To Dream

by Lowy, Louis K;

  “That’s the idea,” Acevedo replied. “Because of the piece-meal nature of the work, we were able to keep it entirely under wraps.”

  “Which in this day and age is a miracle in itself,” Hemley said. “So why bring attention to it now? Besides, we’re only escorting him to the airport where a corporate jet is standing by.”

  Niyati nodded. “The Sherlock Holmes idiom: the best place to hide something is in full view of everyone—at least until the airport.”

  “I can assure you, between Pete and myself, there isn’t anyone at Ameri-Inc. with more security experience.” Acevedo extended his hand. “It’s been a real pleasure.”

  “Same here, Doc.” Hemley nodded.

  Niyati grasped Acevedo’s hand. This time it was he that let it linger. “I’m thinking of going to Key West when this is all over,” he blurted out. “Ever been there?” His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  Niyati looked at him curiously. “Yes. It’s lovely.”

  Acevedo smiled awkwardly at her. She smiled back. Not sure what to do next, he uttered, “That’s good…to hear, that is.”

  “Miguel?” This was Hemley speaking. “We’re on a schedule.”

  “Right.” Acevedo released her hand and approached J-1, who was still standing in place with his eyes closed. “I guess it’s time to say the magic words and spark him up,” Acevedo said to Niyati and Hemley. “I want to make a differ—”

  “Hold it, Miguel.” Hemley slipped his Beretta M9 from his shoulder holster. “This is where we part company.” He pointed the barrel at Acevedo’s skull.

  Chapter Seven

  Date: 2250

  Planet Truatta

  GTS Warehouse

  Beeep…Beeep…Clut.

  Beeep…Beeep…Clut.

  J-1 opened his eyes. He saw a trio of blurry letters—GTS. It took him a moment to realize that the letters were on the cracked container and he was lying on his side on the warehouse floor, facing them. Too weak to stand, he crawled to the desk and worked his way onto the chair. He glanced at his knuckles; the apricot-colored bio-core fluid that had formed earlier had caked. He rubbed it off. His skin was clean underneath. He felt power slowly returning to his body.

  Beeep…Beeep…Clut.

  J-1 spun the swivel chair around to face the noise. It came from the R&P. A new shipment of GTS was about to be beamed in from the outside. Because J-1 hadn’t responded, the R&P produced the external emergency Beeep…Beeep…Clut sound to attract his attention.

  Warehouse ready to receive. Import now, J-1 internalized to it.

  The R&P remained dormant. It continued its signal. Again, he internalized the approved and ready message. The results were the same.

  Another Beeep…Beeep…Clut started up—this time from the wire cage housing the lifters.

  What? he internalized to it.

  It continued the signal. The R&P joined in. Beeep…Beeep… Clut.

  What’s going on? he thought.

  Beeep…Beeep…Clut. The emergency signal from the Teleporthaton joined with the other machines.

  J-1 receptive, he internalized to the Teleporthaton. Respond.

  All the devices continued their signals.

  J-1 glanced at the fractured GTS container. He thought about the convulsion and blackouts that had occurred when he sampled the gel. The genimetrothiasine may have altered my internal receptors. He waited for calculations, reasonings and conclusions to flow through his circuits as they always did and supply him with definitive answers. Nothing. His head spun from the lack of response and his hands trembled.

  An icon displaying an open hand with an American flag tattooed in the center of its palm rose and expanded from J-1’s desk. Tattooed below the flag was “Ameri-Inc.”

  J-1 stood and faced it. The home office must be sending an internal signal to me wondering what is going on. He rapidly bounced on the ball of his foot as he estimated the time until he thought Ameri-Inc.’s internal message was complete. Then he blurted out, “A carbo-oxide storm caused a disturbance in communication resulting in breakdown with lifters Coco and Horatio. Making repairs. Estimated time of completion: 123 minutes.”

  The palm icon remained motionless. J-1 licked his lips. His bio-core fluid rumbled through his chest. He started to say more, but the icon shrunk and imbedded itself again in the desk.

  J-1 breathed a sigh of relief. He was filled with wonder for having done it. Intellectually he knew what feelings were, but he had never experienced them. Was he experiencing them now? He kicked the container of GTS. “What is going on?” Nothing made sense. Were his thoughts affecting his internal functions—or was it the other way around? Confused and frightened, J-1 cupped his head in his hands and forced himself to calm down.

  He grabbed a small toolbox resting nearby on the floor. He took the kit to the R&P, removed the maintenance panel, and reprogrammed the link-com from default to oral command. He said to the machine, “Reset yourself to verbal response.” The R&P’s sensor blinked off and then blinked back on. The Beeep… Beeep…Clut stopped.

  “Status?” J-1 asked.

  “Fully operational,” the R&P replied in a flat voice.

  J-1 grabbed the toolkit, hurried to the Teleporthaton and lifter cage and went through the same reset procedures. He was relieved when they all responded positively. As he began to reprogram the lifters’ link-com system, there was a wall-rattling bang. Chunks of debris fell from the ceiling. Another carbo-oxide storm? J-1 thought. Since when? Before he could find out, J-1 was blown off his feet by a searing yellow explosion that ripped apart the warehouse walls.

  Chapter Eight

  Date: 2250

  Downtown Miami/Ameri-Inc. Headquarters

  Boardroom: 256th Floor

  The cyclorama screen replayed the scene of J-1 tinkering with the lifters’ link-com. The action froze at the beginning of the explosion. It remained in freeze frame at the center of the boardroom table where it was stationed.

  Rebeka Takáts pondered this from her seat at the head of a long, brass table. She glanced at the nine board members, four sitting on each side of her and one at the table’s end opposite to hers. Rebeka was a sinewy lady with a pale face that narrowed at the cheekbones and jaw. Though in an updo, her copper hair was long and lustrous. Rebeka’s chestnut-brown eyes hinted of Asian heritage, but the heavy eyeliner surrounding them left no question about the Bengal tiger inside. Tiger-fierce, she liked to think.

  She had the lush, wrinkle-free look of a woman in her mid-twenties. At 184 years old—seven decades beyond the average life expectancy—she continued to turn a lot of heads. Rebeka stood and said to the man at the end, “I’d like to see it again, Jocsun, from a side angle.”

  “Certainly, Madam Takáts,” Chief Legal Officer Jocsun Lipp said. He was a slim, muscular man who looked to be in his late twenties, but was in his mid-sixties. Like the other board members, he dressed in conservative business attire—leather motorcycle jacket, black jeans and heavy-duty zip-up boots. His hair was cut into a conventional short, olive-green Mohawk.

  Jocsun twisted a platinum ring on his index finger forty-five degrees. The cyclorama, a circular multi-dimensional screen that resembled a mini-tornado spun forty-five degrees and replayed the scene again, starting with J-1 opening the Teleporthaton’s maintenance panel.

  “Take the timeline farther back,” Rebeka said.

  “I’m sorry,” Jocsun replied. “The explosion destroyed prior sat-data. This is as far back as it goes.”

  Rebeka’s jaw tightened.

  The screen replayed J-1 tinkering with the link-com. From the new angle Rebeka got a clearer view of his face. Something wasn’t right, she thought. The Humachine didn’t have the unattached countenance of a machine. It looked…worried? She knew on rare occasions robots went off the deep end due to software malfunction or hacking, but the Humachine was different. By virtue of its longevity and uniqueness it wasn’t supposed to be susceptible to either one.

  She cast the thought asi
de because, really, the destroyed Humachine was nothing more than cheap labor. Granted, it was the most sophisticated and expensive cheap labor ever invented, but in the end it was only a machine. Her central concern was keeping the GTS flowing and in turn keeping the shareholders happy. “Speak,” she said to the board members when the frame froze at the explosion.

  “I’ve requisitioned two platoons of construction bots from our Cairo plant. They should arrive on Truatta in three weeks, but keep in mind there are variables that can prolong the warehouse reconstruction timetable,” said the Chief Information Security Officer, a man seated third down to her right.

  “Such as?” Rebeka asked.

  “First and foremost the uniqueness of the Humachine. With it destroyed there are no other mechi-machines who can single-handedly supervise processing and distribution.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, Mr. Azuma.”

  “The engineering department is redesigning the whole process to eliminate the Humachine’s necessity from future processing operations, but it will be expensive and will require the use of live operators.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. The more pressing question is: how long will this take?”

  Azuma cleared his throat. “Eighteen months before we’re again at full mining capacity.”

  “Do not take one second longer. Am I clear?”

  Azuma nodded once, quickly.

  Rebeka said to the others, “I’d like the president—with the full approval of Congress—to open the reserves as a precaution.”

  “Congress may balk, Madam,” a man sitting to her left said. “With the presidential election in full swing, they may wish to prevent it to make him look bad.”

  “Mr. Docobo, I’m not asking them.” Rebeka smiled. “I’m telling them.”

  Docobo frowned, but nodded.

  Rebeka narrowed her eyes into the tiger-fierce look. “If one word of the explosion leaks out I will consider it a breach of contract.” She accented the next words. “You will be terminated and all GTS benefits will be forfeited.” Her gaze lingered from one member to the other. Each one, except Jocsun, looked back in fear. “That’s all.”

  The group rose.

  “Mr. Lipp,” Rebeka said. “I’d like to review the cyclorama once more.”

  “Yes, Madam.” Jocsun Lipp remained as the others shuffled from the room.

  When the last person had left and the door was shut, Rebeka walked up to Jocsun. He grabbed the back of her hair, jerked her head back and smacked her forcefully across the cheek. The area turned a nasty purple-copper that nearly matched her hair. She pulled Jocsun’s lips to hers and kissed him long and hard. Releasing him, she took her seat and asked, “What have you heard?”

  He stepped behind her and massaged her shoulder blades. “Scuttlebutt is Herb and Carl have been talking shit about you. They see the warehouse explosion as their opportunity to gather a coalition of stockholders and have you removed.”

  “Over my dead body,” she said.

  “They wouldn’t be averse to that option.” Jocsun sat beside her. “Just because Herb’s your brother, don’t think he won’t do it. Since he and Carl married, Carl’s been putting ideas in his head.”

  “How do you know this?”

  He shrugged. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

  “Among others.” Rebeka swept her fingertips across his mouth. “What’s in it for you?”

  “The same thing, my love, that I told you the last time you asked me and the time before that.”

  “Tell me again.”

  Jocsun kissed her fingers. “A woman with charm, beauty, and power.”

  Rebeka scoffed to herself at his first two reasons. She knew the last one was the real motivation. She reached into her pocket, brought out a small tube of G-89—eighty-nine-proof GTS gel—and removed the lid. She handed the container to him. “I’ve nearly bought back a majority of the stock.”

  Jocsun raised an eyebrow at her. He squeezed the tube and rubbed a sliver of the bluish-purple gel beneath his tongue.

  “I’m negotiating the final details with Xia Ruffet to sell me his shares. That’ll give me fifty-one percent and then Herb and Carl can go to hell.”

  “You’ve been saying that for a long time.” He returned the tube to her.

  “These are delicate negotiations. It has to be done clandestinely.” Two can play this game, she thought, before taking her own sliver of the G-89. She replaced the lid and slipped the GTS in her pocket. Her bruised cheek returned to its honey-beige tone. “If anyone caught wind of Ameri-Inc. going private they’d have my neck on the laser block. But once—”

  “But once it’s complete, the first thing you’ll do is fire the board. And then there’ll be no need for me to be your eyes and ears, and we’ll be free to marry. Love, I’ve heard it a thousand times.”

  Knowing it would make her look as if her feelings were hurt, Rebeka turned the corners of her mouth down.

  He grabbed her neck and squeezed until his fingers marked her throat. She smiled. He let go. They kissed. The marks faded from her skin.

  Chapter Nine

  Date: 2030

  West Redlands, Florida

  Ameri-Inc. Research and Development

  Robotics Division

  Miguel Acevedo stared at the silencer attached to Pete Hemley’s Beretta. The tip was so close it looked the size of a sewer pipe. “How could I have been so stupid?” he asked.

  Hemley laughed. “Don’t feel bad, Miguel. You’re not the only one.”

  Behind the two men, Niyati trembled. She inched forward as if she was contemplating leaping for Hemley.

  “I wouldn’t do that, Doctor. Take a seat at your desk and keep your hands on the table where I can see them.” He took a couple of steps back so that both of them were in his sight.

  Niyati raised her eyebrows at Acevedo for advice. He nodded. She did as Hemley demanded.

  “Who got to you, Pete?” Acevedo asked. “Was it those bastards at KnoraCon Industries?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Hemley replied. “Remove your weapon with your left hand and lower it to the floor.”

  Acevedo removed his gun. “Ameri-Inc.’s not going to take this lying down. You’re putting your family in peril.”

  “My family.” Hemley smiled tightly. “Do you remember the Essentials of Communication seminar last year in Aspen?”

  “Sure,” Acevedo said. “The skiing was lousy, but the liquor was great.”

  “Do you remember Ron Johnson couldn’t make it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he couldn’t,” Hemley said. “Seems a little strange that the COO, and the nephew of the owner, should miss such a big deal. Don’t you think?”

  Acevedo shrugged. “Is this leading anywhere?”

  Hemley grunted. “He wasn’t there because he was in a room at the Washington Sheridan communicating between the sheets with Myra.”

  “Oh, God,” Acevedo said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Ameri-Inc. can go to hell,” Hemley said.

  Niyati studied the intercom resting to the side of her laptop. She inched her fingers forward until they faced the intercom’s call button. She wanted to press the switch so Kaye could hear what was going on, but was frightened. She struggled to remember if it made a click when it was activated. What if it did and it was loud enough to attract Hemley and his gun?

  “As despicable as that was, Pete, that’s not a reason to do this,” Acevedo said.

  “That’s my decision not yours.”

  Niyati’s heart pounded like tympani inside her chest. I’ve pressed that button thousands of times. Does it or doesn’t it make a noise?

  “What about your kids?” Acevedo asked. “Ameri-Inc. will go to the ends of the Earth to hunt you, and by proxy, them?”

  Niyati glanced at the picture of her son lying face down on the desk. She held her breath and waited for Hemley to respond to Acevedo’s question.

  “You’re right, Miguel. Thank you
for—” Niyati pressed the button. A slight click, but it didn’t attract his attention. “—pointing that out, but I was well aware of it.” He tightened his finger on the trigger. “I’m really sorry about this. You’ve been great to work under. I learned a lot.”

  “At least let Doctor Bopari go.”

  “I can’t.” Hemley glimpsed at her. “You see you two are the ones taking the fall for pilfering the robot.”

  Acevedo’s jaw tightened. Niyati’s eyes widened.

  Hemley smiled. “In a minute or two an alert will be sent to Ameri-Inc. about you two strong-arming me and absconding with the Humachine. That’s why I have to kill you both and make your bodies vanish.”

  “You’ve jumped the shark,” Acevedo said.

  “Think about it, Miguel. The two of you disappear along with the robot. When the authorities arrive, I’m on the ground wounded by a shot from your gun. After I tell them my story, who would you blame?”

  Terrified, Niyati studied Acevedo’s eyes. Glancing at her, Acevedo felt a sickening lump in his stomach. They were both dead and they knew it. “I suppose we just evaporate like water?” Acevedo asked.

  “More like evaporate in water. The Everglades, to be specific.” Hemley stepped toward Acevedo. “All right Miguel, time’s up. Put the data drive container on the floor next to your Glock. Slow and gentle.”

  Acevedo slipped the lockbox from his front pocket. Hemley watched him like a cat watching a wounded bird. Acevedo started to lower the box to the floor. The office door burst open and Kaye rushed through. “What the hell’s going on?” She eyed Hemley and Acevedo.

  Niyati pointed to Hemley. “He was going to kill us and steal J-1.”

  “I heard it all through the intercom.” Kaye approached Hemley. “I called the police.”

  Niyati stood. “Thank God.”

  Hemley quickly reached down, grabbed Acevedo’s gun and handed it to Kaye. She whirled it in Niyati’s direction. “Take your seat, Doctor Bopari.”