Wake the Dead

by Victoria Buck

  “I trust you fully with my creation, as you call it. You’re a good man. Much the better man than that imposter, Chase Sterling.”

  Chase took Robert by the arm. “There’s something else you can do for me.”

  “Anything, son.”

  “The woman I brought out of the audience that night on the new show—she’s really sick. Cancer, and it’s bad.”

  “The vaccine doesn’t prevent all types of cancer. Toxic poisoning is just a term given to the ones that were not eliminated. Even worse, the vaccine causes organ failure in about a tenth of the people who receive it—a government cover-up we scientists helped propagate.”

  “I’ll have to process that revelation later. Will you see if you can find her?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “I replaced the NP with a device that will allow you to send me a message. I won’t respond, but later on, when you’re away from here, let me know you’re all right.”

  “How do I use it?”

  “You’ll figure it out. You just used a code no human could know.”

  “You put too much faith in me. I haven’t got a clue how to do this without you.” Chase hugged the doctor one last time, and then shook Jimmy’s hand. He pulled down the face shield as the doctor moved in front of him to activate the door. The gurney rolled onto the tile floor as Chase pushed it forward, down the hall, and out of the building. He rolled it to the guest quarters and left it in his empty room, underneath the Picasso. Then he walked outside, used the keypad built into the vest of the cyber-guard’s uniform to open the gate, and walked away with the flight pack draped over his shoulder.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing,” he said. “Or where I’m going. Or how to fly.” He could still hear the hover craft in the distance, but the sound was moving away. Gaha wouldn’t land her craft here today. Chase wondered if the old woman flew the thing herself.

  He pulled the pack on, fastened it around his waist, and touched the panel that covered his chest. A low hum emitted from the flight pack. “I wish I wasn’t scared out of my mind.” Then, as Jimmy had instructed, he yanked on the silver cord hanging below the panel. And he lifted off the ground.

  He swallowed a scream as his eyes were forced open. His legs flailed. He grabbed the hand controls, and solid ground got farther and farther away. He kept his eyes on the desert floor.

  But he had to look forward. He turned his face to the white hot sky, he opened his eyes. Nothing but strings of clouds surrounded him. Nothing held him. He was free. “Thank God,” he said. And he meant it.

  A sound filled him beyond the whoosh of the air and the hum of the flight pack. Something was coming. He looked to his left and there was the hovercraft, not moving away, but toward him. It came so close that Chase could see inside. And there sat Dr. Gaha at the controls, looking back at him.

  He gave a proper cyber-guard nod to his superior. She made no gesture in return. After a few seconds, she lifted the brow on her wrinkled old face and shook her head. And then she turned the craft and flew away.

  Chase sighed in relief. He faced forward, not knowing what lie ahead or how to find his way to where he knew he should be. Nothing was certain except this freedom. And for the moment, even though he was a hundred feet in the air, he was not afraid.

  41

  Chase brought himself to the ground in a remote area in the Southwest Territory. The exoself told him he was seventeen miles from Phoenix. The money Robert had given him wouldn’t last long. A few people sat around a table outside a food and power stop. They’d be frightened by the cyber-guard getup—those things didn’t typically patrol small desert towns. But he didn’t dare remove the face shield. He was still, after all, a celebrity. The last thing he needed was a crowd, even a small one, ogling Chase Sterling.

  “What am I worried about? The world has probably forgotten me by now.”

  A woman came near, a VPad to her face. Chase removed the mask and stood in front of her.

  “Get out of my way,” she said. Then she looked at his clothes and fear lit her eyes.

  “I’m not really a guard,” he told her.

  She looked at his face. “Oh, my goodness, a cyber-guard that looks like Chase Sterling. Is this some kind of new show? Am I on camera right now?” She smiled.

  Chase played along. He stared ahead and tried not to show any expression. “I am a SynVue project model recreation of Chase Sterling.”

  “I didn’t know guards could talk like that. You’re really cutting edge,” she said. “The real Chase Sterling was better looking, but what a jerk. I hope you’re not a letdown like he was. What do they plan to do with you?”

  “They will gather public opinion. Thank you for your input.”

  She giggled and stroked her VPad as she hurried away. Chase could hear her talking.

  “You won’t believe what just happened to me,” she said into the VPad. “They’ve got some robot Chase Sterling going around asking people their opinions. I thought he was a cyber-guard, but he’s just a PR machine.”

  “Mistake number one, you idiot. Don’t talk to people with your face uncovered.” He got out of sight before the girl had a chance to point him out to the people sitting at the table.

  “The real Chase Sterling was better looking?” He shook his head.

  The exoself provided information about the town. A block away, he’d find a laundry station. This might be the first day of his augmented life he’d found practical application for the stuff loaded into his head. The only man inside the rundown place sat slumped in a plastic chair, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy.

  Chase went through the open glass doors and pulled the handle on the front of the only machine in operation. The wash and dry tumbler was at the end of the cycle, and the clothes inside were warm. He pulled them out and picked a pair of slacks and a shirt, then threw the rest back into the machine. He started to walk away, but then he turned back, pulled out a couple of his few WR bills, and threw them in the machine.

  He found the restroom and peeled away the cyber-guard suit. The clothes were a good fit. The guard boots would have to suffice. And the face shield, with a little work, could look like something else.

  Using his augmented muscles, he broke the shield away from the helmet. He went back out to the laundry station and pulled a black cord from the edge of a mesh basket. It’d been a few years, but college kids used to cover their faces in protest to WR policies. He ran the black cord through fastener holes on the sides of the shield and then put it up to face and tied it off at the back of his neck.

  He caught his reflection in the glass door. Guard boots, jeans, a black T-shirt, a dark mask, and a flight pack. That said it all—dead-beat rebel making a statement while he traveled the country. He hoisted the pack over his shoulder and went out on the street.

  A few more blocks brought him to a food truck—Mexican delicacies on wheels. He pulled out the rest of the WR bills and got himself some lunch. “What’s with the mask?” The guy handed Chase three tacos and a cola.

  “Protesting.”

  “Protesting what? Nobody does that anymore. You been in a cave for ten years?” The man laughed. “You gotta take that thing off to eat.”

  “I will not remove the mask until the government admits that toxin poisoning is just another name for cancer.”

  “Yeah, man, I always thought that. You think it’s true?”

  “I know it for a fact. Spread the word.”

  “OK, yeah, I can do that. Thanks, man.”

  Chase nodded and walked away. He found a dark corner behind an old hotel and pulled the mask up enough to get his teeth into a taco.

  He had to get out of the Southwest Territory. Robert and Jimmy couldn’t hide the fact for long that Chase Sterling was not where he should be. Gaha would tell the others she saw a guard with a flight pack well beyond the point of a lunch run.

  With his feet back on solid ground, Chase dreaded the thought of flying to Atlanta, but that’s where Patty said Mel went. T
hat’s all he had now that the code he’d been counting on was not what it seemed. He’d get to Atlanta. But he’d just as soon walk.

  He heard a train in the distance. The old-fashioned way of getting products from one place to another was still in operation, especially from points headed south. No passengers on board, only merchandise. He prompted the exoself. Nearest station was in Phoenix. He could fly that far after charging the pack at the food and power stop. But he didn’t want to pay the price of a plug in.

  He finished his lunch, pulled down the shield, and walked through the small town. He passed a shop with an open door and a storekeeper within earshot. “Mind if I plug my pack in for ten minutes?” he asked.

  “No power on the street,” the woman said. “Come inside.”

  Chase walked in, his face still covered. The Asian woman, probably not five feet tall, grabbed the pack off his shoulder and hooked it to the power stand by the pay scanner.

  “Thanks. I don’t need much. I’m just flying as far as Phoenix.”

  “You want a ride to Phoenix? My husband is going there to pick up some merchandise.” She laughed a bit and slapped her hand on the counter. “What am I saying? You’ve got a flight pack—you’d rather fly than ride.”

  “You’d offer your husband to a stranger in a face shield?”

  “He won’t care what you look like, friend. Why are you hiding? Something bad happen to your face?”

  “No, I’m protesting.”

  “Seems like a waste of time, but OK. You protest.” She smiled.

  “If you’re sure it’s not a problem, I’ll take that ride.”

  “I’ll go tell my husband. He won’t mind. He’d appreciate the company.” The woman left Chase standing in the doorway of what seemed to be a gift shop. Or maybe antiques. Chase didn’t know the difference, and the exoself offered no information about such things. He stepped to a shelf and ran his finger over a row of delicate vases and figurines. He thought of the cabinet full of knickknacks in the living room of his parents’ house.

  A man came from the back of the store and gave Chase a firm handshake. “Perry Chang,” he said. “Wife says you need a ride. I’m only going as far as the train station. Leaving in ten—is that OK?”

  “You’re going to the station?”

  “Yep, but that’s it. Is it close enough to town for you?”

  “I’ll be out front.”

  “You need a duffle,” Mrs. Chang said. She walked out of sight for a minute or two, and returned with a black zip pack with a shoulder strap. “It matches your mask.” She draped it over his arm. “Even a super hero needs something to carry his socks in.”

  “What makes you think I’m a super hero?”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” She smiled big, and if she could have seen his face, she’d have seen Chase smiling back. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

  “Zoe. What’s yours?”

  “The Masked Rebel.”

  The woman laughed as Chase unplugged his flight pack and headed for the street.

  “Thanks for the charge, Zoe, and the duffle.” A truck—it must have been thirty years old—pulled up to the sidewalk.

  “My pleasure, Masked Rebel.” She waved good-bye to Chase and blew a kiss to her husband.

  Chase unzipped the black bag and found a sandwich, an apple, and two bottles of water. “This is all I’ve got to my name,” he said. “Thank you for your generosity.”

  “If that’s all you’ve got, what do you plan to do at the train station?”

  “I guess I’ll cross that track when I get to it.”

  “You know that no one really travels by train anymore, don’t you? The only people who get on trains are stowaways. You look the part, but you don’t seem like you know what you’re doing.” Mr. Chang turned onto the highway. “Tell me your real name.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Um. Charles. Or Charlie, if you prefer.”

  “Somebody looking for you?”

  “Could be.” Chase rubbed his hand across the dash of the old truck. “I’ve heard about antiques vehicles reworked to run on electricity, but I’ve never seen one.”

  “You’re changing the subject. Why are you running? And where are you going?”

  Chase didn’t answer.

  “Listen, I’ve got a friend at the station. He helps me with transport. Sometimes it’s merchandise; sometimes it’s people. I can get you on a train, but I need to know where you’re going.”

  “Atlanta.”

  “You got family there?”

  “I hope so.”

  Perry got in the speed lane and passed a couple of cars. “Old trucks beat new Selfdrives every time,” he said. “You’re a man of mystery, Charles. Why do you wear that face shield?”

  “Protesting WR propaganda.”

  “Well, I don’t like too much about the WR. So go ahead and take that thing off—I’m on your side.”

  Chase didn’t move.

  “You can trust me. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first dumb thing I’ve done today.” Chase reached behind his neck and untied the cord. The face shield fell to his lap.

  Perry looked him in the eye. “Chase Sterling. I wondered what happened to you. I thought they shut you down.”

  “Is that what people are saying?”

  “That and more. SynVue said the things they tried on you needed more work, and they put you in some kind of coma until they could fix you. Your fans are divided. Some say the network will bring you back better than ever. Some say they hope you’re gone for good. They say you ruined everyone’s chance at getting some augmentation.”

  “Because of what happened on the air with Larin Andrews?”

  “You were a little scary that night, my friend. But the whole show was ridiculous.”

  “Were you a fan of Change Your Life?”

  “Not so much. We watched the special a couple of weeks ago because everybody was saying it would change the world, but normally Zoe and I don’t watch much GV. We don’t even get the signals for SynVue back there in our little store without catching a link from a rogue source. We live in the basement, pick up some signals put out by the Constitution Rebels.”

  “You and Zoe are out of the system?” Chase wiped the sweat from his forehead and ran his fingers through his uncombed hair.

  “For ten years now.”

  “But you live like normal people. You’re a business owner.”

  “The WR doesn’t concern itself with small-town junk stores.”

  Chase looked out the window as the desert became dotted with office buildings and housing. The traffic grew heavy. “I didn’t know people outside the system couldn’t get GV signals.” He turned to face Perry. “I’m surprised you even knew who I was.”

  “Everybody knows who you are, Chase. Better put that mask back on.”

  He pulled the face shield tight and tied the cord.

  42

  Chase got a little money from Perry Chang. Not that he asked for it. The man just handed it to him. Perry left him in the care of a Western Republic Rails worker named Frank. And Frank put him on a train bound for Atlanta.

  Nothing in the old forty-foot boxcar indicated Chase would travel in style and comfort. The air was hot and dry. Frank had offered him a choice—ride in a hot car or a refrigerated car. Chase opted for heat. His augmentation did nothing for temp control. At least he wasn’t shivering.

  “Atlanta, here I come” He settled between two crates and pulled off the face shield. “Somebody tell me what to do when I get there.”

  He tied Zoe’s black zip bag to the flight pack after he gulped from a water bottle. He’d eat again when the sun went down. Right now he had to rest. The exoself told him how many stops the train would make before it reached Atlanta. He had plenty of time and nothing to do. He drifted off.

  ****

  “See, Charlie, I told you your mother could get it out of the bottle.”

  “What does it say, Dad?
”

  “It’s the code, son. The numbers you need.”

  “What are they?”

  “Thirty-two, seven.”

  “I don’t think so, Dad. I already used that code.”

  “Do it again, Charlie. Or you’ll—”

  Chase pushed himself up between the crates that hid him among the cargo. He panted and wiped the sweat from his face. The numbers played in his mind. They danced. They sang to the tune of some old childhood song. “I don’t know what to do. Help me.”

  The train was still. Chase pulled up the schedule in his head and noted they’d stopped in Roswell. “Aliens. Great, that’s all I need.”

  He thought about Robert. Chase could track drones now, but the doctor didn’t tell him how. Was he just supposed to figure it out?

  “What am I doing out here on my own?” Sunlight barely filtered in through a few holes in the old boxcar. The darkness made him lonely. And hungry. He powered his night vision, pulled the sandwich from the zip bag, and removed the poly wrapper.

  “Smells like turkey.” He bit into it. “Tastes like turkey.” Before he could swallow the first bite, the door of the boxcar slid open and a man rolled onto the dirty floor. He came to a stop not ten feet from Chase.

  Chase grabbed the shield and covered his face before the man sat up and looked his way.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” the man said. “That mask you got looks like something off a cyber-guard.” He came closer and poked Chase in the chest. “You a robot?”

  “No. Just a traveler like you.” Chase tied the cord behind his neck. He wrapped the sandwich and stuffed it back in the bag.

  “What’s with the mask?”

  “Protesting.”

  “Oh, yeah, I did that back at Berkley.”

  “You went to Berkley?”

  The man rolled backward and laughed. “No, man. I didn’t go nowhere.”

  Chase faked a laugh and turned so that he didn’t face the stranger directly. But he kept an eye on him. The man scooted a few yards away and settled in between two crates. “Getting off in Shreveport,” he said. “Looks like we’ll be together all the way through what used to be the great state of Texas.”