Fred. Ben. Sean. Momma Bear.
“—None of this needed to happen.” My hand goes for the Colt revolver that’s usually on my hip. Except it ain’t there anymore. Cuz I’m a patient in boxers and bandages on the top of a tank.
Jack says, “It was necessary.”
“The fuck it was.”
Jack stands. “Here’s the deal, kiddo.” He flicks his cigarette away. “What you are and who you are is because of what you’ve dealt with. What you’ve survived.” His big boots thump on Juliet’s metal. “Maybe before, you were playing this shit for yourself. Not anymore. This isn’t the same. This isn’t even for the fuckin Super Bowl. This is for the species, you selfish motherfucker. You needed to suffer to wake your gift up. Same fuckin things me and your mother and your uncle had to go through. Except you didn’t need to watch your parents die to do it. Not like I did.”
He stares at me. His eyes are red. He growls a little.
He gets in my face. Two inches away. Breathes smoke.
My headache comes back.
My dad’s a scary man.
I say, “I still wanna hit you.”
“You wouldn’t be my son if you didn’t.”
“And now you’re saying I’m responsible for the entire planet.”
“Our kind are. Do you know what you are?”
“An alcoholic asshole?”
Jack flaps his hands. “That goes without saying. But more importantly, you’re the first offspring of two emergent humans. Two humans who carry the genes of the Hroza. Nothing like you has ever existed.”
“Hooray, I’m special.”
Jack rubs his face. “You’re the answer to the infection. You can stop it.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” I scratch my cheek. “I knew that too. Voice in my head told me. But I don’t know how that’s supposed to work. Does this all wind up with us making heroic last-minute sacrifice to save the world?”
“Nah. I kinda like being alive, don’t you?”
I wiggle my hand back and forth. “There’s days where I could take it or leave it. What’s the deal with this Earth? Why can’t we go to another? Or just zip up to the space station you mentioned. Since you guys apparently pop around the timestream a bit.”
Jack looks out to the Hudson. “This is the Earth we’re from. The original timeline. We’d rather not see it become a mobile platform for the infection to spread across the universe. Or possibly into other timelines.” He lights another cigarette. Guy’s worse than me. He says, “After Emergence Day, me and your mom and your uncle, we got turned into celebrities. Local heroes. It sucked. Our gifts were being wasted. Cuz instead of stopping bad guys, we had to go on talk shows or dodge reporters.”
Juliet smashes over a seven-car pileup on the Tarrytown side of the bridge. Me and Jack have to hold on for dear life. There’s a faint trace of smoke in the air. And the town itself would be great if it wasn’t totally boned—not just cuz of the random pockets of Keefs I see.
It’s the smoked out tanks. Torn up sandbags. Broken gun emplacements.
Military musta taken a stand. Didn’t go so well. Duh. Never does. You guys know that by now. It looks like they blew half the place up trying to save it from whatever monsters streamed up from NYCZ to the south.
Jack says, “So we decided to leave. Piled into the family’s ‘68 Charger. Hauled ass. We just wanted to be anywhere else. Preferably left alone.
“My brother, see, he’s a genius. An actual, literal genius. That’s his gift. What he did, he realized that the Hroza communicated through quantum entanglement—where changing one partner in a pair of particles instantly changes the other partner. Modern science says it’s crap, but the monsters use it.” He shrugs.
He says, “We were in Kansas. Me and Catarina both seventeen. Caleb was twelve. We’re sitting on the back of the Charger. Caleb looks at us and goes: ‘If they can communicate that way, so can we.’ Then he builds what I can only describe as a quantum hitchhiker thumb. A beacon.”
I say, “For what? You go looking for Zaphod Beeblebrox and the Heart of Gold? The Infinite Improbability Drive? The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy?”
Jack smiles at me. “Truly, you are my son. No... Well, sorta. We were hitchhiking. We wanted to see who was out there. And they sure found us.”
“The Collective.”
“Yeah. They were impressed by the three of us. This little trinity of mammalian badasses. So we trained with The Collective. And we got really, really good. Spec Ops and Black Ops-type missions. Then we wound up protecting Earth. Not a bad security detail.”
“What did you do exactly?”
“We killed gods.”
“Which one?”
“All of em.”
* * *
We climb down into the tank.
I take a pull of whiskey. Nudge Turing outta the way a little so I don’t step on him. He makes an annoyed grunt noise.
Jack says, “They weren’t too tough. Ancient space vampires basically.”
I pat Turing’s side till becomes and he forgives me. Then I say, “So not only does atheism run in the family, our bloodline’s slaughtered all the deities anyway to drive the point home. Doesn’t surprise me.”
“Dude, they were fake gods, that’s my point. There is no ‘God’ fella.”
“That doesn’t surprise me either.”
Juliet stops. A grinding halt. Which’s never goddamn good.
I shout. “What’s happening Plissken?” All I know is we’re outside White Plains according to the holomaps in the command cubby. A little burg full of commuters. Bridge and tunnel folk.
Plissken appears beside us. “You’re going to want to see this.”
“I’m gonna assume it’s not a bevy of babes.”
“That’s a safe assumption. Bring weapons.”
I tighten the holster of my Colt revolver on my right thigh. Check the chambers. Six big life-obliterating bullets. The gun feels kinda slippery under the gauze I’m still wearing but it’ll hold.
And, hey, I’m a gunslinger.
Like my old man.
Except he ain’t old.
We could use the external cameras to see what’s going on. I don’t think about that, though, and just pop outta the hatch. Maybe cuz I want a cigarette after that taste of whiskey.
I go topside.
Ah, fuck.
The map said White Plains. According to the holographic readout, a decade ago, before this whole apocalypse thing, it was a city of a hundred fifty thousand. Now it’s gone. No buildings or people. There’s a big crater where downtown used to be.
Jack climbs up next to me. Says, “Huh.”
I cock an eye at him. “Yeah. Huh.” Fuckin hell. “You got any theories, mister timespace traveling dad?”
“Looks like the city just got up and left.”
“Cuz that’s exactly what happened.”
“I gathered.” He chuckles. “Sorta entertaining.”
“Sorta.” I cross my arms. “How’re we gonna kill something like that?”
“My brother’s been working on something in Boston. Should help.”
“You planned for this?”
“Son, we try to plan for everything. On the other hand, Al Swearengen once said ‘making plans is the surest way to hear God laugh.’ If you get the metaphor. Anyway, I told you: Caleb’s a genius. A wonderfully violent genius.”
“Can’t wait to meet Uncle Caleb.”
17. Foxy Lady
We drive along 95 in Connecticut. The Long Island Sound is off to our right.
The sun begins its descent behind diseased clouds and a dead horizon.
Look out at the water and you wouldn’t think a damn thing’d changed. There’re boats. A few cruisers. Pleasure yachts. They bob with the currents. Must have their anchors o
ut cuz they don’t drift into shore. The ships come complete with shapes milling around on deck. If you don’t have binoculars, you can fool yourself.
Just some folks out for an evening jaunt on the Long Island Sound. Maybe do some fishing. Nothing weird about that. They’re certainly not psychotic monsters driven by an insatiable need to spread a parasite.
Goodness no.
Not that.
* * *
We stop for the night outside Bridgeport.
I check to see if I’m still bleeding under the gauze. Nope. They’ve scabbed up nicely. So I tear the bandages off. Get to feel like less of a mummy.
I take Rugrat out for some air on top of Juliet. Bounce her on my lap. Watch her eyes spin around when she hears something and tries to lock down where it is.
Lovelace and Turing scavenge around on the ground below. I can see the glow of their running lights. The glow of their display screens.
We’re stopped near the water. South of the university here. Seaside Park. Not so close something can leap outta the surf and devour the tank, but we got a nice view is what I’m saying. Long flat beach ahead of us sinks slow into water.
I tell Rugrat: “Get ready for a light show.”
I saw a little bit of this during my tenure on the ESB. Flashes and biolumescence in the Hudson. But I was never close enough to appreciate it. Besides, the Hudson’s always been too fulla shit to see much anyway. But the Ray in the Meadowlands makes me think there could be bigger things out here.
Rugrat coos. Spits a little. Sticks her fingers in her mouth.
I say, “You’re goddamn right. Anything gets too close? Looks too hungry? We’ll blow it outta the water. Don’t worry your soft little head about that.”
She ain’t worried.
Jack pops up. Catarina follows.
He lights a cigarette.
Catarina swats his arm. Shouts, “The baby’s right here.”
Jack says, “Goddamn, woman. I’m upwind. It’s not gonna bother her.” Then takes a drag.
Rugrat sniffs the air. Wrinkles her nose. Turns her small fuzzy head toward Jack. Then scrunches her face in a grimace.
Jack exhales. Sighs. Flicks his smoke away. Says, “All right, funky baby. You win this time.”
Catarina says, “The girl needs a name. I won’t spend the rest of my days calling her Rugrat or Baby. I mean, really, that’s just lazy.”
I say, “Small human with a tiny vagina,” and regret it when Catarina whacks me upside the head. She hits hard. All I can respond with is: “Relax mom.”
That’s never gonna sound right.
Jack says to me: “Well, maybe it’s easier to start with things you like. Go from there. We’re not naming your kid for you.”
I say, “Things I like? I ain’t gonna call her ‘Guns’ or ‘Whiskey’ or ‘Cigarettes.’” I think for a second. “It’s gotta be something strong. Cuz she has to be strong.” I hold her up. Size her up. “Athena.”
Jack and Catarina nod. Smile.
Catarina says, “The intelligent and wise warrior. The patron of heroes.”
Jack says, “Good call.”
I sit Athena in my lap so she can look out at the water. I hold her tiny hands in mine. Plant a kiss on the top of her head.
Full dark, and the light show starts.
The Long Island Sound pulses. Yellow bioluminescence below the surface. Like the sea in front of us is a giant old computer monitor that just turned on.
An infected feeler breaks the surface a hundred yards out. It blinks blue. Curls into a question mark. More follow. A foamy wet field of nightmare grass.
A giant horseshoe crab emerges. Circular shell on its back. Shitload of legs underneath. It’s also the size of a five-story building. It shimmers yellow. Cries out. Clicks and chirps. Makes a low siren noise.
Catarina says, “This is very pretty and all, but that sounds like a mating call.”
I shrug. If we gotta deal with it, we’ll deal with it. Doesn’t seem like the big monster gives a damn about us.
Athena stares. All the lights and colors and sounds. Lotta stimuli for a baby not yet a week old. But she’s paying attention. I can tell. And I wonder exactly what my blood did to her.
Right now, though... Right now the sights are strange and dangerous and beautiful.
Three more glows move in like slow comets. Green. Another frenzy of feelers erupts from the water. All of it in a circle around the first creature. The new Glowcrabs stand on their hind legs. But these are seven and eight stories tall. A lot bigger.
Catarina says, “Despite your mammalian chauvinism, that whole ‘boys are bigger than girls’ thing doesn’t really pan out once you get to insects and crustaceans and more basic life forms.”
Jack says, “You think those motherfuckers are ‘basic?’”
“Horseshoe crabs are more than four hundred and fifty million years old. They’re ancient. So old there’s no hemoglobin in them. No iron. It’s copper. They bleed blue.”
“Hey, I know an ancient asshole. I’ll ask Three if he’s got any cousins in the mix.”
“Smartass.”
“I love you too.”
Jack and Catarina kiss. This has no effect on me other than being a curiosity about their relationship. Cutesy badass. Cuz far as I’m concerned, none of that parent crap has sunk in yet and thus I ain’t thinking about it.
The Glowcrabs sniff around each other. Play with their feelers. Chirp and chatter the whole time. Till the smaller one grabs onto a big one’s back with its legs and the other two big ones just kinda go away. They dive back under the water and head out.
The bigger Glowcrab turns to the shore. Bends down. The smaller one starts humping.
Jack says, “Oh, good. Monster fuckin.”
I say to Athena, “Your first sex talk.”
Foxy Momma Glowcrab digs into the shoreline. Throws sand everywhere. Makes herself a massive hole. Chick Magnet Glowcrab humps away. His undoubtedly horrifying genitals in overdrive.
Catarina says, “She’s laying her eggs. He’s going to fertilize them.”
I say, “How many eggs does one of these lay?”
Catarina shrugs. “Sixty thousand to a hundred-twenty thousand.”
“...Of those big bastards.”
“Yep.” Catarina frowns. “Most won’t survive. But yeah.”
“Yeah.” I look to Jack: “You sure whatever your brother’s working on in Boston can help us take out shit like this?”
Jack adjusts his hat. “Caleb’s never wrong.”
Not exactly filling me with confidence.
I hear a waterfall. But it ain’t. Tens of thousands of glowing red eggs spill from under Foxy Momma Glowcrab. Sploosh. Chick Magnet Glowcrab dumps his spermy load on top of them. Sploooosh. It’s as unpleasant as it sounds.
Chick Magnet lets go of Foxy Momma. He stands. Stretches out.
She turns to him. They stare at each other for a heartbeat. Two.
Ooh, maybe he’ll give her a loving kiss.
Nope.
She screams. Tears at the sky with chitinous appendages. Drives those arms and legs into her beau. Blue blood cascades down their shells. It flies off in flurries.
He flinches. Tries to escape. But Chick Magnet’s too small. Too spent. Too weak.
Foxy Momma opens her massive maw. Crunches his head.
Chick Magnet’s body shudders. Goes slack. With geysers of bright blue blood exploding from every part.
I say to Athena, “And there’s your first bit of relationship advice. Never fuck crazy.”
Catarina says, “Well, the female had the right idea.” She casts a smirk at Jack.
Jack rolls his eyes. “You’re hilarious. Why’d you ever give up that comedy career?” He leans into the tank. Shouts. “Plissken, bring the turrets to bear on your
three o’clock. And hand me the screen.”
I hear Plissken say, “Yessir.”
But it doesn’t sound like he’s mocking Jack.
Plissken always mocks me. He doesn’t call anyone ‘sir.’ He doesn’t call anyone anything. Fuck is going on here?
Terror strikes my cold heart.
My parents might be cooler than I am.
Stupid cowboy hat.
Stupid sexy (ah shit) suit.
You need a woman. Bad. And not your hot mom.
Jack sits. Holds up a personal holographic datapad. Lot like the Asimov I used to have. He puts a pair of glasses on. Clear. But I can see a digital readout inside. He sets the holopad down in front of him on Juliet’s tread. Says, “Check this out.”
A small, holographic version of Juliet’s big bad tri-cannon shimmers to life. Jack reaches out and clasps it with his hand. Moves it. Juliet’s actual cannon responds instantly. “No delay,” Jack says. “And no troublesome neural interface that’ll melt your brain. Software does most of the heavy lifting. After that, it’s just rotating your wrist. Thumb fires plasma. Index finger’s those railgun rounds. Middle finger’s your big-bore 260mm cannon shell.”
Jack smiles.
Catarina says, “Your dad gets murderboners from deathtech.”
At that, I do shudder. “Please don’t say that. Now I can never have my own murderboner again.”
Jack and Catarina cackle.
Catarina says, “Put these in Athena’s ears. And yours. It’s gonna get loud.” She hands me ear plugs. Silver raisin-looking things. “They don’t just block shit. They cancel it. But there’s also built-in comms so we can still hear each other.”
I pop mine in. “Neat.”
Athena squirms a little when I fit the devices into her soft ears.
Jack brings the cannons to bear on Foxy Momma. “Don’t look at the barrels. It’ll blind you this close.” He lets loose with Juliet’s big fat cannon. The massive shells fly. Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk.
They hammer Foxy Momma. Crash against her up her thorax in a straight line. They don’t explode. They punch right through her carapace. Make craters in her that stream blue goo. The last shot cleaves her head in two. Her antennae fly off. One flops on the ground. Her one remaining eye glances around.
A Man and His Robot Page 15