“These guys know everyone,” thought Mark.
“I do have a couple of questions before we leave,” said Blackie. “Mark noticed a spot on the slope just east of here about 50 meters; it that another cave?”
“No, there is no cave that close,” answered the Lactropodectopoi.
“You owe me two dollars, Mark.”
“You have another inquiry?” asked the Lactropodectopoi.
“More of a request really,” responded Blackie. “If a family member or friend of Joules or Nita happens to visit one of your caves, could you let them know we’re okay and we are trying to get back to Gafcon-49?”
“We can,” they replied. “We should be getting back to tending our cave, but first we have a private matter to convey to Nita. If you would remain after the others have left the cave,” they said to Nita, “we can have a brief discussion.”
“They don’t have to leave,” replied Nita. “These are the closest friends I’ve ever had. I’m sure whatever you have to say can be said in front of them.”
“As you wish,” they replied and began. “Not long ago a man entered one of our caves on Numaria to hide. He claimed to be working alone and said he was going to attempt to break into a hidden subterranean warehouse buried in the mountains not far from the cave. He left immediately after our discussion, but after two days returned, then left again.”
“The information he shared on his second visit seemed to verify an old rumor of the buried warehouse that houses a massive cryogenic storage unit operated by the Zin Charr. The man said he assumed a fake identification and broke into the warehouse where he used a passcode he had been provided to access the central database and obtain the names and personal information of certain beings held there.”
“I don’t see how that involves me,” replied Nita.
“The man who visited our cave on Numaria is a Centorian,” they said. “His real name is Donnally. He was assigned the task of obtaining all the names and pertinent information of any Centorians being stored in the cryo-stasis unit there.”
“I still don’t see how this involves me,” replied Nita politely.
“Your father’s name is Warrian, is it not?”
“Yes but…”
“And your brother’s name is Denton, is it not?”
“Yes, but they’re dead. What are you getting at?” The usual pleasantness of her voice faded and seemed strained.
“The Lactropodectopoi on Numaria have shared information with us indicating your father and brother are being stored in the Zin Charr’s cryo-stasis unit there.”
“Are you telling me my father and brother are on Numaria and they are alive?” exclaimed Nita.
“No, they are not alive,” replied the Lactropodectopoi, “neither are they dead.”
Nita was so stunned she couldn’t speak momentarily. “What does that mean they’re not alive or dead?” asked Mark.
“If they aren’t alive or dead, what are they?” asked Blackie.
“They are on the edge of nothing and everything,” replied the Lactropodectopoi.
“Explain,” demanded Nita, who had recovered from her brief lapse. “What do you mean they are on the edge of nothing and everything? Explain that!”
Trying to quell the cacophony that erupted from the group, Joules intervened to explain that Nita had been told her father and brother were deceased, and that it was a shock to her, and to them, to learn that was not the case. “But we don’t understand what you said; how can someone be neither dead nor alive?”
“We can only offer you a few details. It is a very closely guarded secret that has only recently been shared with us,” responded the Lactropodectopoi who then gave a description of the disambiguation process. After many questions from the group they had recounted virtually the entire story of the historical attacks on Implacto and the Zin Charr’s decision to abandon the death penalty in favor of disambiguation.
“I can see why the Zin Charr have tried to keep it secret,” said Blackie. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come by this information?”
“Even among the Zin Charr there are some who detest the use of disambiguation. Some workers have deserted their positions at the warehouse and tried to smuggle out information while others have infiltrated the facility attempting to access the main databases, but with no success.”
“When their attempts were discovered they fled, often being caught and returned to the facility to endure the same fate as others stored there. But there have been times when someone would flee and find one of our caves to hide. It was from those technicians that escaped that we obtained our most detailed information of the process. They are more than willing to share their information; it gives them hope that one-day disambiguation will be halted.”
“Donnally was the first to secure a list of names from the Zin Charr warehouse’s central database, but it was limited to Centorians and their charges.”
Nita was the first to break the silence that followed. “We should go, we’ve taken too much of your time today and you need to tend your cave. Thank you for…” She faltered, trying to find the right words.
“Thanks for telling us about her father and brother,” interjected Mark. “We left our bikes near a stand of trees below the cave and near the creek. Could you send us there?”
“Wait, just a few more things before we go,” said Blackie suddenly. “If you have an opportunity to speak with Sly, tell him we know about Nita’s father and brother, Warrian and Denton. Tell him we were here today, but our plan is to leave soon with the help of a Desredeedese Shade named Anonoi.”
“Tell him we are trying to get back to Gafcon-49 but we may be headed to Numaria first; if he comes looking we will have rooms at the largest hotel downtown. Finally, did Donnally mention the fake identification he used, or how he broke into that warehouse on Numaria, or the access code to the data system?”
CHAPTER NINE
DECISIONS, DECISIONS
Guzzle Higgins was a pretty good kid. Weird of course, but within societal tolerances. If it wasn’t for the uniqueness of his molecular labeling he would probably qualify as almost normal. But Guzzle was not normal, not normal at all, in fact far, far from it. He could do things. Things other people couldn’t do. It made him feel sort of special. But he dared not tell anyone. Not his mum, and not pops, and not Joe, his friend, and certainly not Sally, 'cause Joe said she’s a stinker.
He remembers exactly when it happened; when he found out he was exceptionally different. He was playing with toys in his bedroom because it was raining. His mum didn’t like dirt, so that meant no playing outside in the drizzle and tracking mud into the house. His favorite toy was a battle grade stellar cruiser with exterior cannons that swiveled toward its targets. It was awesome.
During one ferocious battle the cruiser took a hit from a Blackstar Fighter that rammed it and careened away after the impact, but only after knocking one of the cruiser’s cannons off its mount. Guzzle watched as it fell to the floor, pretending it was drifting away in space. It hit the floor (he made an explosion sound) and bounced, and then it skidded on the vinyl tile and went directly into the heater grate.
“Crud,” he thought, “we need an away team stat.” Guzzle bent over the grate trying to spot the cannon. Then he kneeled down and tried to remove the grate. “That’s not coming off,” he thought. He put his chubby finger between the closely spaced fins in the grate to see if he could feel the cannon. He couldn’t feel anything. “I need to get my hand down in that duct,” he thought, and his entire hand slid between the fins and down into the duct. He withdrew it so fast a bur on the bottom of one of the metal fins caught his skin and cut it just above his wrist.
“Mum, I’m bleeding.”
“Oh dear, let’s have a look,” she said.
Three minutes later he was back in his room with a cleaned cut and a bandage on his forearm; Guzzle went through a lot of bandages. He stood for a long time looking at that floor vent. How was it possible that it ha
d expanded and allowed his entire hand and part of his arm to pass between those skinny little fins? He had no answer. All he knew was that his stellar cruiser was down to one cannon and the captain would not be happy if the away team came back without one.
He leaned over and tried to pull the grate from the floor. “Not happening,” he thought. He got down on his knees, like before, and put his stubby finger between the fins in the grate. Nothing happened.
“Oh come on, you let it in a minute ago.” Nothing happened.
He pushed his finger hard against the gap between two of the small fins. “I need to get my hand down there,” he thought, and his entire hand slid between the fins of the grate and down into the duct.
“Got you,” and he withdrew his hand and arm slowly from between the fins. “Now, let’s pay back that miserable Blackstar Fighter.”
There wasn’t another incident like that for many years, but it was only a matter of time before the right situation presented itself. One day when he was still in secondary school at Pinkerton’s, Guzzle shut the lock on his gym cage only to realize he had left his key on the top shelf inside the cage. “Complete moron,” he whispered to himself.
“Who Larry? Everyone knows that,” said his friend Joe, who was dressing out beside him. “Hurry up or the whole section will have to do squat-waddles,” he said as he left the dressing room.
Guzzle tried to push his finger through the wire mesh on the front of the cage, hoping to reach the key; it was just out of reach. He pressed his right middle finger through the grid – it was a little longer, but not long enough. “I need to get my finger farther in there,” he thought, and his hand slipped through the wire mesh and into the cage. Guzzle stood there looking at his hand inside the cage, his arm on the outside and his wrist poking through one of the tiny oval openings formed by the wire mesh.
“Guzzle get out here, your section is doing squat-waddles,” yelled the coach.
Guzzle shifted so he could block the coach’s view of the cage from the dressing room door. “Coming, be right there,” he yelled as he grabbed the key off the shelf, turned his wrist 180 degrees. He poked it through one of the oval openings to hand it to his own left hand, and pulled his right arm and hand back through the wire mesh.
“I can barely move,” said Joe. “If we do squat waddles one more time my hips are going to explode.”
“Sorry,” offered Guzzle as he sat down on the bench next to Joe after they had showered and dressed. “I’ve got to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone and you’ve got to promise.”
“If you’re gonna tell me you like Linda Slade I’ve already heard the rumor.”
“Linda Slade. No that’s not what I want to talk to you about. Wait, what rumor? I don’t like Linda.”
“That’s what I said, but the girls in second period were beside themselves. What do you want to talk about?”
“I may be having hallucinations,” said Guzzle. “Come with me, I have to go to the car for a book.”
They threw open the gym door and headed to the parking lot. “Anyway, I thought I locked my key in the cage, that’s why I was late, and I tried to get it with my finger but it wouldn’t reach. So, I slipped my hand through the wire mesh – through the wire mesh Joe – and into the cage and got my key. What do you think?”
“I think you need help dude, all those extra credit courses have finally fried your brain.”
“It was so real though, and I’m sure, one hundred percent certain, I locked my key in the cage.”
“Has this ever happened before?” asked Joe.
“Yeah, when I was a kid I stuck my hand between the little fins in the floor grate so I could get my stellar cruiser’s cannon.”
“Oh, that stellar cruiser was awesome,” said Joe, “still got it?”
“In a box in my closet. But what do you think? I don’t think I’m hallucinating, but maybe I am.”
“Look over there,” said Joe, abruptly changing the subject. “Linda locked her keys and communicator in her transport again. That may mean no gymnastics – that’s twice this week.”
Linda was trying to pry a window open but not having any luck, and she was calling the car all sorts of names which didn’t seem to help open the door at all. When kicking the door didn’t work either, she and her friend went back to the building.
Guzzle opened his car and retrieved the textbook he needed. “You think it might be real?” said Joe, as they angled toward the building.
“No, but yes,” said Guzzle clearly frustrated. “I’m not sure what I should think, and no one can know about this Joe – telling you is one thing but I don’t want anyone else to know.”
“Okay, okay I get it. Show me then,” said Joe.
“Show you?”
“Yeah,” he replied as he stopped next to a car in the parking lot. “Slip your hand through that door seam and unlock it.
“What?”
“Hurry up,” we don’t have much time before the next class and I need to eat – maybe something for hip dysplasia might be good. Go ahead.”
Guzzle stepped close to the car and put his hand against the door seam and pushed. Nothing happened.
“This is not looking good dude,” said Joe, who thought Guzzle might be playing a joke on him.
“I’m telling you Joe, I put my hand into that cage,” said Guzzle.
“I need my hand to go through this seam and into the car,” he thought, “or Joe is going to think I’m crazy.”
“Joe, check out the window.” Joe looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then leaned around Guzzle. There was Guzzle’s hand and arm on the inside of the car, waving at him through the driver side window.
Joe jumped back like he’d seen a ghost. “No way, I thought you were pulling some stupid joke on me.”
“Told you,” Guzzle said as he unlocked the car door and retrieved Linda’s communicator and keys. “Here, give these to Linda.”
“Why don’t you give them to her?” asked Joe.
“Because you’re the one that likes her, that’s why.”
“Where did you find that out?”
“From the girls in your second period class, they’re an open book,” said Guzzle.
“Are we doing a physics or chemistry experiment after school today?” asked Joe, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah,” replied Guzzle. “Joe, you can’t tell anyone.”
“Not a soul,” said Joe, holding up his right hand like he was in a court of law being sworn in.
A year later Guzzle graduated from secondary school near the top of his class and decided to attend the local university. His mum and dad had saved enough money to pay for half of his education and if he worked part-time and got a small scholarship he might be able to graduate without any debt. Joe decided to go to the same school. He didn’t have any money, but he knew an advanced degree in biochemical engineering would pay off handsomely in the long run.
They were both accepted to the university and both received scholarships to cover part of their expenses. Guzzle continued his diligent study habits, but Joe never had any, so Guzzle was delighted to see him hitting the books and actually studying.
“Do you realize how well you could have done at Pinkerton if you had applied yourself?” Guzzle asked Joe one day while they were sitting in the university quad between classes.
“I try not to think about it,” said Joe with a grin. “The past is the past and I’m headed onward and upward. I’m just glad I got in here and that I’m still here. Have you made any headway figuring out your little problem, skinny man?” That was Joe’s code. He didn’t know what else to call Guzzle’s condition and Guzzle wasn’t at all excited about helping him come up with a cool name.
“I had a long talk with Mum and Pops about where they lived, what jobs they had and what illnesses and diseases they had previously. They kept asking me if everything was okay. I think they thought I had some horrible disease and I wanted to make peace with it before I cash
ed in. Anyway, I assured them it was nothing like that.”
“Didn’t you learn anything useful?” asked Joe, “anything that might help you figure out what caused it?”
“I at least have some clues. Before I was born mom and Pops both worked for a chidrin mine on Menor-7. Chidrin was used to make expensive high-end ceramics and the market was booming so they thought it would be a great place to start a career. Pops was an overseer and Mum worked in the office. Pops said the mine shaft was deep underground in a geologically complex and unstable area.
He said mine workers responsible for overseeing the robots were required to wear protective suits and breathing machines because of the high levels of beta radiation in the shaft. Some of the overseers started getting sick and then not long afterward, office personnel started getting sick too. Before the company finally quit sending overseers into the mine, Pops and some of the other overseers got their hands on some personal air pumps and extractable sample tubes and secretly collected air samples in the mineshaft during their shifts.
They collected a gob of samples. Someone told the company what was going on and all the overseers suspected of taking samples were fired. Pops said up until then they hadn’t done anything with the samples except store them in the freezer. But when they were let go they decided to have them analyzed before they could be confiscated.
Mum said the results were shocking. They couldn’t remember the names of the chemicals but they did remember they had very bad side effects. With a little coaxing and prompting they were able to remember that the samples contained chemicals known to cause birth defects and genetic aberrations.”
“Man, that’s serious business,” commented Joe.
“You haven’t heard the worst,” said Guzzle. “The protective suites and breathing machines they were issued weren’t designed to protect them against those chemicals.”
“Tell me your dad and mum and the others are going to file a complaint or lawsuit or something,” said Joe.
“Wait until you hear the rest,” said Guzzle.
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