Diffusion Box Set

by Stan C. Smith

  The flight to the airport took only ten minutes, and soon the aircraft was dropping straight down to the same spot on the runway where it had been created. Bobby figured they had been gone about three hours. The crowd of people, which was even larger now, was still there on the tarmac. And beside the crowd was a jet that looked like the Cessna Citation, only this one was gray, and the tail bore a US flag—a military plane.

  Captain Kirk landed the aircraft without even jostling the tree kangaroos. Four men immediately began walking toward them from the gray jet. Two of them wore camo fatigues, one wore a green uniform with a tan tie, and the fourth wore shorts and an untucked shirt. The uniformed man and the man in shorts both had gray hair and wore sunglasses. The men stopped beside the aircraft and waited impatiently until Captain Kirk opened the hatch. Then they climbed the stairs and came into the cabin.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” the man in shorts said as he pulled off his sunglasses.

  It was Colonel Roger Richards.

  He looked around at the tree kangaroos. “When you folks do something, you do it neck-deep and shit-thick.”

  Bobby had no idea what that meant, but seeing Richards gave him hope. He trusted the colonel. The guy had risked his career to help them avoid the Lamotelokhai falling into the wrong hands.

  Quentin got up and shook his hand. “It’s good to see you, Colonel.”

  Richards glanced down at his own clothes. “I’m a civilian now, no thanks to you and your motley crew.” He said this with a half-smile. Then he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Listen up.” He nodded to the uniformed man next to him. “This is Colonel Reed Northcott. He replaced me as Attaché for Defense and Army, Jakarta. For reasons that should be obvious, I’ve been following any news I can get on you folks and Peter Wooley’s SouthPacificNet. I happened to receive some intel recently that a private SouthPacificNet jet had flown to Puerto Rico and then was en route to Indonesia. I put two and two together and figured you were up to something important, and that you might show up here. Bingo. You folks have a penchant for flying under the radar, but damn.” He waved his hand toward the walls of the aircraft. “You stick out like a sore thumb everywhere you go. Considering the nature of the crisis in the Caribbean, I convinced Colonel Northcott it would be worth his while to skip over here from Jakarta to see what you were up to, and to see if you needed assistance. He agreed, and he also agreed I should come along, considering my history with you folks.”

  Bobby decided to speak up. “Colonel—or Mr. Richards—we have to get to Puerto Rico. Like, right now. We think we may have a way to stop what’s happening there.”

  Richards hesitated, and then Colonel Northcott spoke up. “You’re too late, son. Puerto Rico is beyond recovery.”

  “What does that mean?” Lindsey asked.

  “Beyond recovery, ma’am. The island is lost. All three and a half million civilians presumed dead. Efforts now are focused on containment. Largest containment effort in history.”

  Bobby’s stomach lurched. Three and a half million. It was a number too big to make any sense. There was only one word for what Bobby had done—holocaust. This was all his fault.

  Bobby dropped his face into his hands. He pinched the skin of his cheek, trying to inflict some pain. But it was nothing compared to what he deserved. Suddenly he started feeling sick. He couldn’t just sit here and think about this and listen to these men talk. He had to get some fresh air. He got up and pushed his way past Richards and the other men to get to the open hatch. Several of the mbolop had moved to the hatch and were looking out, so he nudged them back. He then stood by the opening, breathing in the wet, tropical air. The others kept talking, but Bobby didn’t listen. He couldn’t, because it made him feel dead inside.

  Mbaiso came to him and stopped at his feet, looking up. Bobby sat on the floor next to him. “Hey, buddy. I’m sorry, but I think you’re going to wish you’d stayed back in the jungle. You’re not going to like where we’re going.”

  Mbaiso sat up and moved his forepaws, signing to Bobby. Brief visions appeared in Bobby’s mind, clarifying the meaning, just as they had months ago. “Bobby hurt. Why Bobby hurt?”

  “You’re not a person, so I don’t think you’d understand,” Bobby said quietly so the others couldn’t hear. “I’ve done something really bad. Maybe the worst thing anyone’s ever done.”

  Mbaiso gazed at him, sniffing the air. He then dug into his body and held out a pink lump.

  “What’s that for?”

  Mbaiso didn’t move.

  Maybe Mbaiso wanted to put him out of his misery. Bobby certainly wanted his misery to end. But then he thought about Ashley and their moment in the lift. Maybe there was something worth living for, even if he didn’t deserve it. “This won’t hurt me, will it?”

  Still, Mbaiso didn’t move.

  Bobby took the lump and ate it.

  Bobby opened his eyes. Mbaiso was still there, watching him. Richards and Colonel Northcott stood a few feet away with their backs to him, still talking to the others as if only a few seconds had passed. But while Bobby had been out, he had seen, heard, and felt so much that it was hard to believe so little time could have passed. He now knew more about Mbaiso than he’d ever imagined possible. He reached out and stroked Mbaiso’s head, feeling an almost overwhelming connection to him. Thousands of years of the creature’s life had flashed through Bobby’s mind—images of how Mbaiso had been created, how he had lived, and how he had finally decided to ignore the Lamotelokhai’s instructions to destroy himself, choosing instead to start a colony of mbolop.

  But from all Bobby had seen during that nearly endless vision, one truth stood out. Mbaiso had been created so the Papuans wouldn’t have to talk directly to the Lamotelokhai, and therefore Mbaiso had prevented the villagers from destroying themselves and perhaps destroying much more than their own tribe. Mbaiso had stopped this catastrophe not just once, but again and again, century after century. Humans had survived—maybe the planet itself had survived—because of Mbaiso.

  Since Bobby had encountered the Lamotelokhai eight months ago, he had known it was dangerous. But now, in a moment of complete clarity and certainty, he understood how dangerous it really was. And he understood what Mbaiso had been trying to do—save as many people as possible. The Papuan villagers would have perished without Mbaiso, and now that the Lamotelokhai was out of hiding, the rest of the world would perish without the mbolop colony.

  Bobby realized that even if the Lamotelokhai could stop the outbreak in Puerto Rico from spreading, the world wouldn’t be safe until Mbaiso could carry out his plan.

  He stroked Mbaiso’s head again. “We’ll figure this out together, right?” Bobby got to his feet. Apparently no one had even noticed what had happened to him. They were still talking about Puerto Rico, and Mr. Wahid was upset about something.

  “I’m going there right now,” Bobby said loudly.

  Everyone shut up and turned to look at him.

  He stepped forward. “I’m leaving now, and I’m taking this aircraft. Mr. Wahid, I know I promised you could have it, and I’ll try to make sure it gets back to you. In the meantime, you can have a second one just like it. There’s another jet right over there.” Bobby pointed out the hatch at the US military jet Richards and colonel Northcott had used. He then turned to the Lamotelokhai. “I’d like you to give some of your particles to Mr. Wahid. Make it so he can rub them on that jet to turn it into an aircraft just like this one. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” It got up, removed a fist-sized portion of its own arm, and handed it to Mr. Wahid, who snatched the beret from the head of one of the Indonesian soldiers and held it upside down to receive the gift.

  “And one more thing,” Bobby said. “Delete the GPS location of the site we visited today. No one else can ever go there. If any person or aircraft shows up there, your new planes will automatically self-destruct.” This wasn’t true, but Bobby hoped Wahid would believe it.

  Bobby turned to Colonel N
orthcott. “I just gave away your jet for a chance to stop the outbreak. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Who the hell do you think you are, son?” Northcott waved his two men to move toward Bobby.

  A blur of motion and fury took everyone by surprise as the real Addison leapt over the seats and skidded to a stop between Bobby and the soldiers before they were even close.

  “Leave Bobby alone!” His nonhuman voice was so fierce that the men stumbled back, one of them tripping and falling between two seats.

  “What is that thing?” Northcott said, his eyes wide. Apparently he hadn’t taken a good look at Addison until this moment.

  “He’s not a thing,” Bobby said. “He’s my friend. You should see what he can do when he gets really mad.”

  The soldiers had recovered and were drawing their pistols.

  “Lamotelokhai!” Bobby shouted. “These men want to keep us from going to stop the outbreak. Don’t kill them, but make them realize we’re going now, with or without their help.”

  The copy of Addison stepped toward the men. “I understand, Bobby.”

  “Hold on! Everyone stand down.” It was Roger Richards, his hands in the air. He faced Colonel Northcott. “Reed, I’ve known you for years. You want the same thing these people do—to save lives. Hell, that’s why you’re checking out the lead I tracked down. If you had seen the things I’ve seen this boy—this Lamotelokhai—do, you’d know he could easily kill us all before you could even spit. You’d also know there’s a good chance he can stop the outbreak. Let them have the damn jet. You can work that out later. But right now you need to provide these folks with every resource you can. If you don’t want to go with them, please disembark. But I’m going, and I’ll do everything I can—hell, I’ll give up my life if necessary—to stop this horrific outbreak. So make your decision, Reed, because we’re taking off.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Once the aircraft was up to full speed, it felt like no plane Quentin had been on before. Rather than a constant roar of jet engines, all he heard was the high-pitched whine of air passing smoothly over the streamlined exterior. The aircraft’s speed was unnerving—each time a downdraft or change in air pressure caused the plane to drop slightly, Quentin experienced a moment of weightlessness. But the plane’s sophisticated controls always recovered gently, avoiding any violent jostling. Quentin was actually enjoying watching several hundred tree kangaroos suddenly float inches off the floor, twisting in panic and running in place for a few seconds before the floor slowly rose back up to meet them.

  It was at least an hour into the flight before Quentin decided it would be reasonably safe to remove his seatbelt and stand up. Lindsey was sitting beside him, and he assured her he wouldn’t be up long. There were twelve people on the aircraft. Wahid and the two Indonesian soldiers had stayed in Sentani, but Richards, Colonel Northcott, and his two men were still aboard. These men were firmly planted in their seats, holding on to whatever they could, still not trustful of the aircraft’s alien design. They frowned at Quentin like they thought he was crazy for standing up.

  Quentin made his way forward to where Bobby, Ashley, and Carlos were sitting. Once beside them, he saw that Carlos and Ashley were sleeping. Mbaiso was on the floor at Bobby’s feet. But what really caught Quentin’s eye was that Ashley’s head was on Bobby’s shoulder. And they were holding hands, their fingers entwined on Bobby’s lap. Quentin stared. Why hadn’t he seen this coming?

  Bobby looked up and made an embarrassed face that said, Oops, you caught us.

  The plane shot through an air pressure anomaly, and Quentin’s feet lifted from the floor. He gripped Bobby’s seatback until he dropped back down. He cleared his throat. “Did the Lamotelokhai tell you how long it’ll take to get there?”

  Bobby’s eyes got wide, and he repeated the oops expression. “I didn’t remember to ask.”

  “That’s alright,” Quentin said. “I’ll talk to it.” He then nodded to Ashley’s hand in Bobby’s. “When did this happen?” he asked quietly.

  Bobby gave him another embarrassed look, this one saying something more like, Do I really need to explain the details?

  Quentin smiled and decided to let it go. He turned to the other side of the aisle, to the two Addisons. His son had wanted to sit with the Lamotelokhai, as he apparently had an endless stream of questions to ask. This was okay with Quentin, as long as he didn’t ask it to do anything. As Quentin listened, though, he realized Addison was asking for details of what had happened eight months ago in the Papuan wilderness. Quentin hoped the Lamotelokhai had not yet told him the body he now occupied had murdered Miranda and a dozen Papuan villagers.

  “Excuse me, you two,” he said. “I have a request.” He looked at his real son. “Could you please wait to talk about what happened last year until your mother and I can explain things to you? When we do explain, you’ll understand why it was important to wait.”

  Addison gazed back at him with an expression that was hard to read, probably because it wasn’t entirely human. “Sure, Dad. I can wait.”

  Quentin exhaled, relieved. It was intimidating to be under Addison’s direct stare. He turned to the Lamotelokhai. “I’d like to know how long it will take us to get to Puerto Rico.”

  The thing answered immediately. “I do not know the distance to Puerto Rico at this moment.”

  “The pilot entered the destination in the plane’s GPS—”

  “Yes, I see that now. How would you like the time expressed?”

  “Uh, hours and minutes?”

  “The marked destination in Puerto Rico at this moment is eight thousand, six hundred and eight miles. If we continue at this velocity, we will arrive in four hours and fifty-four minutes.”

  That couldn’t be right. It had taken Bobby and Ashley twenty-three hours, with three stops. “How fast are we moving? Expressed in miles per hour.”

  “One thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two miles per hour.”

  Quentin stared. “Is that even possible?”

  “My research suggests that your question may be rhetorical. However, yes, it is possible. Considering the current conditions outside this aircraft, that velocity is referred to as Mach two-point-two. On the Internet, I have encountered text, photographs, and videos that suggest your kind has created twenty-one models of aircraft that move faster than we are moving. And there are even more that some of your kind attempt to keep secret, although I had little difficulty finding evidence of them. And, in an attempt to anticipate your next question, no, we will not need to stop before we arrive at our destination. This aircraft was constructed from the parts of another aircraft and a ground vehicle, which contained fuel that could be converted to suit the functions of this aircraft, allowing us to travel to our destination—and beyond if necessary.

  Again, Quentin stared. Why should he be surprised? This was nothing compared to copying his son’s consciousness and putting it into another body. But this discussion had spawned a whole new set of questions.

  “You seem to remember things that happened to you after leaving the hanging village eight months ago, as well as everything you learned from the Internet while you were in that motel room. But I thought you made backups of your knowledge before that, back when you were still in the hanging village. How is it that you can remember what happened to you after making the backups?”

  The thing’s eyes turned from blue to golden yellow for a few seconds. “Yes, I made backups in the hanging village. When some of those backups were deleted, I redistributed them.” It shot a glance at Addison when it said the word deleted as if letting Quentin know it was honoring his request to avoid mentioning the murders. “I was able to update the packets in Bobby and Ashley with new information when they came to the motel. And in addition, Bobby salvaged a portion of my parts in Puerto Rico using that portion as a foundation on which to reconstruct my knowledge. That portion contained critical information I had transferred to it before my other portions were destroyed.”

 
Quentin considered everything it had just said. “Your ability to speak has vastly improved. You could easily pass for a human, although you do sound a bit like Spock.”

  “But without the ears,” it said. Then it attempted a smile.

  Quentin shook his head and returned to his seat beside Lindsey. “We’ll be there in less than five hours. No stops. Oddly enough, we left Papua at 7:00 PM, and we’ll arrive in Puerto Rico at noon.”

  She ignored this and said, “It's going to work. We’re going to get there, and the Lamotelokhai will stop the outbreak.”

  He looked at the bag full of mbolop figurines on the floor by his feet. “It has to work.”

  They sat in silence, and Quentin listened to the air whistling past at 1,700 miles per hour. “There’s something else, too. Bobby and Ashley are holding hands. They’re an item now.”

  She looked at him. He definitely had her attention now. “Are you serious? We’re planning to adopt them!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh, ‘I’d like you to meet our daughter, Ashley. And this is our son, Bobby, who also happens to be her boyfriend.’”

  She had a point.

  Quentin stared down at his mbolop. He had clamped his feet against its sides to keep it from rising off the floor whenever the plane hit low pressure, and it seemed comforted by this.

  “Plato.”

  Lindsey looked at him with raised brows.

  “I’ve decided that’s his name. Because I feel like he has released me from the cave.”