He nods, knows exactly what I need to do. “I’ll go with you.”
“Can you do that repopulate-teleport thing?”
“Sure. I not only can, I will.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at my confused look. “Grammar,” says he. Aiden puts his hand out in front of me. “Touch my hand and we’ll be there.”
“We really should have done this earlier, instead of taking a taxi.”
“Old habits die hard.”
“Tell me about it.”
I drop my hand onto Aiden’s arm and not a second later we’re in the lobby of the Mondegreen Hotel. Four of the six morning assassins are sleeping on the sofas. The other two are throwing darts, and Jim the doorman winces every time they miss the target and stick one in the lobby wall.
“Hello, Mr. Hughes,” Jim the Doorman says.
“Please, call me Quantum, Jim.”
“Hello, Mr. Quantum.”
“There ‘e is!” Burly the assassin laughs. “We thought you’d never come, mate. Wake up, you slack-jawed load o’ poofters!”
Short Irish stretches, yawns, falls off the sofa. He wakes upon impact, struggles to find his weapon.
A pistol appears in Burly’s hand and he fires a shot in the ceiling, filling the room with pixilated ceiling-matter. Doorman Jim leaps behind the desk, covering his head with a newspaper. Burly shouts, “Everyone up! The Reapers just called – they’re leaving your mum’s and are on their way here! STAND TO!”
“Why’d you have to bloody do that?” Scotty roars. “I nearly soiled me kilt!” His eyes are bloodshot, his hands form fists in front of him.
“You want a piece o’ me, you whinging Scots nancy-boy?” Burly asks, cracking his knuckles.
“Let’s ‘ave it then, wanker!” Scotty assassin says, his fists coming up.
“Glad to see they’re still motivated,” I tell Aiden as I make my way to the dining area. “Have them arm up and form a perimeter while I speak to Dolly.”
“No problem, Quantum.”
“One more thing… ” I turn to Morning Assassin, my daily deadly enemy for two subjective years, and not a bad guy once you get to know him. “Thanks for all your help,” I say as I put my hand out, “for all you’ve done.”
He walks past my hand and picks me up in a bear hug. “It’s been an honor and a pleasure, Quantum. I’ve really enjoyed working with you.”
The Battling Brits shout tasteful encouragement:
“Whyncha just kiss ‘im and be done with it?”
“Aren’t they just the dishiest couple?”
“Don’t bonk ‘im in the lobby, fer Gossakes!”
“Oi, Jim! You got any vacancies? They look like they could use a room!”
Aiden sets me down, grins at the Brits and gives them the two finger salute. They consider this the height of sophisticated rejoinder and howl their appreciation.
“Seriously, it’s been good. If you need me, you know where to find me,” and gun in hand, he vanishes.
~*~
“Dolly.”
I’m in the dining room at my usual spot, ready for anything. The sky has brightened outside sending in arcs of light, which reflect off the clean plates arranged on each table. I can hear the chef in the kitchen, whistling a show tune. I can hear the Brits bitching at each other in the lobby. I think about going in there and killing them for old time’s sake, but decide against it. New days, new ways. No need to revert to the hopeless, kill-crazy animal I once was.
“Quantum.”
Dolly stands behind me in a sparkling red dress. Her bob floats above her eyes; her signature make-up tastefully applied – just some eyeliner and deep red lipstick. The diamond necklace I gave her weeks ago sits just above her clavicle. I’d forgotten about the necklace, stolen from a jewelry smuggling operation I happened upon in The Pier. Seeing her with it now only reminds me of how long we’ve been going at it, whatever it may be.
Our history is real no matter what world I exist in.
I hold my arms out to her and she’s in them, squeezing me tightly. “I have to go, Dolly,” I tell her. “It’s time.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry for … not helping you escape earlier.”
I should be angry but I’m not. There’s no way to be angry with Dolly, who is truly the epitome of beautiful, friendly companionship. I understand now that she meant well, that she wasn’t trying to hurt me. The moments we spent together – those dance barefoot through my memory as we say our final goodbyes in the dining room where we first met.
She melts against me, tilts her face up and her lips meet mine, soft and warm and full. I say, “Thanks for the help.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, her eyes flickering.
“The kid, Picasso. You put him in my life and he led me to the logout point.”
A grin, a genuine grin anchored by years of affection spreads across her face. “It was the least I could do.”
“I know, but it really helped, Dolly. That’s why I’ve come back here, to thank you, to tell you I’ll never forget you and to apologize for all the times … for all the times I’ve been an idiot.”
“CN will have no reason to exist if you aren’t here,” she says. “You are the only thing keeping this place alive.”
My hand rests on the table, holding my weight. “I know,” I finally say, “but I’m from a different place entirely and … and I’m practically a skeleton back there. I need some time to fix myself up, to adjust to the real world.”
“I wish I could see your world.”
Again, her body presses into mine and her hands come to my shoulders.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Dolly. Rich versus poor is building steam, or at least it was when I was out there. We have Humandroid androids now, and massive, soulless, profit-grubbing corporations which control every aspect of a person’s life, even though most people don’t know it. We are an advanced species that may well advance ourselves into extinction if we keep on the way we’re going. Still, it’s where I’m from, and frankly, I want to go home.”
She kisses me again, silencing my tangential maundering. “I want to give you something … ”
We hear shouting outside and the clatter of gunfire. All-out war is approaching.
“Alas!” she says, “The dogs of war doth bark and growl; the rough beasts prowl and seek their prey.”
“That quote sounds familiar,” I say. “I should know it. Who said it?”
She smiles, taps my nose with her finger. “I just did, silly. Here, I have a gift for you.”
A digitized seed appears between us, its form wavering with static. It is oval, about the size of an avocado, rimmed in a blistering light.
“I’m the NVA Seed and this is my origin algorithm. If you access it in any Proxima World, I’ll appear.”
More gunfire outside. Shouting. Explosions.
“Is that really possible?” I ask, admiring the floating seed.
“Your inventory list is tied to your account; when you return to any Proxima World, you’ll still have the same items.”
“And I can simply … access you?”
“Yes, I’ll spawn in whatever world you’re in. I can also bring Aiden and the six Lobby Assassins ... ”
“Aiden?”
“Yes.”
“The Battling Brits?”
“Yeah, them too – why not?”
I feel my cheeks stretch as a smile forms. The seed goes to my inventory list, item 556.
“Will you use it then?” she asks. “Will you use the seed?”
“To be honest with you, I haven’t thought that far ahead,” I say as concussion blows in the windows in the dining room. Bullets spark and spangle off the metal fixtures, divot and crater the sheetrock, and kick debris like confetti into the air.
“Please, Quantum,” she says over the sudden commotion, “Don’t leave me alone in here forever. Don’t forget about me.”
The way she says this hurts my heart. “I won’t make promise
s I can’t keep, Dolly, but I’ll try … ”
~*~
A wall blasts open in a gout of fire and bricks and mortar, and Reaper Rollins makes his dramatic entrance. He’d be accompanied by Death Metal theme music if he could arrange for it to happen, and he pauses just long enough to allow us the opportunity to bask in the awesome badness that is him. Both his arms are morphed into large, spiky shark-finned blades with tremendous underslung gun barrels. A gaggle of his lick-spittle posse follow him in, although one is immediately blasted into vapor by an anti-armor rocket from outside, and the others whirl, crouch and return fire. The firing outside slackens for a moment, and the cat-calls and raucous laughter drift in with the gun smoke.
“Ooh! That’s gonna leave a mark in the morning!”
“Bet that made the big la-de-dah poofter poo in his tutu!”
“Oi, Rollins – me ol’ Gran and ‘er Colecovison are tougher than you lot with this ProximaTech!”
“You load o’ wankers are as soft as shite!”
“Mon canard est un feu, eh mate?”
Rollins’ bruxism is audible even over the firing and explosions.
“How many of our guys are left?” I ask Dolly.
“Aiden, and four of the Lobby Boys. And Jim and the chef – they’re out there too; they wanted to help.” she says, as she assumes a defensive martial arts posture.
“You don’t have to fight them with me … ”
“You shouldn’t fight them at all,” she says. “You should let me handle this. Log out before they—”
A solid wall of fire erupts from Rollins’ two mutant hacks. Before I can react, Dolly steps in front of me, shielding me from the blast. It cascades over her, strips her substance from her in streamers of energy, melting her away like a snowman at the gates of Hell. She stands there, an incandescent angel of fire as Rollins bellows with laughter. I scream in wordless rage and move to return fire when Rollins’ fire winks out, and suddenly she’s Johnny Storm, then T-1000, then Dolly again. She turns to me and her eyes flash orange, lit from within by some terrible furnace.
Rollins fires again and this time his blast never touches her; it stops dead, inches away in defiance of all the laws of physics.
“You can do that?” I ask.
“Log out, Quantum, go NOW!”
I’ve waited years for this moment; dreamt about it, fantasized about it, lusted after it and suddenly I don’t want to do it; suddenly I don’t want to leave Dolly.
“Now, Quantum, please! I don’t want you to see this!” She’s suddenly larger, darker, frightening, and the light in the room streams into her like matter into a black hole. Rollins shrieks like a sissy in sheer, unadulterated, sphincter-loosening terror.
I press the logout button and for the first time in eight years, I hear the logout tone.
~*~
Air enters my lungs; it’s warm, moist, tastes of nothing. I’m on my back, floating. I wait for the feedback, and I wait, and I wait, and I wait. Instead, a quiet, gentle, friendly voice materializes between my ears.
Welcome back, Quantum Hughes. You are in an Individual Life Support Tank at the TransProxima Insurance Trust Digital Coma Long-Term Care Facility located in Cincinnati, Ohio. Today is Thursday, May twenty-third, two thousand fifty-eight. The current time is ten forty-seven PM and thirty-eight seconds.
The automatic extraction and revival will begin momentarily. Please do not be alarmed. We are about to engage ... The Nozzle. Please do not move while The Nozzle is engaging. Moving will disrupt calibration of ... The Nozzle. Please wait while we calibrate ... The Nozzle. Please do not look away from ... The Nozzle. The Nozzle is now calibrating. The Nozzle is still calibrating. The Nozzle has completed calibration. Thank you.
Medical personnel have been summoned and will assist you momentarily. Please relax and remain stationary. Please do not be alarmed as we remove your respirator and Neuronic Vision Visor.
I couldn’t move if I wanted to.
I wiggle my fingers and toes, try to lift my arms and legs – no joy. Soft mechanical fingers remove my breathing tube, disconnect my NV Visor.
Then it hits me like a brick in the back of the noggin – I’m OUT! I suck in another lungful of filtered industrial medical facility air and it’s wonderful! Actual photons reflected from actual objects in the actual world actually enter my eyes and are actually processed by my visual cortex – marvelous!
Various whirrings and stirrings and clinkings and clankings are going on around me as the ArachnaMed does its extraction and recovery thing. My vision blurs, sharpens, blurs again. I blink rapidly, try to get hold of myself, blink again. The world around me regains its sharpness as my eyes adjust.
Four men in scrubs and lab coats wheel a gurney into my peripheral vision. I turn my head and open my mouth to speak, but all I manage to produce is a dry croaking.
“Yeah, it’s him. Dive vat data plaque states SAMUEL BECKETT; plaque’s chip confirms QUANTUM HUGHES,” the first guy says. He’s crew-cut, hard-eyed, lantern-jawed. Somehow, he doesn’t fit my idea of what a medical tech should look like, but who am I to judge? There isn’t a sea-going crustaceous bi-valve on the planet that’s happier than yours truly right about now.
I blink and my eyes blur and refocus. Second guy is big, black, bulky, shaved head, soul patch. He doesn’t look very med tech-y either. He looks me in the eye and asks, “Quantum Hughes?”
“Yeah ... ” I manage to whisper. “Yeah … ”
He smiles, ducks his head slightly, puts his finger to his ear, “Break, break – Control, this is Charlie-one. We have the subject; identity confirmed … Roger that, we got him. Extracting now; estimate complete in ten mike, will advise.”
He turns back to me and says, “Rollins sends his regards.”
Suddenly, I’m not so happy. I do what struggling I can, but I’m still attached to the mechanical exoframe that exercised my limbs. My efforts barely ripple the surface of the semi-fluid vat gel. “Help!” I gasp to the SpiderDoc above me. “Help!” I try again.
Guy number three has dark hair in a Pulp Fiction ponytail and an evil Spock goatee. He pops the cover off of some piece of vat equipment, examines it for a moment and jacks in with a handheld device.
“C’mon, McAfee, quickly! We need to move!” Number Two hisses.
Number Three puts down the handheld, straightens up and says, “Tell you what – you go ahead and spoof the alarms and execute an emergency disconnect and I’ll stand there and give you shit … No? Then shut yer hole and let me do my job!”
“Excuse me, gentlemen. This is a restricted area and you’re not allow … ” the Humandroid nurse begins, just as Number Four shoots him twice in the chest and once in the head. Alarms blare. Red lights strobe and a mechanical voice sounds off. “INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT! WEAPONS FIRE BAY FIVE, BLOCK SEVEN, UNIT TWO-ONE!”
“IDIOT! IDIOT!” Number Two roars. “Norton! You worthless, trigger-happy fu … ” He gets hold of himself. “Dammit! Secure the entrance and hold ‘em off. Kapersky, you go secure our exit. GO!”
I never got a good look at Number Four, Norton, as he sprints off in the direction the Humandroid nurse came from. Kapersky, Number One, charges back the way they came.
Finger to the ear, Number Two says, “Break, Break – Control this is Charlie-one. We’ve been blown; Charlie-four engaged ‘droid staff and triggered alarms.” He waits, listens. “Roger that, but contract states he’s worth more alive; will attempt to extract, will advise.”
Worth more alive?
“Alrighty, then,” Number Two says to Number Three. “Quick and dirty,” as he pulls a compact machine pistol from underneath the gurney and attempts to look in all directions at the same time. Number Three climbs up into the vat, straddles me and starts slicing straps, tubes, wires and leads with a chainknife.
Gunfire erupts from both directions, interspersed with the buzz-snap of PHASRs set to stun.
I float free and Number Three drops his chainknife into the vat.
“He’s clear!” Number Three shouts, puts his arms under me and tries to lift me out. I flop like a boneless chicken in the button man’s clutches. I’m slippery with vat gel, and I feel my spine twist and pop as he loses his grip, drops me. He tries again and really jacks up my spine before he lets go the second time and I slide back onto the exoframe.
“Hurry!” Number Two curses at his counterpart, fires several short bursts from his weapon, curses again. “Change of plan! Do him, get out of there and let’s go!”
Number Three puts his hand on my face and pushes it under the surface. Terror surges through me and clutches me in its grip; pink-tinged vat gel stings my eyes and I try to blink it out. My finger moves but my inventory list won’t come up. The goon is going to drown me like a kitten, and there’s nothing I can do.
I hear the muffled thudding of Number Two’s machine pistol; all I can think of is Dolly waiting in vain for me to return; waiting for as long as the Proxima Galaxy endures, waiting until the heat death of the universe.
I’m so sorry, Dolly!
A brilliant violet flash lights up my world.
Number Three’s hand slides off my face and I surface, gasp in huge plumes of air. He’s been PHASR stunned, and flops across my body, face-down. I know I don’t have a whole lot of time before he shakes it off, but now that I’m free of the exoframe I can move some; I can move enough…
I walk my fingers up over the back of his neck.
I get a good grip on his I’m so cool ponytail and focus everything I got on pushing his face into the gel, holding it there. He never twitches.
The bubbling and sputtering eventually stops, but I keep his face in the gel, just to be sure.
I have time to consider my position as I semi-float in the vat with Number Three’s ponytail still in my fist. I’m back in the world, and it’s the bee’s knees, the cat’s meow; it’s ace, it’s killer, it’s top shelf – yes indeedy. However, I’m in pain, actual pain, and it troughs and crests through my body. The novelty’s long since worn off, and I’m ready for it to quit. The intruder alarm is still bleating in my skull, and it’s not helping the headache I’ve got going on that would cripple a lesser man. Plus, I’m hungry – really hungry. A stack of pancakes, extra butter, crispy fried bacon, two eggs over easy, three slices of toast and a cold one would go a long way right about now.
The Feedback Loop (3-Book Box Set): (Scifi LitRPG Series) Page 14