She offered a terse smile.
“You’ll revive me, putting one of my backup brains inside a new body. I need to show you how that process works. And we’re in luck.” He smiled. “I need to change bodies before my journey.”
The apprehension faded, replaced with curiosity. “Why?”
“Call it a bit of psychological warfare. In practical terms, the people there know this body and know Micah Jamison. I need to change at any rate; it’s best if they think he’s still struggling to survive on the surface or already dead. The new body, though… I think his appearance will rattle them and cause them to make mistakes.” He walked down the nearest aisle and stopped, gesturing toward the body before him. “That’s the form I’ll take.”
Sheila looked at the still figure before her, a man of average height with jet black hair. The mannequin’s eyes remained closed. She glanced at Micah. “Why him?”
“He’s the one whose memories we viewed earlier.”
“Oh.” She thought about it more. “Oh, I think I understand. Some of the Phoenix were enemies of his back then. They think he’s dead, so if he shows up alive and well…”
“If he’s dead, none of them know it for certain,” Micah clarified. “But they’ve not seen him for quite some time. So… yes, it will be somewhat like seeing a ghost. Quite unnerving.” He smirked before moving to the small platform. He motioned for her to join him. “There are four spots you must press simultaneously on the back of the head and upper neck.” He positioned her fingers in the appropriate spots on the mannequin. “Remember these pressure points, Sheila. They’re the same for every one of these bodies. If you make it back and I don’t, pick one of these body forms to hold one of my backed up brains. You can use this body again if you’d like.”
She shuffled her feet. “Nah. I’ll make you one of the women.”
He chuckled. “If that’s your choice, so be it.” He turned his face serious once more. “Push in on those points.”
He saw the muscles in her arms and hands tense… and then the skin on the back of the man’s head peeled down, revealing a metallic skull. A metal door popped open and down, displaying the empty interior of the mannequin’s head.
She looked at him. “It’s empty. Now what?”
He turned around, his back to her. “You need to do the same thing to me. Once that door opens, you’ll see my brain. There are two release latches, one on either side. Push those latches down and my brain will slide out. Pull it free from Micah’s head and push it into the other body. Once it’s in, the back of my new head will close up. Once you’ve removed the brain from this body, the compartment will close up as well.”
He could almost sense her horror. “You… you want me to… take your brain out? But won’t that k… kill you?” She shivered.
“I’m not human, Sheila. I can’t die, because I’m not alive.” He turned around to face her. “Yes, this body will become inanimate. But I will retain my memories in the new body.”
“But—”
“This has to be done, Sheila. It’s what has to be done to stop the Phoenix Group.” He turned around again, pointing to the four points on the back of his head. “Do it.”
He felt the pressure, and then everything went dark.
The reboot sequence began. He found his arms and legs and downloaded physical skill patterns for them. He synced his brain clock with the nearby server, noting that he’d been offline for one minute and twelve seconds.
With all health checks completed, the boot sequence went through a standard series of physical tests, ensuring the ability to move each limb and digit, to take steps, to simulate breathing. He opened and closed his eyes several times and shifted them left and right in perfect alignment.
In the computer-based consciousness he possessed, he could only wonder how this must look to Sheila. The body she knew as Micah Jamison stood as still as death, while a statue-like mannequin now moved and writhed and twitched.
She must feel like she’d killed him.
After eleven minutes and six seconds, all system checks completed successfully, and he opened the eyes in the new body, performing the final visual input activation. He knew his new eyes were a deep jade green in color, piercing, lit with a fierce intelligence and determination. He’d spent a long time crafting the eyes to match those in the memories he had of the man. He believed that man’s eyes were the most dominant part of his appearance.
He turned to Sheila, who stared at him as if seeing a ghost. He hoped he’d get a similar reaction once out in space.
She reached out toward his face. “Micah?” Her voice quavered.
“It’s all right, Sheila. You did everything exactly right. I’m fine.” He forced a smile onto his new face, his first attempt at performing the movement in this new body. “Are you okay?”
She wiped a tear from her eyes, sniffled, and laughed. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”
He arched one of his new eyebrows. “Driving through the Ravagers and the collapsing buildings wasn’t scarier?”
“No. I just thought I’d die then. Now? I thought I’d killed you.”
He’d been correct; she had thought that she’d killed him. “Remember, Sheila: I can’t die, so you can’t kill me. Physical destruction is inconvenient, but not the end. If sacrificing my so-called life will save yours, do so with my blessing and insistence, because you still won’t lose me.”
She threw her arms around his neck, the tears soaking his shirt. He wasn’t quite sure what emotion this might represent—his processors struggled with conflicting cues like sad tears and loving hugs. He returned the gesture, not squeezing too tightly. She finally pulled back and wiped her tears on her sleeve. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“So am I.” He glanced at the clock on the wall—though he knew the time to the millionth of a second—and winced. “I really need to get going. The batteries should reach full capacity in about four more hours, around the time I’ll get there. Remember: get in, camouflage yourself with the nanos, plant the device on the server, and get out. I’ll look to get out safely as well, but remember: do not wait for me, Sheila. Do you understand?”
She nodded once.
He turned and walked away. He could feel her footfalls as she trailed behind him. She followed him up the steps and out the door into the fading light of the day, letting the door slam shut behind them. He moved out to the clearing behind the two buildings where the floating sphere remained, still visible. He signaled the craft directly, not bothering with the remote, and the door slid open, revealing an interior he’d not seen in years. He turned to Sheila and smiled. “Looks like it’s time for me to go. I’ll see you soon.”
She rushed to him again and threw her arms around him once more, then planted a soft kiss on his cheek as she pulled away.
He stepped through the door into the craft, and the whispered words followed him as the door slid closed behind him.
I love you, Micah.
Somehow, his robotic mind understood exactly what she meant.
—18—
RODDY LIGHT
FAMILIAR SMELLS WAFTED through his nostrils as his consciousness fought back from the abyss and darkness. The scents triggered memories. Seeing the flying craft for the first time. Laughing at it and asking his Special Forces leader to explain the joke. Realizing it was no joke as they climbed aboard and soared into the air. The intense flight training over the next year. All the missions.
All of the dead bodies he hauled back home.
Consciousness pushed aside the memories as other senses came online. Faint conversation between three distinct voices, one of which he recognized as belonging to Delaney. Boots treading heavily across the surface. They were walking around in the interior of his ship, the one he used to haul Oswald Silver around the West for business trips he now suspected were unrelated to the enterprises the man flaunted in public.
He let his eyes flicker open.
He found himself in the main cabin o
f the craft. He twisted his head and spotted Oswald Silver’s desk nearby. He tried to move, but found himself restrained. Anger surged through him. They’d done it again, knocked him out cold with the same mind trick Silver had used with great success earlier. His eyes flicked toward the display screen on the wall opposite Silver’s desk, one typically used for the display of maps and travel routes, allowing the magnate to determine arrival times without stooping to querying his pilot on a constant basis.
He listened carefully. Delaney was a skilled pilot; they didn’t need him aboard or conscious to begin the surface trip. He didn’t hear the familiar engine thrum, but didn’t know if the engines were needed. Space seemed to be a place devoid of gravity without some artificial assistance; it wasn’t as if they’d need propulsion to remain suspended.
He watched one of the men move toward Delaney, who was deep in conversation with two others. Roddy checked his earlier math; five aboard, four enemies, one of whom was Delaney and known to be armed and a pain where the sun didn’t shine. On cue, Delaney glanced at him, saw the open eyes, and paused long enough to put his palms against both temples and feign a scream. Roddy discovered that his arms and fingers allowed enough mobility to show Delaney his eternal disgust.
His feedback to his hosts on his accommodations complete, Roddy tested his bonds. The elastic straps Delaney used during their walk from the infirmary, through the Phoenix Headquarter information center, and then on to Silver’s office remained attached, now enhanced with additional ropes and bands holding Roddy firmly against the seat. While he knew such restraints were used in the interest of safety for unlikely ship crashes, he knew they’d tied him down to prevent an enraged Roddy from taking out his frustrations on Delaney and his crew. For all his bluster, Roddy now suspected Delaney wouldn’t shoot to kill.
Roddy had no such qualms about killing his former colleague. Not anymore.
Roddy grimaced as he tried to shift slightly and improve his comfort level. He’d assumed Delaney’s troops weren’t gifted with the mental powers Silver and Delaney apparently possessed. He knew Delaney possessed surreal quickness, and while Roddy considered himself more than a match in physical hand-to-hand combat with most men, he knew he’d struggle with Delaney in a fair fight. His eyes fell on the quartet discussing what he imagined to be the flight plan. There wouldn’t be any fair fights.
Delaney’s brow furrowed, deeper than what he’d seen before, and he was suddenly aware that he didn’t know the man’s real age. He knew Silver and Delaney believed Silver had lived through the Golden Ages, and something about the tone and emotional energy Delaney felt in relating that story told Roddy that Delaney himself might be similarly ancient. Delaney clearly deferred to Silver; was that due to Silver’s superior age or some other factor?
He didn’t really care. He just wanted both of them dead. Preferably by his hand.
Vibrations rumbled across the floor and into the chair. They’d powered up the engines. Roddy turned his head to the incredibly thick glass near Silver’s desk, watching as the walkway tube connecting ship and space station retracted. He felt a few minor shakes; he suspected that meant that whatever held the ship in place released that grip, leaving them floating in the gravity-free vacuum.
They slid out of docking bay AA-23 and into the dark void.
The ship’s angle gave him a view of the planet’s giant natural satellite. Roddy stared in awe, feeling as if he could see the rocky surface in far greater detail, making out the various shades of gray and black comprising the moon’s surface. The view felt far clearer, and the satellite far closer, than he’d ever previously seen. He frowned, unable to recall the general distance between planet and satellite, but whatever the number they’d certainly closed the gap by an insignificant margin. Was the elimination of the planet’s atmosphere so great an advantage in clearly seeing the celestial body?
He observed the map on the wall, watching as the planet zoomed to fill the screen, watched as the familiar shorelines of Western Territory emerged through the haze of the atmosphere. He knew they were wasting time relating to the original purpose of this journey. Deirdre was dead. He pushed aside the emotion as best he could. They’d certainly not parted on friendly terms. He didn’t know if reconciliation would be possible, ignoring the whole Delaney engagement issue. He knew there was one question he’d want her to answer. He’d never get that chance now. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the truth.
While Delaney and his crew argued over the likely flow patterns of the Ravagers and Deirdre’s potential path after her abandonment, Roddy focused on something else.
He focused on the anger he felt.
It wasn’t the anger about Deirdre; he’d raged about that in private before Silver boarded the ship atop Diasteel Headquarters, and though he knew he’d face that anger again, it wasn’t what drove his fury now. He wasn’t a man accustomed to being at the mercy of others. While he was quite proficient in all manner of self-defense and fighting methods, he had no defense against that mental probe Silver had now twice used to immobilize him, rendering him unconscious. That power left him at their mercy.
At least, it did in the space station.
The pair claimed that this type of power was far more prevalent in the past, until suppressed on the surface at the conclusion of a war among feuding factions. Silver and others found that traveling into space eliminated that suppression, freeing them to flex those mental power muscles to some degree. None could work those skills on the surface… except Roddy. Sort of. He didn’t know how he could, because he didn’t have a clue about what that power was or how he did what he did. How could you have an ability and not know you had it or how to work it?
He glanced at the map once more. The image adjusted, showing their course based on elevation rather than in two dimensions, with a timer indicating that they’d reach their initial destination in the next thirty minutes.
Thirty minutes. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could learn more about this skill during that time.
He tuned out the conversation and other sounds and focused inward.
He’d always felt that intuition, an uncanny knack for separating truth-tellers from liars. He’d always believed it to be a developed skill, training himself to look for tiny fluctuations in voice tone or body language. Now, though, he knew there was something more than that. His mind received and processed energy waves from the minds of others and interpreted those waves with unerring accuracy. His mind was like a mobile phone that never dropped a call or lost signal quality.
He’d deduced that Silver and Delaney wouldn’t much care about his ability if it didn’t operate on similar principles to the power he’d seen Silver display aboard the space station. Or, more accurately, felt. That meant that he could look to Silver’s operation of the mind probe—his own term for the tortuous mental anguish the man had inflicted—for clues about the operation of his own power, and perhaps learn that there might be more to that ability than just accurately interpreting veracity. Delaney had suggested those mental powers enabled rapid healing and the ability to move objects around with only the mind.
He thought about his earlier internal analogy about the mobile phone. Phones sent signals, invisible waves that could only be “heard” by properly tuned devices. Was that how his mind worked? Did his mind “hear” invisible thought and emotional waves and interpret them?
Did Silver’s power work in that fashion? If Roddy had thus far acted only as a receiver, had Silver learned to act as a transmitter? And could he learn to do the same?
There was only one way to find out.
If these waves could move things as suggested by Delaney, then he ought to be able to feel them. His hands remained pinned behind him, pressed against the seat, keeping them well hidden from his captors. Perfect target. He felt his hands and wriggled his fingers to remember where they were, and then focused. He imagined his mind generating waves of energy and sending that energy through the air to his palms. It took several moments, but then he
felt pressure on his palms, pushing them against the back of the chair. He felt a surge of excitement, but tempered his emotions. His mind might be generating waves of controllable energy… or he might be imagining the pressure. He needed a more objective test.
He thought of the bands binding his hands behind his back.
He decided to alter the test somewhat. Pushing the bands wouldn’t prove anything; he could still fool himself into moving his hands a bit and imagining that pressure.
Instead, he’d try to use those waves like a knife and sever those bonds.
Rather than sending those waves from his mind to his palms in broad streams, he now imagined it traveling from his hands to the bands in a knife-like fashion, the sharp “blade” sawing through the bands. If he failed to sever those bonds it didn’t disprove his theory or ability; it might mean he couldn’t use the power in that fashion.
He pulled his hands apart, trying to move them forward. He didn’t strain; he didn’t look to break free through brute force. His token effort would only succeed if the energy saw produced the desired effect.
He heard a sharp twanging sound, and felt his hands slip slightly forward.
He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. It was working.
He ramped up the mental focus, increased the intensity of the sawing waves of energy. He pulled his hands forward with less force now; the last thing he wanted to do at this point was see his hands fling forward into the air and draw attention to his efforts. No, he’d destroy all his bonds while his captors argued and agreed to land in the area that formerly served as the city limits for the Lakeplex and then move due east along the southern shore of the great lake.
When they reached the surface, when he saw the damage those damned Ravagers had done to the beautiful planet, he’d make sure that Delaney and his crew regretted their respective parts in that destruction.
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