Infusion: Diffusion Book 2

by Stan C. Smith

  Marjorie muttered to herself as she cleaned the bathroom. The bathrooms were always first—best to get them out of the way. The towels were a sight. This wasn’t the mess from three folks—more like a gang of six criminals on the run. She swapped out the towels and wiped the tub and floor, stopping now and then to look into the main room to make sure she was alone.

  Still muttering, she pulled the sheets from the beds. She glanced at the clock on the night table. And then she looked across the far bed and frowned. There was a new night table between the beds. The old one was in the far corner. If Luther had bought another one, he would have told her. Or more likely, he would’ve dropped it off up front, expecting her to put it in the room. She examined the table. It was just like the other one, only brand-spanking new. Not a scratch or water ring on it. But the table was off center. Luther had bothered to put the Internet plug and clock on the table, but didn’t have a care to situate it right. She dropped her armload of sheets on the bed and gripped the night table with both hands. It wouldn’t move. She tried harder. The table budged, but it was heavier than heaven. She opened the drawer. It was empty. She stared at the confounded thing.

  “Good enough right where you’re at,” she muttered.

  Marjorie moved the old table next to the other side of the bed. She stood back and appraised her work. Good enough. She finished changing the sheets and locked the door, more than happy to leave Room 4. Soon she was back at her desk, sipping a cream soda and watching the idiots on TV try to figure out what was going on in Newton, Missouri.

  In Room 4, the new night table stood in silence, holding up a glowing alarm clock and an Ethernet connection pod that was now strangely fused to the table itself. Suddenly the table shifted three inches to the left, so that it was precisely halfway between the two beds.

  And then it settled back in and continued its work.

  Fourteen

  Five Months Later

  The canoe cut a clean line through the green water of the Sittee River. Bobby kept his eyes focused on the thick canopy to his right, watching for a flash of orange or green. They had already spotted thirteen iguanas, and one more would be a new record. In fact, this morning’s paddle had been an all-around success. They had seen a family of coatimundi moving along the edge of the river, rooting around with their long snouts for bugs and lizards. And just as they had turned back, some two miles up the river, the melon-sized snout of a manatee had surfaced next to the canoe. It stared at them for a few seconds and then went under—the closest Bobby had been to one of the gentle brutes.

  In spite of Bobby’s efforts, they spotted no more iguanas on the last stretch of river. The weeks-old record would still stand, at least until tomorrow. From the canoe’s stern, Quentin guided them to the put-in. The boat scraped gravel as it ran aground, startling Bobby out of the daze the last hour of quiet had left him in. After they climbed out, Quentin pulled the canoe onto the grass, flipped it over, and lifted it to his shoulders. The black Kevlar was light, and there was no need for Bobby to help.

  “I’ll see you inside,” Quentin said. “Don’t be too long.” Looking like a boat with legs, he headed to the shed.

  The canoe was a gift from Peter, and so was the shed where they locked it up. In fact, everything was a gift from Peter, including the house. It usually took a long time to build a house in Belize, so instead Peter had bought the Sittee River Lodge, which used to be rented out for rainforest vacations. The locals who had worked for the Lodge were now paid to care for the place and to make sure nobody knew who really lived there. To Bobby the place was paradise, and now that it was winter the days weren’t too hot.

  Bobby counted anole lizards along the path to the house. If it were up to him, he’d stay outside all day. But Quentin and Lindsey were home-schooling him, and they made him do lessons every afternoon. Bobby didn’t mind so much. Most of the lessons were online, and Peter had bought him a screaming fast 30-inch all-in-one.

  After a couple months of trying to live at home, Bobby had decided to move in with the Darnells—they now made him call them Quentin and Lindsey. Living with his mom and his other self was just weird. Nobody seemed to know what to say. And going to the same school had been the worst part. Even though there were also two Carloses and two Ashleys, Bobby had felt tormented more than the others. He had then tried living with his dad. It was a different school there, but things were still awkward, especially when the other Bobby came for the weekends. And so it didn’t take much arguing for Bobby to convince his mom and dad to let him come live with Quentin and Lindsey.

  As Bobby made his way along the corral, a shadow appeared over the top of the fence.

  “Hey, science boy, there’s something for you at the house.”

  Bobby looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. Ashley gazed down at him from the saddle of her horse, Marley. “Another box from Peter?” he asked.

  “Nope. This one you’ll want to open right away. In fact, I want to be there when you do.” She cantered away, heading for the stable. “You’re riding with me this evening,” she called back. “No excuses!”

  Bobby pretended to be afraid of the horses, because he liked when Ashley teased him. But he wouldn’t miss riding with her for anything.

  Ashley had stayed in Newton longer than Bobby. But like Bobby she’d said that school was the hardest part. Her friends and teachers didn’t know how to act around her. They called her the Ashley twin. Miranda had seemed okay with being a friend to twin Ashleys, but after she heard about how the other Miranda had died, she started giving excuses for avoiding both of them. And so Ashley had eventually decided to come live with the Darnells. This made her kind of like a sister, and that was weird. But it didn’t matter. Bobby was going to kiss Ashley again, and not just once. He recalled every word of their conversation on the plane that night. She had said if he were older she would probably kiss him again. All he had to do now was keep the local Garifuna boys away from her. And then there was the expat family living a mile down the river, halfway to the coast. They had a son who might be a problem.

  Carlos was the only one still living back home, and it appeared he would stay there. He was so happy to get his brother Roberto back that he didn’t mind being an extra twin to the other Carlos. His parents were the kind of people who could handle it. They had always made everyone feel welcome at their house, including Bobby.

  Bobby was happy for Carlos, but he was also a little envious, particularly when he missed his old life. Bobby had lost his mom and dad and almost all his friends. He was trying to make a new home in a country he had never seen before. It was better now that Ashley was here, but sometimes it was still hard.

  Bobby entered the lodge, flipped off his muddy sandals, and went straight to the table in the screened-in living room where they always put the mail. Their home’s location was a secret, so Peter had set up a public mailing address for them in Brisbane. He had people there who sorted through their mail and only forwarded pieces that were really important. There were lots of gifts, including checks for different amounts of money. But those were always donated to charities. Peter gave them everything they needed, anyway. Peter had said a few weeks ago there had been a check for a million dollars. It was from the family of a man who’d had AIDS.

  Addison was staying hidden, but people knew where the breakthroughs were coming from. The whole world had seen the videos from Newton. So when a cure for AIDS had suddenly appeared on the Internet, the drug companies were ready to try it within a few weeks. Big surprise—it worked. And then a cure for diabetes had mysteriously appeared. It worked, too. Now people were saying there might be a new drug that simply makes people healthy, no matter what their ailments. Bobby didn’t know if others could see it coming, but it was obvious to him that this might cause another problem: too many people on one little planet. How would Addison solve that one?

  There had been other breakthroughs, too: new ways to slow down global warming, new kinds of food, new computer chips, and especia
lly new breakthroughs in nanotechnology. Recently, microscopic machines had been introduced that could clean up smog over a city.

  At the beginning of all this, Quentin and Lindsey had been afraid that cultural diffusion of the Lamotelokhai’s knowledge would totally change the human species. But Bobby’s plan to hide Addison had changed that. The alien knowledge and technology was now just trickling into human culture without turning the entire world upside down. Instead of diffusion, Bobby liked to think of it as careful, measured infusion of ideas.

  Three boxes and some letters were on the table. The first box looked like it might be a part they needed for the car. All of those had to be sent from the U.S. or China. The second box was from Peter. Probably some new gadget he wanted them to have. That could wait. Bobby picked up the third box. It was heavy. But the strange thing was that it hadn’t gone through the sorting office in Brisbane. Instead, it had come directly from Pawhuska, Oklahoma.

  “Hey, you guys, what is this?” he shouted.

  Lindsey entered from the study and examined the package. “Perhaps we shouldn’t open it. It may not be safe.”

  Quentin came in. He still had streaks of water on his shirt from hoisting the wet canoe. “Don’t open what?”

  “It’s from Oklahoma,” Lindsey said. “Sent directly here.”

  Quentin squinted at the box. “Must be a mistake.”

  But it wasn’t a mistake. The box was addressed to Bobby Truex. “It’s from Addison,” Bobby said. “It has to be.”

  Ashley came in, breathing hard. “You better not have opened it without me, Bobby.”

  Bobby hefted the box. “I think it’s from Addison.”

  There wasn’t much debate. Everyone wanted to know what was in it. Quentin cut into the box and pulled out a note and a large lump of brown stuff wrapped in plastic.

  Quentin handed Bobby the note. “It’s for you.”

  The note had only a few lines:

  Bobby, please use the web browser on your

  computer to go to the following address:

  http://lamotelokhai.weebly.com

  Bobby went straight to his room and sat at his desk. The others gathered behind him. He woke up his computer and typed the address.

  Ashley said, “The computer from an advanced alien civilization has a Weebly site?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Not a bad way to blend in.”

  The page loaded, but it appeared to be a blank white background with nothing on it.

  Suddenly some black text appeared. “Hello Bobby.”

  A text box and submit button appeared near the bottom of the screen. Bobby typed, “Who is this?” But he knew exactly who it was.

  Instead of answering, the Lamotelokhai responded with, “Am I correctly doing what you asked me to do, Bobby?”

  Bobby thought about this. “Yes. But you don’t have to solve all our problems at once. You could slow down if you want.”

  Amazingly, the next thing that appeared on the screen was an emoticon: :-)

  “He did not just text-smile at us,” Ashley said.

  The smile disappeared, followed by: “There are many problems that people do not yet know about. There is much to do. But I can slow down if you wish it.”

  Bobby looked at the others. Quentin just shook his head and shrugged. Lindsey said, “We’re not qualified to decide how fast the human race progresses.”

  Bobby typed, “You decide, Addison.”

  “I understand. It is interesting that you call me Addison. I do not have Addison’s form at this time.”

  “It’s a habit.”

  “Bobby, do you have the package I sent to you?”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “I am learning about things that influence the emotions of people. I believe the contents might be something that will make you happy. You should remove the packaging and place your hand upon it. It must be your hand, Bobby. Other hands will not work. After some time has passed, please contact me again and tell me if I am correct.”

  Lindsey said, “The Lamotelokhai is using you for an experiment?”

  “Goodbye Bobby. Use this address when you want to contact me again.” A few seconds later, the white screen was replaced by the home page of the city of Pawhuska, Oklahoma—Gateway to the Tallgrass Prairie.

  Bobby returned to the table and eyed the stuff wrapped in plastic. Better open it now before anyone could try to talk him out of it. He grabbed some scissors and cut open the plastic. It was exactly what it looked like through the wrapper: a lump of clay about the size of a bowling ball. He put his hand on it.

  As the seconds passed, the only sounds heard were the birds outside. The lump started to change. Bobby pulled his hand away. Creases formed as it took shape, and then fur grew on the surface. A few minutes later, the thing uncurled and sat up on two hind legs and one thick tail. Golden eyes peered at Bobby over a black and tan snout.

  Bobby blinked, scarcely believing his own eyes. The creature blinked back.

  “Mbaiso!”

  Fifteen

  Three Months Later

  With clawed fingers, Mbaiso lightly caressed the termite tunnel that ran from the ground up to a massive nest high above, providing the industrious insects a sheltered corridor on the tree’s surface. Mbaiso felt the vibrations of termites making their way up and down the tree. Much could be learned from such elegant and practical designs. The tree kangaroo turned his snout upward to gaze at the hanging tunnels there. The tunnels formed a network of corridors with rooms serving as nodes, each node connecting six tunnels. These newly constructed tunnels and rooms were half of a day’s travel to the south of those used by the ancient villagers, and they were smaller.

  Mbaiso withdrew his paw from the termite tunnel, leaving it undamaged. He then climbed to the nearest hanging tunnel and entered an opening in its floor. Other tree kangaroos bustled in both directions, carrying raw and processed materials like busy termites. Mbaiso made his way through the tunnel, which was just wide enough to allow two tree kangaroos to pass each other, until it opened into a six-armed hut. He ambled to the center of the hut, stepping around several amorphous masses of flesh that lay quivering on the floor. He leaned forward until he was nose to nose with Tupela. He inhaled her scent, received her cognitive signals, and visually assessed her condition. The data indicated she was within healthy parameters, but she was somewhat weakened. Accelerating production would not be wise. Mbaiso counted seven fleshy masses on the floor around her, new tree kangaroos in various stages of completion. Each of them had originated from a hefty chunk of flesh extracted from Tupela’s body, merged with a smaller portion from Mbaiso, then frequently supplemented with raw materials brought from the forest floor and the river.

  Events were progressing satisfactorily.

  Mbaiso exited the network of tunnels. Today he would travel north to visit the larger hanging village of the humans. But he would not stay long. The villagers there no longer needed help, and much of his time was required for providing leadership to his growing colony. In the absence of instructions from his Creator, Mbaiso had resolved to devise his own plans for preparation. Being idle did not suit Mbaiso, particularly with his understanding of what was soon to come.

  Mbaiso descended to the ground. As a habit developed over many years, he inspected the forest floor and understory brush, looking for any disturbance to the leaf litter or any debris that might reveal that the area was occupied. Satisfied, he moved to a beam of sunlight, sat back on his haunches, and closed his eyes.

  Suddenly a shadow fell over him, and Mbaiso instinctively hopped to the side to avoid danger. But the approaching figure was no threat. In fact, it would not have been possible to construct the hanging tunnels and chambers without its help. The figure stood waiting. Mbaiso had agreed to take the human with him to the larger hanging village today. It was not possible to know what the result might be, but it was time.

  Silently, the two began making their way to the north.

  Sixteen

 
Five Days Later

  Quentin enjoyed Peter’s visits. Not only had Peter made their new life in Belize possible, he had also become a close friend to them all. He insisted on cooking for them when he came and somehow always managed to have a box of fresh ingredients show up at the house the very morning of his arrival. This was no small task, considering the nearest moderately stocked grocery was in Dangriga, twenty miles away by potholed roads. Peter had declared that after his ordeal in New Guinea, he had given up adventure for cooking. It was a healthier pastime. Today he was preparing something called Coronation Chicken, with apricot jam and mango chutney, and he seemed to be doing a nice job of it in spite of their rather spartan kitchen.

  This visit had a particularly significant purpose: to discuss moving the Lamotelokhai. Until today, they had never told Peter the Lamotelokhai’s actual location, and to his credit he hadn’t asked. But he had convinced them it would have to be moved. Somehow it had avoided detection, in spite of efforts by the world’s best networking experts. But eventually it would be found. Besides, there was only so much it could do with limited bandwidth. What it needed was a secure facility with a fiber optics backbone, cutting edge firewall and server technologies, and diesel generators in case of power outages. And that’s exactly what Peter had built just outside of Oklahoma City. The facility would operate under the guise of a Kembalimo server farm for North America. Kembalimo’s popularity had swelled since the media event last summer, and a new facility was needed to accommodate the growth anyway. Hidden deep within the facility was a server room with unprecedented security measures and bandwidth infrastructure, the new home for the Lamotelokhai. All they had to do was transport it there.