“We get it: air,” Brant finished. He paused suddenly and looked at her askew. “It amazes me that Jacob was able to teach you so much in such a short time.”
Jessie grinned under a blushing face. “We . . .,” she stammered. “We spent a lot more time together than anyone realizes.”
Teresa clicked her tongue and snorted humorously. “Figures. That teenage Einstein shuttled you in his flying hotrod right off your balcony, didn’t he,” she smirked. “I’ll bet you haven’t slept a full night in weeks.”
Jessie’s flush deepened. “You’re right. We spent every night together talking and exploring Jacob’s nocturnal world of salt caverns and magical technology. But the last few days or so? . . . well, I got the feeling he was afraid. Afraid that I had become too involved, too knowledgeable, and that I was somehow putting myself in danger.” She shrugged and turned away. “I’m not an idiot. I understood from the beginning that a relationship could never work. Jacob wants to save the world.” She made a slight groan. “But before he does, I just want to say goodbye; to look into those beautiful eyes and know that he’ll be okay. I need to see that beaming light of hope . . . in his HOPE,” she paused, “the world’s hope, I suppose.” Jessie’s voice trailed off in a choke of melancholy. It was a rather awkward moment.
“So. How does the stun option work? Is it electric energy?” Brant asked, dutifully redirecting the conversation. His ploy worked.
Jessie immediately refocused on the EMR strapped to his arm. “No,” she replied with a slight shake of her head. “I mean . . . well I’m not really sure, but Jacob explained it to me this way. It is still a type of atomic transformation, actually. The tiniest layer of air surrounding the target—or in your case, the bad guys—is instantly converted to hydrogen. Hydrogen is the lightest element, much lighter than the elements which make up air. Because of this, it expands in a powerful pressure wave. The wave is then compressed back against the target by a parallel pulse milliseconds behind the first. It all happens in an instant. It can knock you ten feet into the air; break ribs, noses, and blacken eyes. But it won’t kill you.”
“Ah,” said Brant, nodding his head. “That’s comforting, if you don’t mind getting kicked in the gut by a mule.”
“Yes. A dangerous mule,” cautioned Teresa. “So when we’re in there, watch where you point that thing. I’m still tender around one eye where I face-planted it in the sand because some ding-dong had me push his jeep.”
Brant forced a penitent grin. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”
She pointed at her eye. “Still tender,” she animated.
“I know there’s a way to program your DNA into the device so that you’re not seen as a target,” Jessie added, digging back into her memory. “But I don’t remember how.”
“It’s okay. We’ll be careful. We’ve got to get going,” Brant urged, glancing at his watch. He turned his attention to Three-Of-Ten. “Are we ready, then?”
Three-Of-Ten blinked unresponsive. Then as if suddenly realizing that he was object of Brant’s question, he nodded back hurriedly. It was a strange question, this are we ready, then? The android had been ready since the moment he picked up Gracie’s signal and landed the Sandray on a secluded patio off the back terrace. In fact, had he not been programmed to override his own objectives, deferring to those of his human superiors, Three-Of-Ten would have already penetrated the building and been well on his way to liberating Gracie. But these humans—the ponderously slow and vulnerable—were his masters. His programming mandated, beyond any question, their safety and protection as a top priority. And although he did not understand their need to tempt disaster by accompanying him, Three-Of-Ten would obey them completely, even against his own logic, and at the risk of his own destruction. This was, after all, the directive given him by his human charge, Jacob. And it could not be changed. But all this human submissiveness aside, the instant Gracie Reitman was safely on board the Sandray, Three-Of-Ten would shift all of his resources to his single greatest need: rescuing his Jacob.
--
The plan was about as basic as a high-school football maneuver. Three-Of-Ten, having brilliantly pinpointed Gracie’s exact location, was to go in first like a hammer against glass, stunning any armed resistance. Teresa and Brant were to wait outside the building for one minute, then move in behind him. Gracie would need more than just the android to be extricated safely. If additional resistance showed up—and the odds were good that they would—Three-Of-Ten would be greatly handicapped while trying to get his precious cargo back out of the building. His arms would be useless to defend, and his lightning agility, debilitated. That’s where Brant and Teresa were to come in. They would be the ones to grab Gracie. Three-Of-Ten would neutralize the enemy while making a bulldoze line directly to the woman. Then, he would defend his human counterparts as they extracted their target and got back to the Sandray. That’s how the plan was supposed to go. But when does anything really go to plan? And this rescue was not going to be an exception.
Three-Of-Ten leaped into action like a falcon. His scanners had already picked up four armed guards patrolling the outside yard. He calculated multiple attack scenarios in milliseconds and moved to execute the most probable ones first. He bounded and spun so quickly from the Sandray that Brant and Teresa lost sight of him almost immediately amid the darkened shadows of yard’s meticulous and manicured grounds. They waited, eyes glued to the ticking seconds on their watches. Then, as if the silence had her own ticking sands, a shattering crash exploded upon the night air.
“Go, go, go!” shouted Brant, looking up from his watch. “He’s in!”
The two of them took off on a dead run. They hurried toward the preplanned point of entrance. Straightaway, they become patently aware that their android comrade was doing his job. Guard after guard lay sprawled out on the ground, stunned so quickly that each one had seemingly dropped without making a sound. Through the pounding rush of adrenaline pulsing in their ears, and the air rushing in and out of their lungs, Brant and Teresa now heard the unmistakable sound of gun fire. Three-Of-Ten was under attack!
Within the complex, Gracie felt the vibration as it yanked her from her silent rumination. She craned her head to one side, and thought the cacophony odd, especially since the bowels of the yawning condominium had been eerily surreal from the moment she had arrived. But when the gun fire broke out and the alarms sounded, she knew in an instant that something momentous had begun, and she felt a mixture of both fear and hope. She instantly wheeled herself from the windows and back into a far corner of the room to avoid possible bullet fragments. As she sat, head down in her lap, she took notice of the pitch and sound of the gun fire. And soon, between the tap of semi-automatic weapons and short blasts of sidearms, she could hear voices of men shouting; of walls smashing and glass shattering. The tumultuous sound grew ever louder . . . and ever nearer.
The entry point was unmistakable. Three-Of-Ten had spared no time to be stealth and quiet. He had blasted the steel reinforced doors into obliteration, leaving a smoldering, fragmented hole. Brant and Teresa plunged through into the shattered foyer. The trail of debris was clear and easy to follow, as was the occasional heap of unconscious guard. They hurried along, following the smashed bulldoze-line which Three-Of-Ten had created. Then, as they rounded a corner, a voice suddenly shouted from behind them.
“Freeze!”
They whirled to see a stout, rough-faced woman standing with a pistol pointed directly at them. She had obviously been trained in defense, as her posture and aim were fearless and sure. Her face reflected more hatred and anger than fear, and her unattractive appearance was accentuated by the emotion of the moment. Brant and Teresa did as she said, more from impulse than anything else—this was the first time either of them had had a weapon pointed at their heads!
Brant was the first to finally react. It took him—in the shock of the moment—a few seconds to recall that he was wearing the repel-belt, and then another five or six seconds to
build up the courage to put the device to the test. “I’m warning you—,” he finally managed, but was cut off abruptly by a bang! He jumped instinctively, and Teresa screamed. “Hey!” he shouted back. “You shot me!”
The woman fired again, and again. With each discharge, the bullet was heard dropping harmlessly to the floor with a clang. Fortunately, the repel-belts were working perfectly.
Seeing that they were unharmed, Teresa suddenly filled with courage, and then with rage! How dare this fat cow shoot at them! She completely forgot about the EMR device strapped to her arm. She suddenly bolted toward the woman like a mad dog. Martz got off a few more rounds before getting a foot imbedded hard in her face. The woman’s fat jowls rebounded with such a look of surprise that it was almost comical . . . almost. Teresa sprang again, this time knocking the gun from Martz’s hand. Then, in an unrestrained barrage of punches, blows and kicks, she let loose her kick-boxing skills. Teresa was like an artesian at the peak of their talent. She moved with the finesse of a cat, the skill of a ballerina, and the strike of a snake. Finally, in a last great kick, Martz flew through a wall, and fell unconscious in a corporeal heap on the floor.
“Hmm!” said Teresa in a puff.
Brant stood aloof; his mouth open.
Teresa straightened herself, pulled her disheveled hair out of her eyes, and adjusted her shirt. She hurried back to him. “‘I’m warning you?’” she repeated, frustratingly. “Have you watched TV since the seventies? Do you know how to sound even the least bit intimidating?” she huffed. “I would have shot you too!”
“You . . . you were awesome!” he stammered.
“Come on!” She grabbed his arm.
“Yeah . . . well I was just about to zap her with the EMR thingy. You just didn’t give me enough time . . .”
They hurried off down the hallway.
--
The calamitous noise had stopped, and for a time Gracie wondered if whatever commotion had begun, was over. Then, just as she began to raise her head back to full posture, the door leading into her room suddenly exploded outward in a great burst of flying fragments and dust. She gasped and braced herself for whatever thing had moved so powerfully through the guarded house. Was it there to kill her? Save her? Or fulfill another purpose altogether? But before she could dwell further, Three-Of-Ten darted in like a silver flashing arrow, streaking across the room. He stood, then turned to face the woman.
Gracie’s stunned expression could not have gone from one extreme to the other any more prominently than it did in that moment. She clasped her hands together and cried out, “Three-Of-Ten! You’ve come for me!” The android moved to her, knelt and took her hand. “Oh, I should have had Jacob make a thousand of you,” she whispered fondly, her tears trailing down a tired, wrinkled face.
“There, there, Mother Reitman,” the android spoke, and patted her hand tenderly. “All is well.”
There had only been one other time in the in the operational cycle of Three-Of-Ten when he had spoken these words to the woman, Gracie. Jacob had programmed his android to sense and analyze the emotions in all humans which were within his sensory range; and Three-Of-Ten had become quite proficient in his interpretations. But these words, carefully spoken through integrated circuitry and advanced technology, could not have come with a more personal touch of sincerity; and like all experiences of comprehension, there had been an event tied to these humanistic words of comfort. Three-Of-Ten had been in a state of upheaval when, many years prior, he detected an emotional peak in Gracie Reitman. The reading had so overwhelmed his algorithms—those assigned for analyzing discrete human sensations—that he had been unable to evaluate the impression accurately. When he had queried his human companion, Jacob, for a correct response, the boy had simply stated: “When human tears accompany this type of emotional output, there is but one response. Learn it well . . .” And the instructions had been given. This had been at the death of Zen Reitman, Gracie’s husband.
Brant and Teresa’s hands were clasped like a vice as they scrambled down another broken hallway. “I think we’re about there!” said Brant in a winded breath.
Teresa nodded as she tugged him to keep up. She was in much better shape than he was, and was hardly breaking a sweat. With another gulp of air, Brant made a mental note to self: start up exercise program!
--
Colonel Briggs was elated with the trial tests at the WBLP. All that was left to do was data-validation and field work. He moved around the Mole Hole Control Center with the alacrity of a master chef in his kitchen. But when a young lieutenant approached and handed him a piece of paper, his mood suddenly shifted, his enthusiasm waned. The note had two simple sentences written across it: They have found her. The island facility is under siege.
Within minutes, Briggs had hurried to his private office, and now sat staring at his monitor. The face in his screen was the one man who could still make his skin crawl.
Tanner’s voice came as rot-in-the-reap: “ . . . we don’t have a choice! You must activate the Goliath AD’s at the island, immediately!”
Briggs hesitated, his own mind reeling with the repercussions of such an action. “But Jim Reitman’s security detail,” he stammered, “they will—!”
“They cannot defend against the android, Three-Of-Ten. You know this! Recall the debacle at the hidden laboratory in the salt caverns!”
“But Jimmy’s directive regarding Goliaths at the island,”—Briggs hesitated as his loyalty, and ramifications, vacillated between Tanner and Reitman—“he’ll be furious!”
“I will handle Jim Reitman!” Tanner maintained, banefully. “That old woman is our Achilles Heel. She is the single uncertainty in this campaign! Gracie Reitman must not leave that island! Now bring the Goliaths online. That’s an order!”
Briggs deflated, then complied reluctantly. He turned to a remote panel and began to type in a series of commands. “The Goliaths are activated,” he declared, turning back to the monitor. He shook his head, grimly. “Pray they function correctly, Tanner. If Gracie Reitman is injured . . .” his voice trailed off in a chocking gulp.
“On the contrary, Colonel. He will thank us when the Goliaths have destroyed Three-Of-Ten and prevented his mother from escaping.” Tanner’s image clicked off and died to a faint glow, then to darkness.
Briggs leaned back in his chair. He sat in a state of numb contemplation, musing ironically, how just minutes before, he had been confident and untouchable. Now, he felt nothing but a sickening dread growing deep inside his gut. A feeling of foreshadow that in the past, had proven to be uncannily accurate. As he waited for news of the outcome at the island facility, he hoped the premonition was wrong.
--
From within the Sandray, Jessie’s eyes were riveted to the smashed entrance. She prayed that at any moment, her three companions—plus one elderly woman—would come bounding out of the structure.
“I don’t see them yet. Do you see them . . . huh? Do you?” Sam tapped anxiously, tugging at his sister’s arm. This was the third time in the last minute he’d repeated the same question, and yanked on the same arm.
“No!” Jessie replied in a harsh whisper. “Look. I’m staring at the same spot you are. When I see something, you’ll see something!” She huffed out on an exasperated breath.
Sam made an annoyed grunt then went back to his nervous surveillance. As he focused on the entry, something in the outlying margin of his view suddenly caught his attention. “What’s that?” he said. It didn’t take long for his question to be answered.
“Oh no! No! No!” muttered Jessie as her blood went cold. “It’s those monster things that attacked us in the caverns!”
Sam reached and took hold of his sister’s hand. They watched in utter terror as three Goliath AD sentinels suddenly appeared as if from nowhere. Sam made a whimper, like the last gasps of an injured animal. “They . . . they can’t see us, can they Jessie?” The memory of their up-close and personal encounter with the ugly killing machines was
still nightmarishly fresh on his mind.
“No,” she swallowed back. “Not us. But they’ll kill Brant and Teresa if we don’t do something.”
The single-eyed metal beasts moved, as if from some horror scene right out of a movie, in a stalking approach and disappeared into the entrance.
Chapter 58:
As Brant and Teresa hurried through several more smashed entries, around debris and up a stairway, they felt they must be getting close to where Gracie was supposed to be in the maze-like complex. Three-Of-Ten had attempted to give them some idea of the woman’s assumed location while still in the Sandray, but it had been a hurried explanation tainted in android dialect. But even if they hadn’t had the slightest idea where the woman was situated, Three-Of-Ten’s trail of destruction, unconscious guards, shattered furnishings and splintered doorways was like following Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs: they knew they were getting close. It was good thing too, because they (especially Brant) were both out of breath. Their adrenaline—which had come in such a rush following their encounter with Miss Martz—was starting to yield to exhaustion. They finally rounded a last corner and spotted a room at the end of the hall. It had clearly been forced by Three-Of-Ten—the doorway was nothing more than a shredded hole.
“That’s the one!” shouted Brant. “We’ve made it!” he pointed ahead, gasping on the exhale. They bounded forward, filled with renewed hope and energy. But a sudden explosion of gun fire paralyzed them in their tracks. Teresa screamed and instinctively threw herself down and against the wall. Brant felt his legs turn to iron as his muscles locked, refusing to obey him.
Of Salt and Sand Page 77