Lesser Gods

by Duncan Long

  Yet this news didn’t phase the med-bot. “It will be a few minutes before the X-ray results return.”

  Ohhhh kaaaaaay. “Maybe I could come back later then and we could —”

  My head was jerked to the side and the machine’s sensor came to within inches of my face. “You seem to have abrasions on your head.” A steel appendage snaked along the scab that had formed on my temple, then rooted under it and jerked it away, causing me to yelp.

  “That hurt,” I yelled.

  “What is the nature of this wound?”

  “Contusions from an encounter with a blackjack. And the others,” I added as the feeler examined the rest of my scalp, “are from the insane hair-cutting machine here. It doesn’t work properly, surprise, surprise. But I’m suffering from nothing serious. Just minor cuts and contusions.”

  “Here’s the X-ray now,” the med-bot announced, releasing me.

  I stared at the 3D, rotating hologram of a skull that materialized in the air in front of me.

  “Some kind of animal caused the wounds to your head, judging from the tooth marks on your skull.”

  “That’s not an X-ray of my skull,” I protested. “That’s someone else’s — the X-ray machine is broken.”

  “Delirium is consistent with this sort of injury.”

  “I don’t have any injury like that. Look, I have all my teeth. See.” I gave him a Hollywood grin and then jabbed my finger through the projection hanging in the air to add, “This X-ray is missing two front teeth. I have all mine.” I gave him another toothy grin and pulled his optical sensor over to my mouth.

  But for a machine, no problem is too big to deal with: “A tooth extraction will be necessary so your mouth conforms to your X-ray. Perhaps we should also remove the bone fragments shown on the picture and replace that portion of your skull with a steel plate. I will place plates on our order list and do this work at a later date.”

  “Hopefully, much later,” I whispered. Why had I opened my mouth about being colorblind? The best laid plans of mechs and men. I eyed the automaton that had escorted me into this alleged medical area. The machine still stood in the doorway, blocking any exit.

  “Since you have no concussion or other broken bones,” the med-bot resumed, “we can extract your teeth and eyes in just a few minutes. You’ll be ready to go back to rehab in a few hours.”

  “Thanks but I don’t need any dental work,” I protested.

  “And we need to treat your eyes.

  “My eyes are just fine, too.”

  “First I need to put you under for a few minutes while I work. You may feel a slight pinch.”

  A clamp slithered out of the table and fastened itself around my right arm, pulling me toward the table. I broke into a sweat as I tugged at the clamp that was reeling me onto the operating table. Things were getting seriously dangerous.

  “Just lie back while I give you a pain killer,” the med-bot said.

  A voice from the ceiling announced, “Synthacane is out of stock and on back order,”

  No painkiller? I thought with horror. “Just a minute,” I yelled. “Hang on a minute!”

  Despite the lack of anesthetic, the mech produced a gleaming syringe in its hand, aiming at a point in the vicinity of my groin and making me wonder what 40 CCs of air might do for a testicle.

  “This won’t hurt a bit and you’ll only be asleep for a few hours while I extract all your teeth and eyes. Then, once you’ve rested for a bit we can work on your addiction to cocaine.”

  I closed my eyes as the needle neared my groin.

  And…

  “Our dirigible is approaching the landing dock,” the pilot’s voice said soothingly over the public address system. “Please remain seated until we tie up. We hope you’ll enjoy your visit to Kansas City, home of the Houston Oilers.”

  I studied the people in the cabin, forcing myself to sit sill.

  There were perhaps two-hundred fifty-some passengers around me. I wondered how I could be in an airship.

  A dream?

  Or?

  I looked at my clothing; I was still in the soft armor I’d been wearing at the prison. Then I felt my head. It was shaved and still had the nicks I’d received from the hair-cutting machine; the sore where the medical bot had ripped off a scab was still bleeding.

  So how had I come to be here on a dirigible?

  I tried to think.

  I knew I had been trapped in prison, I was fairly certain of that.

  Or was I? Had that been part of an elaborate simulation?

  Perhaps I was still… What? Sitting in my apartment, goggles on and jetted up?

  Yet what I saw didn’t seem like a computer simulation. The colors were more muted and the conversations around me seemed genuine.

  But how could I be sitting on a passenger blimp landing in Kansas City?

  Had I completely lost my marbles?

  Had I simply passed out in pain with the medical bot removing my eyes and teeth right now? Was this my mind’s way of coping with the pain and horror?

  That most likely was the answer, and it was an answer that was far from comforting. I shuddered and put my head in my lap to keep from fainting.

  “Everything all right?” the old man sitting next to me asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, straightening up.

  “You don’t look so good, mister. And you kind of plopped into that seat way too fast. Funny, where were you before? I thought this seat was vacant.”

  “I’m not sure where I was before, to be honest. I thought I was somewhere else.”

  “You’d better just sit back and relax,” the old man said. “You’re looking a little green around the gills. Sometimes these flights don’t agree with folks.”

  I didn’t feel so hot either, now that I thought about it.

  What’s going on?

  Chapter 16

  Alice Liddell

  I watched the nose of the silver dirigible pass through the thick web of graphite cables that anchored the “Mile-High Building” to the limestone bedrock in the earth of the Missouri plains far below. The towering structure was half hidden by the clouds around it. A large boom atop the super-scrapper extended to secure the nose of the ship, reeling it into the docking berth.

  Somehow I knew Ralph was on board. I stood alongside the rail with the rest of those waiting for friends, lovers, or business acquaintances to disembark from the aircraft.

  The hatch popped open and the ramp extended, protective walls rising from its edges to block the dizzying view of the distant checkerboard pattern of the fields far below us, barely visible through a break in the clouds. “Watch your step,” a plastic flight attendant warned the passengers who gingerly scampered down the heaving gangplank onto the observation tower.

  I wondered if I’d been mistaken in my notion that Ralph was aboard. It didn’t seem like anything made much sense anymore. My hunches often proved more accurate than facts that a few weeks before seemed absolute. Now the world was made of putty that twisted and bent and sometimes could be pushed a little this way or that if I put my mind to it.

  Then I spied his clueless face, and felt that strange emotion he seemed to evoke in me. “White Knight!” I called, waving.

  He glanced my way, and then smiled his goofy lop-sided smile. And then I could tell he was trying not to stare at what was unhidden in my low-cut blouse as he pushed his way through the crowd coming down the gangplank, making his way toward me. I fought not to check hair or lick my lips as I waited at the rail.

  “Alice? Is it really you?”

  “And how many other people know you as the ‘White Knight’?”

  “I thought you died — when you jumped off the cliff.”

  “Oh, that. I suppose I could have. But I decided there should be a vine on the side of the cliff. And there was.”

  “You created it?”

  “I don’t really know. Perhaps the game designer put it there. I spotted it as I jumped, grabbed it, and from there swung
into a hidden cave.”

  “Lucky.”

  “Or just nerdy programming of a SupeR-G designed by someone without much imagination. Come on,” I said, grasping his elbow and nudging him toward the interior of the building. As we stepped from the open-air landing port into the enclosed concourse; anti-noise circuits dampened the babble of the crowd jostling around us and warm air took off the chill from outside.

  “The wind outside is awful today,” I said, finally giving in to the impulse to fuss with my hair. “I so wanted to impress you. Luckily I had my wig glued on tight or my hairdo would be altogether gone.”

  “It looks fine to me.”

  I leaned toward him and gave his arm a squeeze. “I’m glad to see you.”

  Then I let go of his arm and waltzed around him, pretending to survey the luxuriant interior of the building around us, stopping in front of him where he could see me and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, knowing it would cause my bosom to rise provocatively. I feigned innocence, saying, “The air in here is full of exotic perfumes and smells of food. I love this city.”

  I opened my eyes in time to see him tear his gaze away from my chest. He blushed ever so slightly as he glanced over the rail toward the atrium that stretched out dizzily below us. I crowded close to him, following his gaze down the hollow interior of the building.

  Clouds created by condensation within the structure, obscured the distant floors at the bottom of the enclosure; doves and hang gliders wafted upward on the warm air rising from the floor. The whole structure swayed giddily for a moment as a gust outside battered the massive exterior.

  I tore my eyes away from the view in time to dodge a delivery bot intently pulling a plastic carriage piled high with suitcases. “There must be a restaurant around here somewhere,” I said, energetically leading Ralph to an info booth where a holographic display appeared in front of us. After I placed my finger in the air at the “Restaurants” entry in the index, a map of the eateries within the building appeared. “We can’t eat at the bistro here on the roof, it’s too expensive.”

  “No problem,” Ralph said. “I don’t think I could keep food down the way these floors sway. It’s worse than being on a boat during a hurricane party.”

  “You have any food preferences?”

  “Nothing live.”

  I giggled. “Don’t you just hate how it wiggles going down.”

  “You said it.”

  “Well, White Knight, you just rose ten points in my estimation. Highly civilized tastes. Only hope they don’t apply to your taste in women,” I added with a wink a whore would have been proud of. I gave a slight twist of my chest for added measure, then turned my attention back to the menu, putting on my most innocent looking expression once again.

  “Here, this looks good.” I tapped a location that hung in the air in front of me, producing a picture of a dark, paneled restaurant lit by candlelight. “What do you think?”

  “Looks good.”

  I checked the map, then took his hand. “This way.”

  We zigzagged through a crowd of children escorted by two savage-looking intelli-lions, then we scuttled aboard an escalator headed toward the elevators at the side of the tower, zipping by the columned storefronts where a cacophony of sales pitches and music cascaded over us, the ads keyed to avoid the noise cancellation circuits that deadened the din of the crowds.

  For a moment I wondered if I was really there with Ralph. And I suspected he felt that way, too. The Jet seemed to transform everything into a dreamlike state so that my senses argued I was something other than wide awake. Wide asleep, maybe? Whatever it was, it seemed enjoyable and I would make the most of it while I could.

  Security in the building looked good — as demonstrated by the three mezzo guards who hauled a stressed shoplifter from a store, the long plastic dildo he’d tried to steal, now held as evidence in one of the officer’s claws.

  I giggled at the sight and saw Ralph avert his eyes as if he hadn’t seen. We stepped off the escalator and I skipped like a little girl to the elevators, holding the door open until Ralph arrived. Then I punched the button for our floor and we headed down, fast enough that my stomach felt at least eight feet above us during most of the descent.

  Fifteen minutes later we sat at a synthawood table, a firefly candle glowing between us, making me — I hoped — look like a cherub with twinkling blue eyes. I finished my bowl of chocolate pudding, carefully putting it aside with a very prim and proper flourish. This was followed by an enormous sigh. “Sometimes I wish I had a faster metabolism so I could eat more. That would be such an advantage at the dinner table.”

  Ralph said nothing.

  “Maybe I should get modified so I could eat more.”

  “I wouldn’t want anything about you changed,” Ralph said.

  I looked at him, wondering if he was being truthful. “Some guys will say anything.”

  “I’m not a flatterer. Now tell me, what are we really doing here? And how did I get here?”

  I suppressed a smile as I put another spoon of sugar into his Earl Gray tea and carefully stirred it. “You know it’s rude to talk business while you’re still eating. I should sulk and make you finish your meal before I say another word. But since you probably don’t have much more time here before walking away, I must offer you a clue, I suppose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it is doubtful you will stay here much longer. Soon you will return to wherever you were before… Before I brought you here to visit.”

  “You brought me here?”

  “I think so. I’m not sure how it works. But I seem to be able to —”

  “You mean I’m about to go back to the prison?”

  “Only if that’s where you were before. If that wasn’t where you were then I don’t suppose that’s where you’ll go.”

  Ralph looked perturbed and then spoke. “This is just a SupeR-G, right?”

  “No, I don’t think so. But I haven’t quite sorted it out myself, I’m afraid. It seems that our exposure to Huntington’s games, or maybe the jet…. Something has changed us. I can go places — or seem to go places — just by thinking. And now I have brought you into my reality as well, though I suppose you could just be my imagination, in which case it doesn’t make much difference to you, does it?”

  “Do you suppose Huntington has the same abilities?”

  “Your guess is as good as the next Joe’s. But one thing’s for sure: When illusions become real, the idea of reality and illusion don’t have much meaning anymore, do they?”

  “No, I suppose not, if what you’re saying is true.”

  “It’s like being in the middle of a String Theory demonstration and being able to control the excitation modes at will. That is, had String Theory proven true.”

  “This is all crazy,” Ralph said.

  “Yet here we are, eating jumbo shrimp and enjoying our meal like the real thing.”

  “Doubly so since I haven’t eaten since the first of never.”

  “Which,” Alice said, “ is as good a reckoning of time as needed since time really means very little any more, near as I can tell.”

  “Well, the food seems real enough. I was famished.”

  I took a sip of tea.

  “You may have a point, though,” Ralph continued. “When reality and illusion become impossible to tell apart, then they were for all practical purposes — at least to the observer in the middle of it — one and the same thing.”

  “Does it make any difference as long as you’re enjoying the experience?”

  “That’s the question,” Ralph said.

  “My question,” I said, stirring yet another spoonful of sugar into my porcelain teacup, “is what we’re going to do with our new skills and knowledge.”

  “Huntington is trying to kill us.”

  “You think? Bet you got the drift the last time he tried to give you a haircut down to your neck. Though such a haircut couldn’t be much worse than what you ha
ve now,” I added with a giggle as I glanced at his scalp. “Looks like your barber attended a hair stylist school run by head-hunters?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Head today, gone tomorrow?”

  “Stop. This is serious. We need some sort of edge over Huntington. We’re not as in control of things as he is — but there are two of us. “

  “I don’t think he’s figured out who I am, yet. Last night I concealed myself as a tree and gave him quite a bloody whopping when he came into limb reach. He never even saw me because I winked out before he could find his good eye to put it back in.” I flashed Ralph my most innocent smile and batted my eyes.

  “Huntington may have met his match,” Ralph said. He started to add something else, but our mouthless waitress came to the table, interrupting him in a silent sort of way.

  “I don’t think we need anything else, thank you,” I told her.

  “Nothing more,” Ralph agreed. “I’m loaded to the gills.”

  The waitress tapped the tabletop and a bill spun onto its surface. “We hope you’ve enjoyed your meal,” a pre-recorded message told us. “Thank you and please visit us again.”

  “Thank you very much,” Alice said, beaming at the waitress who did her best to return the smile with her eyes.

  Ralph reached for the bill saying, “I think I have enough squirreled away in my vest to cover this.”

  But I snatched it from him. “Better let me have that. You’re starting to fade. You’re going back to wherever you were before I snatched you.”

  “What?” he asked, looking down at his hands that, like his chest, were becoming transparent. “Going back?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’d suggest you just relax and — “

  “I have an idea,” Ralph said, grabbing the metal serving tray and placing it on his lap.

  “You’re getting that Cheshire Cat look that I’ve always admired so much,” I said. He grew so transparent he looked like a ghost. “Be careful — I want to see you again — so to speak.”

  Ralph Crocker

  Everything seemed to blink.