Of Salt and Sand

by Barnes, Michael

  The confinement section at the Mole Hole Base was bearable in an accommodating sort of way. But it was non-the-less a prison, and conjured back a barrage of ugly memories filled with the most vile of events. And in her seclusion, each seamed to surface like a noxious vapor, back from her childhood past—the fear and uncertainly; the pain and loneliness . . . all back. Yes, there in her bearable prison-apartment, the one emotion which seized upon her with more ferocity than the rest, was loss. The loss of companionship with those she loved; the devastating loss of Gracie; the loss of her home; and finally, the loss of her future . . . her hope. It was a sensation she had never known, never felt. Even those many years ago, at the GGRC—as a helpless child, treated worse than a rodent—she had never lost hope that somehow, someday, she and her brother would be freed and live their lives in a better place. And they had. But this? It was nearly an unbearable finale.

  Ruthanne felt the nauseous ache in her stomach and wondered if it was because she was about to cry again, or because she hadn’t eaten in days. She didn’t know . . . didn’t care.

  In another time, and with so much at stake to protect and defend, she would never have resigned herself so completely. She would have fought on and considered every desperate avenue of escape, even awakening her most forbidden and clandestine abilities: her mind. But now it seemed there was no purpose in trying to gain freedom. No purpose in wanting to fight on. Her Avalon home and the entire Sandcastle substructure was overridden with military insurgents; them and their hideous drone watchdogs, which—in a sick sense of irony—existed because of her technology. The Five’s HOPE—their restitution to the world—was to be compromised, defiled and altered to do that which was unthinkable.

  It was in that moment of abysmal despair that Ruthanne felt it . . . an evanescent spark in the blackest of nights. There was so much emotional pain burning through her body, through her soul—she very nearly missed it. It was a touch of light! How many times had she tried to feel across those short, few miles to her Sandcastle home? How many times had she reached with her mind . . . pushing and grasping until her head felt as if it might explode, desperate for even the most remote sign of familiarity, of peace, of home. Yet each time she had failed, as only oblivion returned to her from the sands.

  But something . . . something right now was happening! A sudden spark of courage exploded within her! She could not understand why. Her heart pounded and she physically lurched as her body recoiled from the pure energy of it. But careful! Careful! She heard herself think. Remember the cameras! Ruthanne let herself slump in a feigned droop. But inside, she was alive! What was this sensation? What had touched her mind? It was so fleeting, yet so powerful. Think! Think! Think! She screamed to her mind. She let her head drop even lower now. So low that the tightening of her lips and the reddening of her veins and cheeks would not be noticed. She forced her mind outward as she had never done before. Harder and harder she expanded, out and beyond the realm of Mole Hole Base. She saw the soldiers, and the layout of the entire facility. She felt the men and women in their service— tired, confused, and homesick; trapped in a desert wasteland, yearning for their assignments to end so they could go home to their families. Then, she found her companions! Oh it was wonderful to sense them! Jacob, Eli and Ellen! She was overcome with happiness! But soon felt their own misery and hopelessness, and she grimaced at the torture of it. Oh to touch them! To hug and hold them! But no! She could not dwell with them! Not now! Someplace else had touched her . . . someone else, familiar and warm . . . she had to find it! Farther! she nearly cried out. Past and beyond! She had to go farther . . . farther! Ruthanne’s head began to pound, her body to quake. Her teeth clenched, her jaw locked, her breath halted! She was nearly there! . . . nearly there! Then, like the first gasp of air at the edge of drowning, Ruthanne eruption in a great burst of joy! She touched it! “Gracie!” she screamed out, and nearly leaped from her seat. She gasped, and threw her hands to her mouth. There she sat, trembling, as the moisture poured down from behind her dark-rimmed glasses. Gracie was at Sandcastle. And she was alive!

  --

  Three-Of-Ten stood in the darkened solarium. Above him, the immense glass dome danced with the glitter of countless stars in the night sky above. The garden-arena was voluminous and rose like a great cathedral on all sides. The air was cool, moist, and redolent of vegetation—flowers of all variety, ferns and grasses, cedar and pine. The sound of moving water was ever-present, as the streams flowed through the opulent gardens and cascaded downward from upper ledges to catch-pools below. But the true beauty of the solarium—her vivid prisms of dancing light, projected through the geometric glass on sun-filled days; her tiled pools and gold plated statues; her white granite cloisters and marbled patios—were now nothing but black entities in a dark and unfamiliar emptiness.

  The android’s sensors had located four of the Goliath sentinels patrolling just outside the southwest wall, a mere fraction of the total droid army now amassing in and around the estate, and in the substructures below. Gracie was right. It seemed the solarium, dark and aloof from the main facilities, had been a forgotten building.

  Three-Of-Ten understood that they were on borrowed time. He did not know what Gracie had in mind, but had calculated their odds of escape based on timing and proximity of the enemy . . . they were not good. And luck? He did not comprehend that concept.

  After determining that it was safe for his human companions to exit the Sandray, Three-Of-Ten stepped briskly back inside and emerged at the entry with Gracie supported in his powerful arms. Brant was right on their heels. But the moment the android stepped out from the Sandray and into the solarium’s air, something strange happened—and unfortunate. From all directions, an electrifying lightshow began!

  Brant froze in his tracks. He stared in amazement as bed upon bed of flowers burst open and spewed an iridescent rainbow of unbelievable beauty.

  Gracie had forgotten about Ellen’s genetically crafted flowers—her gift the year Zen had died. Gracie had been so down . . . so emotionally drained that terrible year. And Ellen knew how much the old woman loved her solarium, and especially her flower gardens within. The unique enclosure was a piece of Avalon above ground. It was where Gracie went to ponder, contemplate and bring solace and comfort to her soul. Ellen had wanted to do something extraordinary for Gracie, and she had. She had engineered a unique DNA characteristic within several of the most lovely genre of the blooming flora. The flowers were already capable of generating luminosity, and did so every time a lightning storm filled the night sky with photon-absorbing energy. But in addition to this remarkable phenomenon, several beds of flowers were altered to also sense Gracie’s DNA—as distinctly as they could light. The result was an immediate release of pollen . . . a florescent spray of illuminated particles! It was meant to be a spectacular adulation of greeting, each time the woman stepped into her solarium refuge. But this time, it was a unwanted flair to disaster.

  “Oh my goodness!” Gracie gasped. “My flowers! I forgot about my flowers! We must hurry!” She pointed the android in a specific direction, toward one of the largest of the covered rotundas rising above them on the east end of the grounds. “There,” she whispered. “Quickly, quickly. Take me to that open pavilion.” Three-Of-Ten complied, and carried her along on the cobblestone pathway.

  Brant followed—panting to keep up with the long-legged android—gawking around like a frightened rabbit in a strange, wonderland forest. Why don’t we just shoot off flairs! he thought frustratingly. Bring every Goliath right down on top of us! The beauty and wonder of the solarium had been smothered by fear and anxiety. He did not want to be discovered! Truth be told, Brant would have preferred the safety and sanctuary of the Sandray . . . aside Teresa and the kids. But Grace—for reasons unknown—had leaned into him from across her seat and asked if he would accompany her to the solarium and into the hidden control center—dangerous as it was. He could not deny her request. Brant had agreed, supposing he would find out sooner or
later, the purpose for her request. And as he stepped along—hugging so near to Three-Of-Ten’s backside that he nearly rammed into the android on several occasions—he had to concede: it better be sooner than later!

  Fortunately, the flower’s performance was short-lived, and as the group stepped onto an intercepting patio, the last few buds had closed to darkness once again. Ahead of them, a short rise of steps connected to the pavilion. Three-Of-Ten traversed them in seconds. Brant, on the other hand, huffed a bit going up the walk.

  In better days, this marbled forum had been Gracie’s favorite place to host her meetings with the Four. From its tiered vantage point, the entire lower level could be viewed. In fact, shortly after the solarium had been completed, she had requested that her droid engineers build a full outdoor galley-kitchenette into one end of the rotunda. She had designed the culinary annex herself—and in just one afternoon, had her fancy galley. Now, however, as they walked along on mosaic tiling; around shadows columns and felt for banistered walkways; Brant was about to discover the real reason why the pavilion was so critically important to Gracie.

  “There,” Gracie whispered, pointing. “Take me to that center table, quickly.”

  Just ahead of them sat a great, oval-shaped table. The thick slab was supported by a formidable base which extended up in an grandiose sculpture of a wide tree truck rooted to its ground-hold. A circular bench of similar cut stone hugged the table’s perimeter in one smooth form. Thee-Of-Ten sat Gracie down gently at its edge. She quickly reached to a centerpiece statue—that of a delicate winged unicorn—which rose from the slab’s center as though wanting to leap into the air, and fly to the top of the glass dome to gaze outward at the stars above. She touched the single horn which extended from the icon’s head, and pulled down. The entire effigy suddenly lifted, then slid, to one side. A soft burp of illumination poured outward, enhancing the tips of Gracie’s eyelashes in a wisp of afterglow. She reached behind her neck and pulled at something from the back. The clasp dropped loose into her hand. She let the delicate gold weave dangle until, at its end, appeared a small key. Gracie turned to Brant. Her eyes were filled with a terrible yearning, and for an instant, it was as if they wanted to expose everything to him . . . everything which words dared not. Gracie took the key and inserted it into a slot built into the backlit panel. As she did, she rested her hand on the plate’s glassy surface. A deep reverberation followed. All at once, the table’s base began a lethargic roll to one side, moving them all along with it like some giant merry-go-round. The structure just started, then halted once more as gulp of stale air wafted upward from a cavernous opening in the floor. The dark shaft now hummed as an elevator rose from its depths. The vault-like transport clicked to a stop just feet in front of them.

  It was a formidable structure, made of some kind of reinforced steel alloy—shiny like polished silver. Its massive doors slid open. Brant’s eyebrows rose as he spied the only object to be seen inside: a wheelchair. But not like any wheelchair he had ever seen. This one didn’t have wheels. It was beautifully crafted and seemed at first, too fantastic to be real. And the best part? It was hovering in midair!

  “My hover-chair,” spoke Gracie fondly. She sighed a breath of contentment. “Oh what I wouldn’t have given to have this baby with me in the estate,” then she turned to Brant. “But of course I could not.”

  Three-Of-Ten lifted her carefully, moving her into the transport and onto the chair. “It is so nice to have my mobility back,” she commented excitedly. She took to the chair like butter to bread. She stroked its handles, fumbled with its buttons, and then took hold of the joystick controller like a pro. “Now, if you two will join me, please?”

  Brant glanced at Three-Of-Ten, who had already stepped up with human-like alacrity. He gulped, shrugged, then followed. He had about a gazillion questions by now, but the gravity in Gracie’s tone kept his queries, for the time, at bay.

  The elevator descended. Down, down it went. It seemed as if they would drop forever. Finally, with a subtle bump, all motion ceased. Brant groaned out in relief—he hated elevators. Claustrophobia was an old nemesis of his; one which he reviled. He stood there, anxious to bolt out, but the doors remained closed.

  “Three-Of-Ten,” spoke Gracie. “When I open these doors, you will go as quickly as you can and retrieve the Four’s sealed case from the archival vault. Do you know of what I speak, and the errand that I ask?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Reitman,” the android replied. “That which is to be protected above all else—even above that of our human pledges.”

  “Correct,” she whispered.

  Brant felt another wave of anxiety. What was this about?

  Gracie reached to another of the DNA identification scanners which was set into the metal on one side. At her sanctioned touch, the doors parted. A wash of intense light poured in. Brant felt himself inhale, and his hand rose instinctively to shield his eyes.

  The hallway in front of them was brilliantly lit. But it wasn’t the sudden change in luminosity which had caused his reaction, it was the group of angry looking androids he saw lined up at the threshold! But as Gracie entered the hallway, the android guards transformed from attack-ready to peaceful-impassive, and moved to align the corridor in a respectful stance of attention. It was then that Brant realized that these were clones . . . clones of Three-Of-Ten!

  They had detected Gracie’s DNA the moment the elevator doors opened, and were now bound to her as though by blood. This was the way of all companion-androids. But these, the twelve dormant protectors, were unique, and had been designed with all the functionality of Three-Of-Ten. They had been given a directive by Jacob, their creator, long ago. Theirs was to be a timeless post. They would stay at their station for an age if need be, guarding the hidden facility and waiting for the only DNA signatures that could initiate their bond: Gracie or Zen. Now joined to Gracie, only she would be allowed to pass. They were hers for life. They would do as she bid, and fight savagely to protect her.

  Gracie paused for a dutiful moment. She felt such gratitude to these, the only androids left of Sandcastle’s once mighty band of HOPE guardians. She nodded proudly to them, and put her hand to her lips. It was an interaction which touched Brant profoundly.

  Three-Of-Ten suddenly appeared, returning from his errand. He bent toward Gracie and gently handed her an object. She took hold of it as carefully as one would a priceless artifact. The other androids circled in close, as though to shield the item Gracie now clasped against her chest.

  Brant eyed the exchange prudently, overwhelmingly and . . . reverently. He only caught a glimpse . . . but it looked like some kind of metallic book? Casing? He wasn’t sure. But it was thick and coated in a glistening sheath.

  Brant’s first thought was to consider its weight. Even made of the lightest metals, it would have to be extremely heavy. Yet Gracie had grasped the object as easily as she would a simple notepad. Then, in the next second, she was looking right at him. Her eyes so intent that Brant felt he might shrivel at her gaze. “I have request for you. It is vital, and to deny me is to deny humankind,” she said. Her demeanor had changed. It was as though she were a different person . . . one stronger, more purposeful and unafraid.

  He was starting to figure things out, and had a mounting sensation that this object in her hand, whatever it was, had something to do with her request. Something he wasn’t going to like. But he nodded anyway. “Whatever you ask, Gracie.”

  Gracie made a gesture with her hand. “Bow your head, Brant.”

  Now things were getting weird. Brant hesitated. He looked strangely at her, and gawked around at the barrage of electronic eyes bearing down on him. Was this some kind of ceremony he needed to perform in front of the androids? Something to trigger their trust, their bonding, as Gracie had called it? Time seemed to stop as illuminated eyes burned over him, waiting.

  “Bow your head,” Gracie repeated, anxiously.

  Brant obeyed, and bent his head before her. She reached up and
slipped something around his neck.

  “This was my husband’s key. It is identical to my own. Now I give it to you.”

  Brant felt the clash of emotion. He shook his head. “But—”

  “You are here for one purpose,” Gracie’s stern voice halted him. “A cause more vital than you can possibly comprehend. And we . . . I, am out of time, and must convey in seconds, what would take hours . . . even days.”

  Brant turned away. His growing sense of foreboding was about to be confirmed. “You’re staying here, aren’t you,” he muttered.

  Gracie closed her eyes, and nodded. She tried to be strong . . . tried to return a bolt stance, but her eyes betrayed her, and the tears began to well. “Yes, dear boy,” she muttered. “And I’m simply too tired to debate it. So please don’t make me try.” She held out the case. It sparkled in a unnatural aura, and seemed to expel its own source of unseen energy. “I give to you the archives of the Five—all that they are; all that they have accomplished; and the secrets to the HOPE technology . . . it is all here.”

  Brant threw up his hands and shook his head adamantly. “No Gracie! No! I can’t take it! Why would you ask this of me!”

  “Why?” she repeated back, her face contorted in some strange astonishment. “To be remembered! To prove that the Five existed! That they were people—brilliant and wonderful—who sacrificed everything for the future of humankind! Everything!” Her voice began to crack; her lips quivered. “That is why you must take it, Brant. Take it away from here and protect it with your life.” She thrust the compendium out again.