True Believers

by Maria Zannini

  Rachel watched in mute horror. She didn't want to die, not like this.

  Sorinsen seemed to read her mind. “You won't die yet, Dr. Cruz. I need you alive a few days more.” His chest wheezed like a rattling tin can.

  She blinked her eyes in a feeble attempt to respond. Whether he understood it as such she couldn't tell. He continued to torment her by rolling the remote end over end in the palm of his hand. Her eyes locked upon it, knowing it held her death.

  “Interesting, isn't it?” Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he moved the device closer to her so she could see it. It was no bigger than a garage door opener with two tiny buttons and one protected toggle switch. She was close enough to touch it but she was too weak to try.

  “You can thank your bed partner for this. One of the conditions they had to agree to in order to search for their gods was to allow us to inspect their scanning equipment. To be sure it was safe, of course.” His cold eyes twitched. “The fools agreed. We copied the information, reverse engineering what little we could. Ironically, the one thing I thought most useless turned out to be the most valuable. We learned to detect the radiation signature the Alturians were looking for.” He leered at her. “Imagine my surprise when we discovered you.”

  Rachel felt herself slip farther down her seat, but Sorinsen grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. “Oh no, Dr. Cruz, or whoever you are, you're not going to fade on me so soon. We have lots to discuss. The first order of business is Paul Domino. I want to know where he is.”

  Rachel felt a slight shudder of relief wash over her just before she passed out. Paul got away.

  Chapter 27

  Paul paced back and forth past a thick concrete bunker lining the north shore of the beach. Chicago was gray and rainy today, a little chilly for the middle of June. Only die-hard beach bums ventured out on such a blustery day, and those were few in the middle of a workweek. Jessit's people had fitted him with a communications device, and someone had jabbed him with a needle. “To locate you, if you get lost,” the man told him. Paul didn't like the sound of that.

  He'd been given a new identity, complete with a keycard and a photo ID. Before he left, Denman had warned him it would get him into the facility but once he got in, there would be no way to access FAIA's computer lab without a biometric scan. Denman's people were working on that. Paul hoped they worked fast.

  It started to drizzle. He zipped up his windbreaker, a company jacket with a discreet Lambda Core logo on the sleeve. Rachel wasn't here, or at least he couldn't feel her presence, but someone else was approaching fast.

  The man was slim with gray greasy hair. He glanced down at Paul's jacket sleeve and nodded to him. “You Diamond?”

  “Yeah,” Domino replied gruffly. “You my ride?”

  “Yeah. Sorry I'm late. The El was packed today.” He gestured over to an underground tunnel that connected the beach to the other side of the boulevard. Judging by the rusted black iron gates and dank smell, the passageway hadn't been used in years. “This way.” The man waved him in. “Hurry up. They don't like us looking conspicuous.”

  The greasy little man eased over to the gate and passed a keycard over the bottom letters of a placard warning people to keep out. Paul expected the big gates to chasm open, but they remained stiff and unforgiving. It was the lock on the smaller gated door next to the dungeon entrance that released with a delicate click. Greasy opened the smaller door, snapping his fingers for Paul to follow. They had almost gotten through when a hard, bossy voice called out to them.

  “Stay where you are, the both of ya.”

  Paul turned around and cringed. A Chicago cop. Worse yet, a Chicago cop in a bad mood. Greasy seemed to take the whole thing in stride.

  “Morning, officer.” Greasy waved. The charm oozed out of him, but Paul suspected it got a lot of help from the goop on his hair. “We're with Lambda Core, sir. Checking some conduits.”

  “Ya got ID?” The cop ambled toward them, a subtle cringe every time his right foot set down. No doubt the source of his foul mood.

  “Yes, sir.” Greasy flipped open his badge. Paul followed suit.

  The cop looked them up and down and waved his baton at Paul. “Something wrong with your vocal cords, Blondie?”

  “No, sir,” Paul mumbled. “Sore throat. Just trying to baby my tonsils.”

  The cop checked the badge then looked up at him again. “Yeah, well, this weather will do that to you. Do what you gotta do. But you make sure this gate is locked before you leave. You know kids. They'll take advantage of every opportunity. Last time someone jimmied the locks, they graffitied the entire south wall.”

  “We'll be careful, sir,” Greasy assured him.

  The officer limped away. Greasy locked the door behind them. “Heh. You notice he didn't mention that the kid who graffitied the wall was still here the next day. Found him fried like your mama's dumplings.” He shook his head. “Kids! Why is it they never believe the signs that say Live Voltage? Let's go, Slick. And pay attention. This is the only time I'll be holding your hand. You're on your own tomorrow.”

  Greasy passed his badge over an electronic eye that looked over a hundred years old. It blinked green, and two slim doors cracked open. They walked into a darkened cell, and Greasy shoved him to the back wall. He stabbed at a button on a side panel. The small cell lit up bright as day as soon as the doors closed. Paul was shocked to find himself inside a slick modern elevator. His companion hit a second button marked Sub.

  The elevator glided smoothly for several seconds and landed with a faint thump. Paul's eyes widened when the doors peeled open. There were people everywhere, getting on and off a tram that vanished into a tunnel. Greasy tugged at Paul's sleeve. “Come on, Slick. Don't dawdle. The next train's coming.”

  They boarded the next shuttle, an enclosed tube with no windows and no wheels, at least none he could make out. Inside, the seats were utilitarian but comfortable.

  The tram raced out of the tunnel so fast that Paul felt himself pitched back in his seat. Greasy laughed at him. “You get used to it. Just wait until we hit the water.”

  No sooner did the words come out that Paul found himself clinging to the rail in front of him. The train felt somewhat weightless and less confined to a track. They raced along for nearly ten more minutes before he felt deceleration. Once again the tram locked on to something like a track and glided to a stop.

  They rushed out with the rest of the mob. Greasy shoved him toward a set of tall glass doors. “That's Personnel. And over there is the cafeteria.” He pointed to the right. “What's your clearance?”

  Paul fumbled for his badge and checked. Greasy glanced at it too. “Shoulda known. A code monkey.” He pointed to the other end of the complex. “Computer maintenance is past that security checkpoint. Don't be surprised if they frisk you. I think they like touching the pretty boys. See you 'round, monkey. It's time for lunch.”

  Paul walked toward the security stalls. Big burly men with even bigger guns manned the only entrance. He lifted his chin, praying Rachel was nearby. She was cutting it really close.

  As Greasy promised, the guards frisked him and confiscated a jump drive. “No external devices.” The guard pulled out a black billy stick and tapped it on the inspection table.

  “Sorry. It's just got games on it.”

  “Just games?” The guard poked him in the chest with the stick.

  Paul looked down at his feet and shrugged. “A little porn, too.” The drive itself was empty in case he needed to load anything on the fly, but it came in handy for subterfuge too.

  Both guards laughed and the bigger one slapped him on the back. “Get going. We'll hold on to this.” He slipped the jump drive into his pocket. Paul sighed in relief. Telling them the memory stick had porn kept them from prying too deep. A smooth and unexpected decoy.

  Paul cleared three more checkpoints and a retinal scan robot. The robot kept malfunctioning, and the operator gave the housing a hard whack. The machine blinked a solid
row of green lights. He was in.

  There were fewer people here, but far more witnesses than he needed. Damn it, Rachel, where are you? Shouldn't she have been here by now? He was screwed if he couldn't get her to interrupt FAIA's feed.

  He walked with purpose, nodding to one tech and waving to another. The few maintenance people at this annex seemed to be running diagnostics. He kept walking until he found an open terminal far away from everyone else.

  This wing was dark and felt cooler than the rest of the complex. The only lighting came from a row of recessed blue lamps that ran the length of the ward. Yellow spotlights lined the ceiling every four dozen steps, while Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata played in the background. Paul froze when he heard two men pass near his terminal.

  “Twenty billion gigs of memory, and all she can play is classical music.” He shook a fist into empty air. “Whaddya got against Nickelback, FAIA?”

  Their voices melted into the distance, and Paul was alone once more. He sat down and closed his eyes. Where are you, Rachel? It's show time.

  A sick dread welled in his belly. She wasn't coming. He knew it. He was going to have to do this on his own.

  There was no keyboard, only a flat-screen monitor sleepily broadcasting a moving star field. Paul skulked around the desk and found what he was looking for. The military didn't spare any expense. Everything was run through a virtual reality matrix.

  He clipped on a blue plastic eye-shield that looked like half a pair of psychedelic specs out of the sixties then cupped the curled rubberized ear frame over his right ear. The sound bud came next. He shoved it into the same ear. The virtual keyboard popped up into his field of vision. Next came the photosensitive gloves that poked out of a side pocket of the desk. He slipped them on, their silver metallic sheen shimmering in the low light. The padded fingertips controlled special relays that interacted with the virtual keyboard.

  If he ever got out of this alive, he was definitely getting himself one of these babies.

  His fingers splayed over the holographic keyboard. He closed his eyes and pictured Bubba's matrix. The code was layered, interweaving several languages and cascading through a series of portals. Bubba was nothing but security. FAIA had to be the same.

  If she was based on Bubba's core programming, she might also have inherited Paul's original passkey. If he were wrong, it wouldn't take long for them to find him. He flipped up his blue eyepiece and glanced around the cavernous room. There was only one way out.

  Chopin played over the speakers now. A depressing little piece he remembered practicing as a child. That guy was right. The music sucked. He flipped his blue shield down, bringing the keyboard back up.

  “Okay, FAIA, let's see if you remember Papa.”

  He keyed in his pass code. FAIA hesitated for several seconds before a beautiful woman in a white baby-doll negligee appeared on the monitor. She lay on a white tigerskin rug, stroking its face. She looked directly at Paul and smiled. “Welcome, Paul Domino.”

  Paul cringed and snapped a look right and left. The volume was so high he thought the voice was coming from overhead speakers and not his earpiece. He lowered the sound then typed in: Hello FAIA. Request access, priority override.

  The woman on the screen shook her finger at him. She sat and removed her sheer short cape, revealing breasts that peeped high over her lacy, low-cut bra. “Silly boy, you don't have to type to me.” The screen zoomed in for a close-up of the woman's face. She licked pouty red lips that were moist and pillowy then blew a kiss at him. “You can whisper it if you want.”

  Paul licked his own lips, suddenly aware of his parched mouth. Something didn't feel right. Any computer can be programmed to respond like this, but there was something different, something immediate about her responses. The monitor panned out, and the woman on the screen was on her knees, playing with the lace of her thong panties. She looked up at Paul and tsk-tsked him in disappointment.

  “You've been a bad boy, Paul.” The woman put her finger to her lips and the monitor zoomed in for another close-up. “Shh. They know you're here.”

  Paul jerked back and typed in scramble codes to no avail. Damn it! FAIA had played him all along. She played him! None of his codes worked. He was so fucked.

  FAIA appeared on the screen once more. “Run, Paul, run.” She giggled. “They're coming for you.” The image disappeared, but the laughter echoed long after she left. The yellow floodlights began to strobe, and workers swarmed to the center of the office. It seemed a good place to hide. He tore off his gloves and eyepiece and threw them on the tabletop.

  Paul mingled with the others, matching their baffled looks, which at this point wasn't too hard to do. Men in uniform barreled through the frosted glass doors, their guns drawn.

  “Can't run, Paul. Can't hide.” FAIA's voice came over his ear-bud.

  He ripped out the earpiece and dropped it beneath his foot. He stepped back and crushed its circuits into the ground.

  The guards corralled them into a tight circle. “Everyone, stay where you are!”

  Paul felt a strange tug in his belly and a tingle across his left ear. He sucked in a gasp when something pierced him.

  I'm here, Paul. Head for the exit when you see your chance. I can't give you much time.

  “Rachel?”

  Phht! Honestly. Can't you tell us apart yet?

  Dahlia. If it weren't for his circumstances, he'd have been angry. But right now she was a welcome pest. And he was out of options.

  The soldiers surrounded them. Paul tried to ease his way to the front of the crowd closer to the exit. Paul felt Dahlia's essence leave him. Moments later, sirens blared, and a huge fire started at one of the larger stations. Several operators ran out. Others raced back to their computers, even while the guards ordered them to stay put.

  Paul stampeded with the crowds until he reached the next room. More people scampered when another fire broke out in the security corridor. Paul kept moving. The tram was up ahead, but guards stood at its entrance. No one was allowed to board or disembark.

  Paul cursed his luck.

  Move toward the cafeteria.

  “Why?”

  Move it, pretty boy. I don't have all day.

  He did as he was told but all he found was a dead end.

  Turn right here. It's your ticket out.

  He saw a sign pointing to the Environmental Control Plant. He wasn't sure he liked Dahlia's plan.

  Everyone had left. They seemed just as anxious to know what the excitement was about. Or maybe they simply didn't want to be near the equipment that could drown them all in a matter of seconds.

  “Now what?”

  There's a flush portal in the next room. I saw them use it. If you can squeeze in, I can jettison you out.

  “Are you crazy? I'll never make it to the surface. We're too deep.”

  Trust me, Paul.

  “No, Dahlia.”

  A sharp burn cut across his face.

  Trust me or die. They're coming.

  Paul ran to the portal. It was a tiny pressure valve. He didn't know how he was going to get in, or more importantly, how Dahlia was going to flush him out.

  Hurry!

  Paul opened the valve and clamored inside. A tomb, he thought, with no wiggle room. He managed to close the valve behind him but there was no way to lock it. “Now what?”

  He waited for an answer but nothing came back. “Dahlia!”

  The lights went out in the room, and strangely, he felt Dahlia in the tube with him.

  Take a deep breath. We're getting out of here.

  He filled his lungs with air just before the bottom fell out. Within seconds he found himself at the bottom of the lake with several hundred feet of water on top of him. He shivered from the cold waters, but suddenly it felt like someone had wrapped him in a warm wet blanket. The pressure lessened, and he started to rise to the surface.

  I've got you, Paul.

  At his feet he could see the giant complex drift away. The hub was enor
mous, bigger than a dozen football fields if the wrecked schooner nearby was any indication. He wasn't sure how fast they were traveling or how much air he had left. He was still holding it in.

  Schools of fish scurried away as he floated further upwards. The water looked brighter, less murky. The surface couldn't be far off.

  It was then Paul felt something charge the water. The bolt of lightning cut through him with laser-beam precision, burning him from head to foot.

  Then came a scream. One endless scream.

  Dahlia!

  He reached out for her, but all he heard was a torturous shriek that reverberated in his mind. Seconds later, his cocoon burst. Dahlia had vanished.

  He was on his own.

  Paul scrambled for the surface, but half his body lay limp. He was out of air and out of time. His right arm and leg flailed, punching at the water as the desperation for survival took over. His left side was numbed, unwilling to do more than hang on to his bones. Again and again he chopped the water, hoping he'd find air soon. With his last bit of strength he lunged upward and broke through the surface. Gasping for breath, he sucked in much-needed air while bobbing in the frigid waters.

  “Dahlia! Dahlia!” He croaked out her name. But she was gone. He couldn't feel her anymore, not anywhere.

  His lungs and eyes burned as if they'd been drenched in acid. The right side of his body ached, but his left side remained numb and lifeless. All he could do was float. That wouldn't last long. He bobbed up once and looked around him. There was nothing but water for miles around. Paul closed his eyes and waited for death.

  The air pressure above him seemed to shift, and he thought he heard a machine-like hum. A glint caught the corner of his eye. He stared up but saw nothing. Again another glint, but the sky remained gray and empty. Paul drifted, woozy and disoriented. He looked up one last time when a brace of heat came down around him.

  From above, a hatch opened to an otherwise invisible ship. Two men jumped into the water with him. Paul couldn't think anymore, believing now that he was hallucinating. It wasn't until he found a harness around him that he realized he was being rescued. He stared dumbly at the man hooking him on to a tether. This wasn't the Coast Guard. These rescuers had built-in gills.