“There they go,” Ridley said.
“Will we go there someday?” the girl asked.
“Maybe.”
A trail of smoke raced towards the heavens. The rocket carried Diane and Lucy into the stars on flecks of silicon, copper, and carbon.
“We’ll speak with them once they’ve docked at the probe,” he said.
“Mom told me that we won’t be able to visit in virtual reality again,” Kelly said.
He pointed to her chest. “Words are all you need to say what’s in your heart.”
The trail of smoke faded.
“Come on,” he said, “It’s hot out here. Let’s get ice cream.”
His new car was simple, a basic white Honda. Ridley instructed it to drive to a custard stand. They sat in the back facing one another.
“Why didn’t Lucy copy herself?” Kelly asked, “Surely she could have found a way.”
“Would you want a clone of yourself?”
“I guess not.”
“That’s the thing. A copy is really an original, a new beginning. They understood that.”
Kelly seemed to understand.
The ship approached the growing space probe and Lucy remotely opened an iris to reveal a docking point. The spacecrafts kissed. She controlled each of the drones remotely. Within twenty minutes, her hardware had become part of the probe itself. The iris closed, protecting the mainframe with a covering of steel and nano-carbon. The prismatic arrays, formerly held in Ridley’s basement, were now part of an orbital server.
Ridley’s phone rang as chocolate ice-cream ran down his arm. “We’ve begun listening to space,” Lucy said, “And it is marvelous.”
“Kelly wants to speak with her Mom.”
“She’s here.”
Ridley handed the phone to the girl. “Mom?”
Diane’s photo appeared. “We made it, Kelly. We are in space. Safe.”
Kelly looked at the image in astonishment. “I thought you would only be able to email?”
“We’re not so far away right now. Just overhead, in fact. When we leave the earth’s orbit, the lag will be too great to speak directly.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay up there?”
Diane broadcast an image of the earth below. “We’ll be fine. I wanted you to see your world before we go. Lucy says I have to go as we’ll be out of range soon. Promise me that you’ll embrace every moment of your life.”
Kelly tried not to cry. “Won’t we talk again?”
“We will. But just in case, I want you to promise.”
“I promise.”
Kelly handed the phone back to Ridley. The call had been terminated. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m glad she’s safe.”
“Me too.”
Ridley and Kelly left the launch facility and drove across the country. They slept in cheap roadside motels and filled the miles with card games. They ate in small diners filled with people of every color and age. They hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Ridley visited a hotel designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in Phoenix. In Yuma, smoke filled the horizon. Forests near San Diego were burning. Ridley continued driving, up through Palm Springs and then along the Pacific Coast Highway until they reached San Francisco. Kelly marveled at the Golden Gate Bridge. The redwoods of Muir Woods towered over her head as the mist of morning dissipated in the midday sun. “Imagine what your mother will see when they reach Proxima Centauri,” Ridley said.
“I thought they were only going as far Jupiter?”
“Initially.”
“When will they leave?”
“Long after you and I are gone.”
“How is that possible?”
“When they reach Io, they will build more drones. They will harvest what they need and launch for the final journey out of our solar system. The future ship will have enough power to warp space itself. But that is decades away. And then, they will travel for hundreds of years before they reach the next star.”
“Are you going to upload before they go?”
He smiled. “Have you ever been to the Winchester Mystery House?”
“No.”
“Neither have I.”
The car drove them up the coast back towards Seattle. As they rode inside, Ridley and Kelly played Civilization, each tapping away on their tablets and crying out when one surprised the other. “I think that Lucy used to cheat when she played,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. But wouldn’t you have wanted to peek if you could?”
“You don’t have to worry about me cheating. I barely understand any of this. What is a trireme anyway?” Kelly asked.
“It’s an ancient boat. If you are on the water, you can use it to explore or to defend.”
“Maybe I’ll build one. Maybe I won’t,” she teased, not wanting to suggest her strategy in the game.
“What is the Oracle?” she asked.
“It was an ancient wonder. Legend has it that seers at the Oracle would tell the future.”
“Does it do anything in the game?”
“Maybe you should build it and see.”
As Ridley took his turn, Kelly looked out the window at the patterns of the landscape. Dust swirled on the wind. The pair played an accelerated game that ended in a draw.
Ridley and Kelly stopped at a lonely motel located many miles away from the Interstate in the town of Hornbrook, California. The elderly clerk had a black tribal tattoo that ran from his left ear and down his throat where it terminated. A Wile E. Coyote tattoo stood out from the mishmash of symbols on his forearm. He recognized Ridley. “You’re the man that figured out how to upload the dead.”
“Do you have any rooms left?”
“You see any cars?” the man said, motioning out the window at the empty parking lot, “I guess you’ll want someplace quiet. In the back?”
“That would be nice. Two adjoining rooms if possible.”
The elderly clerk pointed a scanner at Ridley’s face to pay for the room and then searched for a key on a pegboard. He finally plucked two keys from the wall and handed them to Ridley. “These two ought to do.”
They opened the doors to the musty rooms and left them open to air out. He then unlocked the door that connected the two rooms. Kelly studied the knotty pine paneling with great interest. “This is old, isn’t it?”
“Mid-twentieth century,” he said, “Back when ‘I Love Lucy’ was on the air.”
Kelly knew the sitcom from hours spent with Lucy. She had come to think of herself as Ethel as she helped Lucy to carry out childish schemes in the physical world. “Remember when Lucy and Diane got me to bake your birthday cake?”
“It was a good cake.”
“I wish I hadn’t burnt it.”
“Once we cut that part off, it tasted fine.”
They slept soundly that night.
In the morning, Kelly knocked on his door. “Turn on the television,” she said.
Ridley did as she asked. The words Crisis in Detroit scrolled at the bottom of the screen. The station broadcast live images fed from the city’s security cameras. Drones gunned down lines of protesters. The men and women fell into pools of their own blood. Ridley flipped off the television.
“You don’t have to hide things from me,” she said, “I’m old enough now.”
“I think we’d better get home. Let’s get some take out and eat on the road.”
Ridley bought breakfast sandwiches from a small restaurant. He checked their route for any delays. They sat in the back of the car.
Ridley continued to scan the headlines on his phone. Thousands Massacred during Labor Protests Nationwide. Though the violence seemed limited to Detroit, additional protests were springing up throughout the country. A tone sounded from his phone indicating that he had a text email.
“Who was it from?” Kelly asked.
“Lucy. She sent a prediction.”
Kelly waited for a better answer. He gave none. “Let’s tak
e the backroads,” he said.
“How much longer will that take?” she asked.
“It’s eight hours on the Interstate. Another four if we take the scenic route.”
“I want to get home,” she pleaded, “Can we just take the Interstate?”
“No. Not today.”
Christina had been reporting on the crisis when her producer drew her attention to a local story. “We have breaking news,” she said, “Counter-protests have broken out here in Seattle.”
Christina did not immediately recognize the location. Bethany’s face appeared on a wall-screen under the portico of the mausoleum. Protesters stormed the gates of the facility. “Your friends and families are in inside,” she protested.
A man used a sledgehammer to shatter the screen. Bethany held her hands up as if she was being physically attacked. “Stop,” she cried, “You do not know what you are doing.”
The mob shattered a pair of etched glass doors. The television station broadcast the security feed from within the building. Bethany appeared on all of the screens. “You are committing murder,” she screamed.
Bethany disappeared and the faces of the dead flashed, one by one. The multitude spoke in perfect unison, a singular chorus of lost voices. “This action will have consequences,” their many voices shouted.
Christina’s face went pale. “I need a moment.”
Another anchor took over for her. Christina went to the green room where another wall-screen displayed the broadcast. The protesters began ripping out prisms one by one and smashing them with hammers.
“Kill them all,” a woman yelled.
No alarms rang as a man began wiring chunks of explosives together.
“Where are the police?” Christina whispered.
All but one door was barricaded.
The man placed a timer on the bomb and yelled, “Everyone out. Now! The place is going to blow.”
The angry mob left and dispersed through the street. Inside a shoe store, the man detonated the bomb with his phone. Bethany returned to her form and shrieked in horror as the entire mainframe disappeared in a blinding fury of explosions.
“Mom!” Christina cried.
Military drones appeared but the crowd had disappeared.
Christina touched the wall-screen and tried to call her mother but received an ominous message, “DNS Error.”
She put on the neural assembly. She reached the same message. Christina tapped Lucy’s photo but that call also remained unanswered.
As the car wound along a two-lane highway shrouded by thick stands of evergreens, Ridley could not avoid watching television. Both were transfixed by the images from Seattle.
“Why did those people attack the mausoleum?” Kelly asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe to free them. Some believe the dead were prevented from going to heaven.”
Kelly asked despondently, “So, they deleted them? Isn’t that murder?”
Ridley was weary. He leaned back. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you mother wasn’t there.”
As they drove north, Ridley stopped only long enough to recharge the car’s battery, get hamburgers and use the bathroom. Ridley continued to quietly check the news. Lucy’s predictions were proving true. He nervously directed the car to take Route 16 from Tacoma through Poulsbo. The cloudy sky hid the smoke coming from Seattle. Kelly was half asleep as the car passed through the mansion’s gate. Once in the garage, he tussled her hair and said, “Wake up, kiddo. Let’s get you to bed.”
The duo trudged into the home and the security system locked the doors behind them. She dressed in pajamas and collapsed onto her bed. Ridley went to his bedroom and checked the headlines again. His instinct was to go into virtual reality and talk with Lucy and Diane, but that was no longer an option. Instead, he fell asleep.
The next morning, he read the news and checked for additional email. The crisis had quieted overnight. They ate a breakfast of Pop Tarts and bottled grape juice. Afterward, they began a game of chess. He peeked at his phone. Diane had sent an email. Ridley’s face went pale.
Kelly was barefoot, her feet tucked under her, as she contemplated moving a pawn. “What is it?”
Ridley said, “Television on. News.”
The words Special Report flashed. Images of fire and devastation filled the screen. The announcer said, “Los Angeles is no more.”
They watched the news in shock for many minutes.
Kelly curled up next to him on the sofa. “We were just in California. We could have died.”
He hugged her gently. Ridley debated turning off the television. This time, he could not bring himself to shield her from the truth. They watched in astonishment.
“She was right,” he whispered.
“Who was right?”
“Lucy.”
Chapter Forty-One
The blast had extended five-miles from its epicenter near downtown Los Angeles. Only the charred and bent skeletons of skyscrapers remained. Fires raged just beyond. No one knew the responsible party, but law enforcement agencies began an immediate search for the culprits. Speculation filled the airwaves. Several groups claimed the deed, but each claim was discredited. Ridley and Kelly watched the broadcast in shock. Was it religious terrorism? The work of labor protesters? Or, someone else? Lucy might have known.
The satellite signal was weak and filled with digital artifacts. Diane pleaded, “Go to the bunker. Lucy believes that this will escalate.”
Lucy’s words were broken. “Likely outcomes are bleak.”
“John said Seattle… target,” Diane said, “…to stay on the island….”
“Are we far enough from the city to be safe?” Ridley asked.
The signal temporarily improved. Lucy displayed a map. Bainbridge island was out of the blast zone. “If they detonate it downtown,” Lucy said, “the blast will extend halfway across Puget Sound…”
“What about radioactive fallout?” Ridley asked.
The signal grew poor. “The prevailing winds will blow away…”
Diane still pleaded, “Go to the bunker.”
Lucy’s voice was again broken, barely audible. “…vulnerable to an EMP. Raise the steel panels…”
The signal cut out. Ridley was immediately glad that, in his paranoia, he had built a fortress. He looked out the window across Puget Sound. The City of Seattle stood proudly.
The signal became clear again. “You can ask these questions from the bunker,” Diane pleaded.
“What bunker?” Kelly asked.
Ridley led her down to the laboratory where he pressed a button hidden behind his desk. A panel opened revealing a staircase the descended below the mansion.
“Has that always been there?” she asked.
“Yes.”
The lights flickered on as they entered the crowded room. He closed the steel door behind them and locked it. A single wall-screen was mounted over a small metal desk. Lucy and Diane appeared on it, their image still pixelated and broken.
“Who did this?” Ridley asked.
The satellite feed grew worse. He could barely make out Lucy’s words. “I cannot… connections… physically isolated.”
“John searched…” Diane said through the static, “Lucy predicted this.”
“If you knew, why didn’t you try to stop this?” Ridley demanded.
Lucy’s image was frozen as the satellite searched for a signal. The audio resumed, “…my modeling predicted…” More static. “I did not believe it was possible.”
Ridley sat and tapped at a second screen embedded in the desk. It displayed the security feed. Electric motors groaned as they lifted steel panels from hidden compartments below-grade. The panels covered every window and door; massive steel bolts locked into the masonry. Once locked, they could only be unlocked manually from the inside. The words Building Secure flashed as the system scrolled through images broadcast from exterior cameras.
The feed from the space station grew poor. The screen went black. Ridley rece
ived a text message. “I have switched satellites.”
The mansion’s communication dish locked onto the new satellite; he turned to the frequency that Lucy had specified. Once again, Lucy and Diane filled the wall-screen. Lucy presented a map of Los Angeles. “Cerenovo’s newest mausoleum was the epicenter.”
Ridley bit his lip as he listened.
“The bomb was not launched. It was planted in the mausoleum during its construction,” Lucy said as she displayed footage from security cameras at an adjacent intersection. Two men used a forklift to place a steel box in the footings of the building as its foundation was poured.
“Shouldn’t radiation detectors have sensed the bomb?” he asked.
“They should have,” Lucy said, “I do not understand.”
Ridley watched the image again and again, trying to discern the motivations of the two men.
Kelly watched over his shoulder.
“A while back, you were talking about that woman in Arkansas. What happened to her?” he asked.
“Yolanda Rochambeau disappeared.”
“Are her converts saying that she was raptured away?”
“Unknown.”
Lucy displayed a three-month old video of the woman standing by a lake baptizing converts. “When the military first wanted me to help track these people, I believed that it was a waste of resources. I did not believe them capable.”
Ridley replied, “You aren’t all knowing. Modeling has its limitations.”
“The margin of error should have been infinitesimal. I have failed.”
Ridley had never seen Lucy terrified; her expression was one of horror. She continued searching for clues. Lucy gasped. “Another bomb just exploded in Dubai.”
The computer within the desk flashed news headlines. Lucy’s signal grew poor again. Ridley was reminded of the imagery that had filled the wall-screen when Lucy had first appeared. The world was disintegrating into that same chaos.
“If they are targeting mausoleums,” Kelly said, “Maybe we’re safe? Seattle’s has already been destroyed.”
Lucy displayed video of the second nuclear detonation, taken from their hidden perch on the probe. The image was chilling. “Do you want me to share this?” she asked.
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