“Not a word.”
“That’s good, right? No news is good news.”
“Yes. His scheduled check-in is tomorrow, so we’ll know for sure then.”
“Do you need me for anything else? I need to take a shower.”
“No, go ahead. There’s food in the processor when you’re done.”
A last supper, Lucas thought, celebrating with a rainbow smile. “Some form of dead animal on a plate?”
Kleezebee nodded and winked. “Taku Beast.”
“Seriously?”
The professor smiled.
Lucas’ mind flashed an image of the semi-transparent, phase-shifting predator. The first time he had seen a Taku Beast was about a year ago, while driving at night through the Cave Creek Forest on his way back to Kleezebee’s cabin. The ten-foot-tall, gorilla-like animal phased into normal space directly in front of his skimmer truck, making him slam on the grav-brakes and angle sharply to avoid smashing into it. The creature’s deafening roar shook his bones to their breaking point, right before the great beast took a swipe at the skimmer’s undercarriage with its seven-fingered claw. It tore a three-foot-wide hole in the metal skid plate and nearly flipped the vehicle. Lucas sped off before the beast could inflict any more damage. The town’s best hunters had been tracking the slippery animal for years, but hadn’t managed to kill it. “Did you shoot it?”
“No, I set a trap. Turns out, the great beast likes raspum almost as much as I do. Mixed it in with a batch of flour and butter and left the bucket out. Worked like a charm.”
Lucas smiled. “Ahhh. It couldn’t phase shift once it was shit-faced. Damn, why didn’t I think of that?”
“Sometimes the easiest solution is the hardest to find.”
“I was wondering what happened to all the booze.”
“What? Did you think I went on a bender today?”
Hell, yes, he did. “Of course not. I figured you spilled it or something.”
Kleezebee’s lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything.
“At least the locals won’t have to worry about being outside at night anymore.”
“I wish that were true, but I heard another growl right after I skinned and gutted the one waiting for you in the kitchen. Probably the female. If so, she’s gonna be on the prowl. I’m sure she didn’t like me killing her mate.”
Lucas smiled. “Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn.”
“Sort of like my ex-wife,” Kleezebee said, laughing. Lucas joined him.
A few seconds later, a familiar melody reverberated through the floorboards, then fell silent. “Sounds like Fuji just finished his prayer vigil. I think I’ll head down for a quick visit. Wanna join me?”
“What about dinner?”
“In a bit. I want to check out the suit.”
“You go ahead. I need to rest this ankle. Those steps are hell on these old bones.”
FOUR
Lucas walked to the middle of the Kleezebee’s living room and bent down to grab the recessed handle of the trap door, swinging it open from right to left on a trio of six-inch metal hinges. The 3x6 reinforced door creaked wildly as he pulled it up and laid it over. A mist of dust particulates and odor drifted up from below, filling his nostrils with a medley of scents—smoke, candle wax, stale humidity, and what he thought was scorched meat and hair. His belly erupted in a low-pitched gurgle as he walked down the seven steps into the basement.
Kleezebee’s cabin had originally been built as a mining shack during the great Tritanium Ore Rush that had occurred some fifty years earlier. Ghost Mountain was the first of many rich tritanium deposits discovered on the colony, making the elite class on Kleezebee’s version of Earth extremely wealthy in the process.
When they’d first arrived at the abandoned cabin, Fuji and the professor had spent several months enlarging the existing basement by carving space out of the mineral-hardened rock with modified stunner technology in order to provide a shielded, temperature-controlled environment for Fuji’s work. They’d even managed to build a secure, underground, five-hundred-foot-long escape tunnel that led into the adjacent forest. Unfortunately, in the process, they’d exhausted the energy stored in the only two E-121 spheres they had on hand. The rest of the power modules had been confiscated by Cyrus’ new regime. Kleezebee needed the BioTex material in order to revive his crew of replicas, and then use their shape-shifting abilities to infiltrate Cyrus’ compound and reacquire the E-121.
Lucas stepped off the last rung of the ladder. Fuji stood just three steps away, his arms folded with his hands tucked inside the oversized cuffs of his child-sized robe. His frail-looking jawline and cheekbones were stiff, as if he were paralyzed with focus. Lucas could see into the next room where the metal cage that formed the exterior to the Incursion Chamber was waiting for him. Fuji still had work to do in order to complete the device, but it wouldn’t be long, assuming the team could acquire the remaining items on their to-do list.
“You having a barbecue down here?” Lucas asked him, wondering what had caused the odd smell. He sniffed twice. “Smells like KFC on steroids.”
Fuji’s brow pinched and his eyes flared but he said nothing. The monk pushed his middle finger at the center of his wire-rimmed glasses, sliding them up the bridge of his nose.
Lucas scanned the man’s bronze-colored robe. “Get a little too close to the candles, again?”
“Today’s celebration was in honor of the eleventh sacrifice,” Fuji answered, spreading his arms like a priest blessing a meal.
“Okay, but what’s that smell?”
Fuji peeled back the tattered cotton sleeve covering his left arm. A red, blistered area dominated the center of his skin. “Homage was paid.”
“Holy shit.” Lucas knelt down next to the pint-sized monk, wanting to inspect the wound. He reached for Fuji’s arm, but the cleric stepped back before contact. “I know I’m not allowed to touch, but I need to take a look at that.”
Fuji bowed slightly, walking closer. He held out his injured arm.
Lucas bent his torso forward to inspect the damage without touching the man. “That’s a pretty significant burn. Third degree from the looks of it. Man, that’s gotta hurt.”
“Pain is a forgotten fruit. Without it, you wither and die.”
“You better have Kleezebee treat it before it gets infected. Jesus, why would anyone do that on purpose?”
“Young Lucas, if you don’t arrest the fire within, it shall consume you.”
“What?”
“I speak of your recent transgression. Debts must be paid before virtue becomes all but trivial.”
Lucas sifted through his recent memories. Which transgression was Fuji talking about? Jenkins’ torture? His impure thoughts about the daughter of the town baker, Carrie Anne Fisher? His break-in and theft of guns and ammo from the town’s gunsmith to buy Mag-Lift credits? His anger toward the Krellian Empire, Kleezebee, and the entire universe for what happened to Drew? His list of sins grew longer with each passing day. He shrugged.
“We have spoken at length before.”
“Yeah, I remember. But that’s not why I came down here.”
“I am fully aware of your quest. But a forsaken soul is ripe to suggestion.”
“You want me to stop my interrogations. Or at least how I’m doing them.”
Fuji nodded.
Lucas wondered if Fuji had a crystal ball hidden somewhere in his dungeon. How else would his tiny friend always seem to know what he was feeling or doing. “I know you don’t approve. But I have to find my brother.”
“Torture is not a recipe for success.”
“Maybe for you. But trust me, I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks of me or my tactics. I’ll gladly meet Lucifer himself at the gates of hell before I stop looking for my brother. I will find him. No matter what it takes.”
“Only a penitent man shall endure.”
“I’ll tell you what, Fuuj, let me think about it, and get back to you on that,” Lucas
said with a half-smile, as he slid past Fuji. He made his way to the monk’s workstation at the west end of the basement. Fuji followed two steps behind, his soft-soled sandals brushing across the cement floor of Kleezebee’s basement.
Lucas opened a cardboard box stenciled with the letters SSS-2. He pulled out a body-length suit stored inside. A maze-like symmetry of orange lines flowed across the black surface of the synthetic material, much like the pattern of conductive pathways etched into the bottom of a computer circuit board.
Lucas smiled. “The micro-circuitry looks even better than it did on the schematics.” He pulled at the neck seam of the body suit, inspecting the array of alternating graphene layers. The meta-fabric snapped perfectly back into place. “The buildup of nano-wires is a work of art. I’m impressed, Fuji. Damn impressed.”
Fuji bowed.
“What length did you use?”
“Four hundred and forty-four nanometers.”
Lucas hadn’t expected a wavelength just inside the visible spectrum. The original specs called for nine hundred nanometers. Obviously, Fuji had improved the meta-material’s efficiency. “Will we still achieve the proper index once it’s supercharged?”
“Calculations indicate minus point eight.”
“I’m not sure my code will handle a negative refraction,” Lucas said, wondering if the garment would bend visible light, especially after the suit was electrified with several terajoules of pure energy. “Did you run it through the test bed of simulations I programmed for you?”
“Yes. Suit exceeded expectations.”
“What about potential energy loss through absorption?”
“Conductive efficiency at one hundred percent.”
Lucas smiled; Fuji may have actually solved it. He held the suit up to further inspect its elastic properties. He put his hand inside the waistband, and pushed out a section of the groundbreaking material with a five-finger spread. He wondered how well the Smart Skin Suit would fit his body. It looked a bit restrictive and uncomfortable.
“Maybe we should do a fitting? Right now, I think my boys might feel a little suffocated in this. And you know, I just might need them someday.”
“As you wish,” Fuji answered in a soft voice, retrieving a yellow metal tape measure from the top drawer of the work desk. Old school tech, to be sure.
Lucas removed his clothes, then slipped both legs into the split-pouch hidden in the back of the suit. He stretched open the top half of the suit and pulled it over his head and down to his shoulders. He wriggled and tugged until the suit was into position, hugging every inch of his six-foot frame. “Damn, this bitch is tight. I sure wouldn’t want to run a marathon in this.”
Fuji pulled the tape measure open, wrapping it around Lucas’ waistline. “Twenty-eight inches exact. Perfect fit.”
“Can you loosen up the crotch a bit? My balls feel like frightened turtles in this thing.”
Fuji checked the inseam, then the span across Lucas’ back. “No adjustments are needed. Specifications require maximum contact across your physique to protect you during the incursion process.”
“Yeah, I know, but a little comfort would go a long way.”
“I will recheck specifications.”
“Thanks, Fuuj; I appreciate whatever you can do.” Lucas turned around, putting his back to Fuji. “A little help?” Fuji helped Lucas slip out of the Smart Skin Suit. “Free at last.” Lucas wiped a dozen beads of sweat from his forehead with a cotton towel.
Fuji walked ten steps to his prayer altar and wood-burning fireplace. He draped the Smart Skin Suit over the back of the wooden rocking chair sitting to the left. “Do you plan to mate with your lady friend in town?”
“Who? Carrie Anne?”
“She occupies your thoughts, yes?”
“I guess,” Lucas answered, shuffling his feet. “She’s a little chunky and missing a couple of teeth, but her rack is a killer. Plus, she has all her body parts, so that’s a bonus. But I’m a little busy right now.”
“Time may adjust to find its way.”
“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Fuuj. I haven’t even asked her out yet.”
“Emotions quicken without provocation. Especially for a man with limited restraint.”
“More riddles?”
Fuji didn’t respond.
“Hey, I have restraint. Just not your kind of restraint,” Lucas said, thinking of the last time he had sat and talked with Carrie Anne, last week at the bakery. He’d learned she was preparing for the forty-day Neophan season, meaning in four days, she’d once again give up meat, make-up, and sex, leaving Lucas alone to entertain himself, again. Self-gratification wasn’t the end of the world, but he’d watched all the adult material on his insta-block. Even if he could wait until after the holy season to ask her out, chances were either the police would have arrested him, or Kleezebee would have activated Fuji’s incursion experiment and, assuming it worked, they’d be off to rescue Drew.
He knew he needed to acquire the courage to ask her out, and soon. His mind flashed a scene from an old Earth sci-fi movie—a klutzy, good-intentioned young man breaking through the roof of an after-hours 7-Eleven convenience store, only to fall through the drop ceiling, landing back-first on top of the chip rack below—all in the name of a stunning blonde bombshell who wanted a chicken burrito.
Lucas smiled. “Fine. I’ll go see her tomorrow on my way to meet Rico and get it done. Okay?”
“The professor won’t approve.”
“Well, it’s not up to him. He thinks he can control everything I do or say, but he’s mistaken.”
Fuji didn’t say anything.
Lucas’ original plan was to take Carrie Anne out on a romantic picnic in the forest, but realized he needed a new plan with a pissed-off Taku Beast on the loose. Maybe a romantic dinner on the Mag-Lift train? Damn, he’d just given away his only passes to Jenkins. What the hell had he been thinking?
FIVE
Lucas picked a seat at the far end of the counter in Fisher’s Bakery, away from the line of weary-eyed patrons waiting to order their morning dose of caffeine and Danish. A wrinkled newspaper was lying sideways across the stool next to him as if someone were saving the seat. The headline read East Side Exterminator Terrorizes the Narrows. He tried not to stare at it. Just blend in, he told himself silently. Nobody knows it’s you. He figured the pair of cooks that caught him leaving Jenkins’ basement must have squealed to the media.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. If they only knew me, the real me, he thought, they’d surely understand. He was an astrophysicist on a desperate quest to find his disabled foster brother, not the cold-blooded butcher who dominated the town’s whisper mill. He didn’t have a choice. Certainly, anyone of them would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.
Lucas drew a slow breath, trying to calm his pulse. His nostrils tingled with the delicious scent of fresh pastry and finely brewed coffee. He planned to order his usual: the hungry-man Danish smothered with cherries. Even so, he flipped the handwritten menu that doubled as a place mat and pretended to read it, waiting for Carrie Anne to appear from behind the door to the kitchen. He could hear her lovely, high-pitched voice, singing and humming a pleasant tune on the other side of the back wall.
She always seemed to be in a good mood, no matter who was in the bakery, and that was true even back on the very first day he had met her. He didn’t remember why he decided to first enter the bakery. He was walking along the street, minding his own business, not intending to purchase a pastry when something called out to him. It wasn’t a verbal hail, more of a subconscious pull drawing his body inside the bakery. It were as if a giant magnet snagged his heart, sucking him inside the establishment against his will. Regardless of the reason, he was thankful that fortune had smiled on him that glorious day in May.
He planned to honor his promise to Fuji and ask her out today, but as usual, his best words evaded him. They were buried deep under a pool of thick mud swell
ing inside his brain. He feared they would once again fail to line up in proper formation, making him sound like a drooling idiot. “Get it together, dickhead,” he mumbled to himself. The wetness in his throat evaporated and his chest seemed to shrink inside its own skin. He pulled his partially stuck lips apart, then wiped the stringy bead of spit from his mouth.
He felt a firm double tap on his left shoulder.
He spun around on the stool. It was Carrie Anne’s old man, Stump Fisher.
“You here again, Ramsay?” the seventy-something man asked in a low-pitched, gruff voice.
Lucas ignored the old codger’s tone. “Hi, Mr. Fisher. Could I get a glass of water, with a lemon in it?”
“Do I look like a goddamn waitress to you?”
Lucas didn’t know what to say.
“You can’t fool me, you little shit. I know why you’re here. I see how you look at my daughter. Never going to happen, punk. She’s only for Piston—a real man.”
Who the hell is he calling a punk? Lucas clenched his fist, but didn’t unleash it. “I thought they broke up a while ago. At least that’s what she told me a few weeks ago.”
Fisher leaned in close, sending a wash of foul breath across Lucas’ face. “Forget about it, ass breath. She’s not for you. Do yourself a favor and leave now before Piston gets here. He eats wimps like you for breakfast,” he said, throwing up his hands. He turned and waddled away on his stubby legs, giving Lucas a clear view of a nasty, purpled-colored bruise that stretched from the man’s right elbow down to his wrist before he disappeared through the kitchen door.
“What a prick,” Lucas muttered.
A tall, but slender gray-haired woman removed the newspaper from the red stool next to Lucas and sat down. She put her cast-covered wrist just inches from Lucas’ right arm. The cast was an odd shade of yellow and cracked near the midpoint. It looked as damaged as her arms and face—they were covered with bruises and skin sores. She must have fallen out of a skimmer recently.
“Don’t let Stump intimidate you,” she said in a rusty voice. “He’s just looking out for his little girl.”
Incursion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 2) Page 4