Scavenger: A.I.: (Sand Divers, Book Two)

by Timothy C. Ward

Star stirred. Her neck cracked as she pushed off his chest to see what had just squeaked. “Now you find a bed?”

  “Blame Singer,” he said, chuckling. “Do you feel like sleeping some more?”

  She moaned and rubbed her temples. “I could.”

  Rush retrieved the water tube from his suit. “Here.”

  Star looked back at him.

  “Drink.”

  Her cracked lips parted to drink.

  “Your suit has the same, though I had to fill mine. I’ll get you water and food.”

  She gasped and sighed heavily, then sucked again, swallowing mouthfuls until the supply puttered out. “Thanks.” She put a sudden hand on her belly. Looked up. Eyes wide. “Rush! I can feel it. Him!”

  She slammed him with a hug he hadn’t thought she had strength for.

  He hugged her back, feeling a splinter form in his hardened heart to the idea that her plan was nonsense. “Singer says he’s growing at an accelerated rate but so far is forming properly.”

  Star pulled back and lifted Rush’s visor off his eyes. “How accelerated?”

  “Ten days already.”

  A tear broke from Star’s eye. Her smile grew. She shook her head. “I knew it.”

  She leaned in and kissed Rush on the lips, then winked. “I told you.” She stepped over and rolled onto the bed, collapsing onto the softness of the mattress. He could only imagine how an Old World bed, with all of their luxuries, must feel. He didn’t remember sleeping on anything thicker than a single sheet, and he was tempted to join her.

  “Wake me when he’s born, okay?”

  Rush smiled. “Sure. With a glass of ice water and a cool bath ready.” He dropped onto the bed behind Star, bouncing on the springs that squeaked under his weight. “Singer, I’m gonna sleep some more. Can you get that cable and lay out what’s needed where?”

  I CAN. Singer’s chest cavity and frontal shielding on his legs and arms closed, and the hollow skel walked toward the door. USE YOUR VISOR TO CALL IF ANYTHING COMES UP. I’M GOING TO SEARCH FOR SUPPLIES FOR STAR AND THE BABY.

  Once the door shut behind Singer, Star said, “Are you doing anything to keep that thing from turning on us as quickly as W did?”

  Rush thought about whether he should. Whether that was possible. He didn’t want to say, Nothing. “I don’t think it will.”

  Star shook her head. “You still don’t see the hypocrisy.”

  “He said he can’t live outside the skel.”

  Star yawned. “I hope you’re right. But I’m not stopping the plasma until all of our threats are sure and dead.”

  Rush rested his head on the soft bed and looked at the ceiling. The nerves in his stomach kept him from enjoying the respite. “I want Fish back, too, but if he’s grown through nanos and plasma, what is he going to become? How will we react if he’s different?”

  “He won’t be. Trust me. I feel him. Felt him. He’s there.”

  What if it’s all in your head? Rush remembered the room beside the Twin Suns where W had told him Rush saw what made sense to his brain, or something like that. Another reason he needed to talk to W first to find out what doctors The Gov might know, where they are, and what he should expect when Fish 2 was born.

  And he had to do all of that without Star knowing.

  Rush sat up, brewing anger that his life wasn’t easy enough to just lie down and enjoy being with his wife. At least he was in a place where he again cared to be with her. And she seemed to as well.

  She looked up at him with confusion about his urgency.

  He drew his thumb softly over her jaw. “I need to leave.”

  Her gaze tightened. “Why?”

  “I saw Nedzad.”

  She started to sit up. He stopped her with a gentle touch. “No. You sleep. He was running outside of the base. Down Denver Ave.” She pressed farther. He let go.

  “I’ve slept long enough. We have work to do.”

  “No.” He took her hand. “Ten days. That’s how old your—our—baby is after seven hours. You need to sleep. Rest. Singer will be back soon. I will be, too. We need Nedzad’s knowledge of this base to get it back up and running, and to see—”

  “If we’ll set up the containment sequence for him?” Star asked with a sly smile. “If he’s left, good riddance. We need his help like we need backward feet.”

  “I also need to ensure our doors are locked so trouble doesn’t come in while we’re preparing for a baby.”

  Star brushed him off. “Okay. You seem so apt to leave the best bed either of us have ever slept in. Fine. Locking our doors is a good enough excuse.” She pointed at his face. “But you leave your sentry buddy be.”

  Rush patted her leg. “Yes, honey.” He stood, his lower back aching at the stretch. “Contact me on my visor comms if anything strange happens.”

  Star groaned as she stretched her arms out to touch the wall behind her. “Okay, hon.” The bite in her tone warned him not to patronize her and go off against her wishes. Her gaze followed him out the door with the same threat.

  Rush zipped up his dive suit and powered on, stepping into the hall lit by his dive light. He hated lying to her, but he was going after Nedzad. And she knew it. A little voice asked if she’d let him back in if he came with Nedzad.

  As he jogged to Denver Ave his thoughts returned to W. How could he have been wiped out so easily? Something waited in the interiors of this base, and it wasn’t going to show itself until it held enough leverage to be a threat he’d likely not overcome.

  Building into a steady jog back toward the stairwell reminded him of when he and Avery would go for morning dives. They’d wake before their wives, and most of their students, and race to see who caught the first snake. One morning, the Saturday after Star told him she was pregnant, he had dived with the buoyant fantasy of his first morning dive with his son or daughter. What was he doing now? The joy he had then was nothing like what he felt now. Terror was more apt a description. No matter how confident Star was, what would end up coming out would not be their son.

  And Rush had no idea how he was going to respond.

  Even with the seven hours of sleep—6:18 am on his visor—his legs and back still tugged soreness through his strides. He slowed to round a corner, then built his speed back up for the straightaway toward the stairwell.

  At the door leading to Denver Ave, he found a ragged circle cut through its center.

  Singer?

  He lifted his heel to step through. The tunnel beyond was too thick to see anything but its length. No sign of Nedzad.

  YES, RUSH. WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?

  I need you to stay with Star.

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  To get Nedzad, then hopefully find a doctor for our baby. It may not be Fisher, but I will love it. He would want me to.

  Rush planted his second foot on the other side, leaving Fort Pope for the first time since he led his people to the massacre.

  I don’t have time to reroute cable. I’ll do that when I get back. Secure the entrances, but make sure I have a way back in.

  AFFIRMATIVE. I WILL INSTALL VOICE ACTIVATED LOCKS. JUST SAY OPEN AND IT WILL.

  Thinking of the massacre in the lobby, and the bodies he found floating in the water tanker room, Rush added, Don’t maintenance the base at any time when you can’t be there for Star. We don’t know where W is hiding, or how close he will get before he surfaces.

  Rush passed a hole in the ground leading out of Fort Pope. The angle of the divot could have been from a diver, and was close enough to the door to have been near where Rush had seen Nedzad running from.

  He picked up his speed until about fifty yards in where the tunnel forked. He stopped at the beginning of the diverted paths and accessed his visor’s dash, looking for a way to mark his location. He found an option to flag, and the numbers, (39.628978, -105.198480) faded into his visor’s memory.

  Those are similar to what Avery used for Fort Pope. He entered those numbers from memory, 39.7277853, -10
4.9912632, and a location far to the northeast appeared on a bird’s eye map—nearly fifteen miles northeast on a straight line from his location.

  That’s not possible.

  Sailing and diving for as long as he had built a strong sense of direction, so unless something was very wrong with his memory, there was no way he had traveled fifteen miles south west from Fort Pope. No, more likely, the coordinates Avery had on that strip of paper weren’t for Fort Pope. As he thought, the visor projected an image of buildings in a tall rectangle boxed in by north south roads and a city surrounding. The image wasn’t live—he’d sailed in that area before and it was nothing but sand, tents, and danger. So it must be a stored picture from the Old World. On the center of the buildings by a red dot read Denver Health in neon green.

  Rush doubted his visor would have a map of the tunnel fork before him. An arrow appeared in the top right of his vision, dangling like a compass on his every movement. I guess that’s better than nothing.

  He picked the left avenue and began jogging.

  38 - Cool (3:37 am, Saturday)

  Cool waved his mom and Jeff on and held back until they had banked left at the end of the tunnel, out of sight. He caught up and slowed to a silent pace as they passed through a lobby or main level of the hospital. Stretchers were parked along the wall with sheets long ago dirtied under dust. Cool ducked behind a couch, wondering what it would feel like to crawl over and take a nap on it. Except that’s not what spies do. That’s what children do. I’m not a child anymore.

  Dixon and the group were far enough down the wide hall for Cool to move up. The other side of the waiting area was cordoned by U-shaped sets of chairs and couches facing long desks walled off on both sides. A splash of long ago scattered papers fanned out before one of the desks. Beyond them was space cloaked in black. Dixon’s dive light left him in the dark as well.

  Cool took one step out from the waiting area past a closet open on both sides. A shadow rushed him from his right. He only had time to shift toward it, unable to lift hands in defense before the force pelted him in the sternum. His body pitched backward and slammed under the person’s substantial weight. A beard scratched his face on the landing.

  A soft hand cupped his mouth. His weight was too much to move. “Who sent you?”

  This was too soon to have failed Dixon. What could he do?

  The other hand brought a sharp edge to a point in Cool’s neck. “Who sent you?”

  “No one. Rush, I guess.”

  “Rush? Who’s that?” The guy coughed, hitting Cool in the face with a few drops.

  “The only person I know who can stop The Gov.”

  The cupped hand eased off along with the body weight. Dixon’s dive light behind him was now so far that they were left in pitch black. “I hope you’re right.” A thin piece of plastic snapped and green light flashed before his eyes. The man above him had dark hair mixed with gray hanging in curls over his brows and billowing up over his face. His deep brown eyes widened in fear and he jumped back. “Wha—what’s on your teeth?”

  Cool forced himself up against the pain in his chest. “My teeth?”

  “No, get back.” The man spit, wiped his arm over his mouth, then held the glowing green stick over the wool in his sleeve. He switched to glow it over his palm. “What is this?”

  He shoved the palm and his glow stick toward Cool. “See that?” He likely meant the inch-wide patch of glowing white near the base of his little finger. “It’s moving.”

  Cool stammered. Moving? He felt his arm swiping back and forth, his mouth moving, throat dry..

  “Where have you been?”

  Dark thoughts took him back to what he’d just escaped. Cool swallowed through his sore throat. He didn’t want to say.

  “Tell me, boy.”

  “Fort Pope.”

  The plastic stick’s glow left a green tracer as the man swiped it down. “Pandora’s Box.” The glow stick showed the man’s breaths expanding from his chest and barrel rounded gut. “And you opened it.”

  Cool knew just as well as the man before him he’d opened something he shouldn’t have. “We didn’t mean to.”

  “And that matters?” He swept the glow stick and turned. “Come with me. Hands off! Follow the light.” Footsteps matched the pace of the floating green stick traveling into the dark. “I can’t believe this,” he mumbled over and over.

  The man led him through a single door, down a hall and into a room where he flicked a switch on the wall and bright white light blinded Cool.

  He covered his face in his elbow.

  Something heavy clumped on a hard surface. Latches clicked open. Hinges whined.

  “Sorry about tackling you. The Gov’s men have been tracking me for weeks. I’m a bit sleep deprived and overreacted.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Cool squinted past his arm at a small, thin computer set inside a foam cushioned briefcase. “Why are they tracking you?”

  “I’m Hannu Niemi, The Gov’s doctor.” The man twisted a finger in his beard as he watched a tail of multicolored lights swirl on the black screen and disappear. “What’s your name?”

  “Cool. What are you doing?”

  On the computer’s screen, small icons scattered over an image of a concrete building with an old flag flapping in the wind.

  “Where’d you get that?” Cool asked.

  The brown eyed man shifted tired shoulders in Cool’s direction. “A friend.” He returned his focus to clicking on the screen.

  Cool got the feeling they were going to be in for more work, and he groaned inwardly at the lack of a second, unoccupied chair. He sank and rested his back against the wall. “I haven’t slept in a long time, and it was about ten humps to get here. Do you have water?” Swallowing felt like eating a cactus whole.

  The man released a half grin, plopped both hands on his thighs, and pressed himself to stand. “Yeah. Water.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “In a sec.”

  “My friends are on their way to blow the shaft. Is that going to be bad for you?”

  The man leaned on the table, pausing as he gripped the handle of a drawer under the table. “One problem at a time.”

  He pulled open the drawer and lifted flimsy, chalk-colored gloves. From Cool’s angle, he caught a slight smile lift the man’s countenance as the doctor slipped on his gloves.

  “Why are you smiling?” Cool asked.

  Doctor Hannu turned around with a Q-tip in hand, a light hearted smile as his gaze searched upward in thought. “Attitude correction. I thought coming here was my idea.” He knelt in front of Cool and lifted the Q-tip toward Cool’s mouth. “Open up and say, ‘ah.’”

  “Why?”

  “I need a sample. I’ve seen what’s in your mouth before.”

  “In my mouth?”

  “It’s okay. Trust me, I’m a doctor. I’ve trained a long time for this.”

  Cool opened up and Doctor Hannu swabbed the Q-tip over his teeth and under his tongue, then took the Q-tip over to the counter on the far wall. Four short, circular dishes sat on the right side, with a drill looking device on the left. Instead of a drill, though, the object’s shaft had circular ends and a glass tray under where it was pointed. Doctor Hannu gently placed the stick inside the first of the cases. Then he picked up a new Q-tip and swabbed it over his palm and under his glove. He set the Q-tip in a second dish and leaned over the object pointing at the first. He squinted and pressed an eye onto the top of the shaft.

  “What is it that you’ve seen before?” Cool asked. A deep suspicion linked Jeff’s sickness with Doctor Hannu’s investigation. “Have you been in Fort Pope?”

  Doctor Hannu switched the second dish into place under the shaft and adjusted what might have been a lens as he looked into the hole. He took a deep breath. Sighed. Stood back and turned without his smile. While not a happy look, it hinted at hope in its serious composure. “Do you feel like you’re particularly good at anything, Cool?”

  Did he…what? “I suppose I cou
ld sleep pretty well right about now. And drink water, if you would please.”

  Doctor Hannu’s smile returned as he watched Cool, thinking something Cool would love to know about. Then he snapped out of his thoughts, peeled one of his gloves off, and bent over a leather bag. He took out a plastic bottle half full of water and walked it over to Cool.

  Cool gulped partial relief between reminders that his sore throat was more than something water could fix. He stopped with the bottle’s contents nearing a few sips’ worth.

  Doctor Hannu knelt down with another stick poised before Cool’s mouth. “One more sample, please.”

  After he’d taken what he needed, and was headed back to the third dish, Cool remembered his earlier question. “What do you care what I feel like I’m good at for? I doubt it’s anything that will matter with whatever’s inside me.” Flashbacks filled his mind with a floor eating a table, and then the fierce dog sprinting after Rush as they cowered by the locked door. His heartbeat felt the memory of that terror and that it could return at any moment.

  Doctor Hannu looked into the lens pointed at his recent sample. “Maybe, maybe not. But to humor me, what’s the first thing that comes to mind about your gifts or abilities?”

  Jeff and how he’d tease Cool for his drawings. “I don’t know if it’s a gift or ability, but I sometimes like to spread sand into designs, kind of like my own world, and then imagine sand divers fighting brigands or hunting snakes.”

  Doctor Hannu turned around from his work and shared a look of patient respect Cool had never seen from Jeff, well not until his older brother was too weak to drink his own bottle and had allowed Cool to help.

  Cool glanced at his bottle and thought of his mouth. His heart sank with a weight of need to share his suspicions. “My brother, Jeff’s bottle. I shared his water. If you got that from touching my mouth, what if I got this from sharing his water?”

  Jeff…

  Cool’s worry reflected over Doctor Hannu’s features. “Could be, and I’m sorry if it is. We’ll find him soon. First, though, I have enough to work with.”

  “What are you trying to do?”

  “Take advantage of the gift I’ve been given.”