types are dwarfs, elves, and trolls. Dwarfs stand about five feet tall with barrel chests and slightly longer arms. At least once a year a dwarf climbs Mt. Everest without supplemental oxygen.

  Kim goes to the kitchen, and I head downstairs. I lie in bed and try not to think about tomorrow.

  “Natasha?”r />
  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any old movies in your database?”

  “Yes, but only those movies in the public domain.”

  “Do you have Casablanca?”

  “Just the black-and-white version.”

  I’ve seen Casablanca at least a few dozen times. I like old black-and-white movies before bed.

  I lay down, and a screen appears on the ceiling. Later, I drift off to sleep while Sam plays As Time Goes By. After the events of the day, it’s just what I needed for comfort.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I wake to Bach. Natasha tells me it’s two in the morning, so I lay on the mattress in Nicholas’ basement and send a text to Daniel: “On my way, leave shop door open.”

  I get up, grab my pack, go upstairs and find my bike under the oak tree. Kim is leaning against the trunk.

  “All set?”

  She nods. We put on our helmets and head out.

  Kim activates the headsets in her helmet. “Your implant is working. It’s harder to read your thoughts...which is a good thing since all you think about is my ass.”

  I smirk and turn on the battery. We head west, the headlights probing the dark and the ocean smell getting stronger. A few miles from Nick’s place, I stop and get out my disposable phone.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I have to check on something.” I turn on the phone. “Natasha, show me how to access Mark’s aviation account.”

  Most people don’t pick random passwords. They’re usually a combination of important names and numbers so they won’t forget them. I’m in luck. His password is a combination of his children’s’ birthdays.

  The account of the airfield is open. Mark is authorized to sign for any purchase less than two hundred thousand credits.

  Taking a quick look through the parts catalog, I come across a jet engine for one hundred and eighty thousand credits. I purchase it and arrange to have it delivered to a storage shed that I rent under an alias.

  “I see you’re shopping. Part of my secretary program is a personal shopper. May I make a suggestion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you get the full immersion helmet? It’s tied to the internet and full emersion into the Learjet 35 sensors. The brochure says, ‘The full immersion experience makes sex trite in comparison.’ It’s only fifty thousand credits.”