To Dream

by Lowy, Louis K;

  She was nauseated, her head pulsed and her throat felt like desert sand. She said nothing.

  Alonso smiled. “I understand. You’re upset.”

  “Let’s get it over with,” Marjory said.

  Alonso stared hard at her. His lips tightened.

  “Sorry, Inspector. Your call, of course.”

  “How long have I been here?” Niyati’s voice was raspy. She noticed everyone had changed clothes from their dinner party, though Marjory still sported the gaudy jade ring.

  “All night, Niyati,” Alonso replied. Niyati’s heart quickened on hearing him use her real name. “Don’t look surprised. You’re quite famous at Ameri-Inc.’s Security Division. Our NiBo line of security software is the best in the world. I don’t have to tell you whom we named it after. It was designed so that a theft of the magnitude you and your cohort, Miguel Acevedo, tried to pull off would never occur again.”

  “Who are you really?” she asked.

  “Security Inspector Johnston, but you can keep calling me Alonso if you prefer. Marj, Steve, Roland and Jerry belong to my sector.”

  Niyati wasn’t sure if she had heard what she did. Maybe the GTS had finally done in her brain, or maybe it was a bad dream. Wake up, she thought. Get out of bed! She tried to sit up, but her limbs were strapped to the bed’s side rails. Panic hit. Microtrodes were pasted to the outside of her wrists, chest, and ankles. Though she couldn’t see them, she felt more microtrodes attached to her temples and carotid artery. She screamed. Everyone in the room watched, stone-faced. She screamed again. Captain Eberhardt raced into the room. “What’s going on?”

  “Help me!” Niyati struggled against her bonds. “These crazies have drugged me.”

  Captain Eberhardt turned to Alonso.

  “Everything’s fine,” Alonso said. “She’s getting acclimated. Rather noisily, I’m afraid.”

  “Not to worry. The crew’s been told she had a nervous breakdown and that we’re taking appropriate measures.” Captain Eberhardt added, before leaving the room, “We’ll be landing within the hour. Nice to have met you, Doctor Bopari.”

  Niyati screamed until she dry heaved.

  “Now then, Niyati,” Alonso said when she stopped. “You and the other traitor, Acevedo—”

  “Miguel and I didn’t steal J-1. We were set up by his partner.”

  Alonso laughed. “Of course, that’s why you hid out in sovereign territory for sixty years because the real villain, a guy you killed, set you up.” He turned to Steve. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure,” Steve said. “Why else would she give away Ameri-Inc.’s data to Panther Enterprises unless she was innocent?”

  “And live in a gated compound under an assumed identity,” Jerry added.

  “Or fly on this ship to try and steal the robot again,” Roland threw in.

  Niyati’s nausea deepened. “If you knew I was living on the reservation all this time why didn’t you come after me?”

  “Because we didn’t know it,” Alonso said, “until Panther Enterprises submitted Suwanee Gopher’s ID photo and paperwork for this flight. From the photo, our NiBo security software determined that Suwanee Gopher’s cranial structure matched former employee, Niyati Bopari. But because Suwanee Gopher’s DNA and fingerprints came up empty—and it had been so long since Niyati’s supposed death—we thought it had to be a coincidence or a glitch in the system.”

  “I really need to pack up before we land,” Marjory interjected. “Can we please get a move on?”

  Alonso held up a finger—be patient—and continued, “I decided to run a few more tests, anyway. Lo and behold, not only did the cranial structure match, so did the iris recognition and the lip crease matrix. We couldn’t confirm one hundred percent, of course, until after you were onboard and we were able to get a sample of your real DNA. You nearly fooled us.” He winked. “But your namesake, NiBo, saw through it all.”

  “We’ve been given the all clear to dock, folks.” This was Captain Eberhardt’s voice speaking through the PA system. “Weather conditions are partly cloudy. I hope you have a pleasant stay.”

  Niyati felt her ears pop from the transport’s descent.

  Marjory looked at Alonso. She lowered her head and at the same time raised her eyebrows at him as if she were peering over imaginary eyeglasses.

  “I have a million questions to ask you, Niyati, but unfortunately Marj is correct, we must hurry along. I’ll reduce my inquiry to the one the corporate honchos back home insist on knowing. How is it that you have not only lived as long as you have, but look as good as you do?”

  “Exceptional genes.”

  Alonso smiled. He held out his right hand to Marjory. She bent down, picked up an attaché case lying next to her feet and flopped it on top of Niyati’s shins. Marjory snapped the case open and removed a syringe and a small bottle containing a clear fluid. She handed them to Alonso. He said to Niyati, “Last night we spiked the champagne with flunitrazepam: roofies. I’m afraid this time it’s going to be much worse.” He loaded the syringe with the clear fluid. “You’re aware of the dangers from an overdose of digitalis?”

  Niyati shuddered. Weakness, slow heart rate, heart arrhythmias, cardiac arrest, and ultimately death. “Buster Panther will never let you get away with this.”

  “He will when our lawyers explain to him that not only was he harboring a wanted murderer, but he forged that murderer’s ID to allow her to board our ship, which makes it an intergalactic offense.” Alonso passed the needle before Niyati’s eyes. “You have two choices. Tell us how you maintained your youth and you get to die peacefully from a straight dose of this, or remain silent and let Jerry and Roland slice it out of you.”

  Slice it out of me?

  Alonso waited another moment. Niyati said nothing. He whispered in her ear, “Thank you again for allowing me the pleasure of getting to know you as intimately as I did.” She spit in his face. He smacked her across the mouth and nodded to Jerry and Roland. They each slipped a five-inch long laser knife from their trouser pockets and flicked them on. The ghost-like laser blades were sharp on one edge and serrated on the other. Steve stepped away from Niyati’s side. Jerry took his place. He brought his blade’s sharp edge to her thumb. Roland took a spot next to Marjory at the foot of the bed. He brought his serrated edge to her big toe.

  Niyati yanked her limbs as hard as she could. It was useless. Cold sweat formed on her brow and upper lip. She felt the heat of the knives pierce her. “Wait!” she said. “I’ll tell you.”

  Jerry and Roland glanced at Alonso. He nodded. They turned off their weapons and retook their places against the bureau. Marjory rolled her eyes and handed Steve a folded touchpad from the attaché case. He unfolded the device and turned it on.

  “The microtrodes we’ve attached to your pulse points will send signals to Steve’s lie detector,” Alonso said. “If you’re being less than candid, we’ll know immediately. Should that occur, Roland and Jerry will ‘encourage’ you to correct yourself and we will try again. Understood?”

  “Ask me who stole the Humachine while the detector is on. You’ll see I’ve been telling the truth about being set up.”

  Alonso smiled. “It doesn’t work that way. Lies become truths in the mind if you twist them long enough, something, no doubt, you’ve done. Whatever the lie detector concluded would be unreliable at best. Besides, the evidence is overwhelming and I’m tired of wasting time. Speak.”

  Niyati teared up. She recounted to them the story of how she inadvertently discovered that microwaves combined with her target drug, U34, acted as a catalyst on the GTS to destroy cancer cells.

  “Folks, we’re entering the docking port. It appears the storm has picked up—” as if to emphasize Captain Eberhardt’s PA announcement, a low-toned boom rattled the cabin “—the weather has knocked our communications off, but not to worry. Transport will be standing by to shuttle you straight to your destinations.” Alonso motioned for her to continue. She explained how she ha
d refined the formula over the decades and that even she was surprised to find that it had reversed the aging process.

  There was another reverberation. The lights blinked. Alonso raised his hand for them to keep silent. He looked at Steve and Marjory. Steve pressed the lie detector’s screen a few times. “We’re A-OK on the reading. The weather didn’t effect it.”

  Marjory twisted her jade ring. “No effect on the audio-visual feed.”

  Niyati noticed a red sparkle in the ring’s large green stone—the glow of a minicorder. It hadn’t struck her until now that Marjory’s ring had almost always faced her.

  “Continue, please, in more detail,” Alonso said to Niyati.

  She gave as much information as she could. When she finished, Alonso said to Steve, “Was she telling the truth?” Steve nodded.

  “Got it?” Alonso asked Marjory.

  “Captured and uploaded to corporate,” Marjory replied.

  “All right, let’s pack up, folks,” Alonso said.

  Niyati felt the ship bump onto solid ground. They’d landed.

  “Hallelujah,” Marjory added. “Perfect timing.”

  Alonso tapped the side of the syringe with his fingernail, and pushed the plunger until the air was removed. He brought the needle to Niyati’s neck. “I hope you have a pleasant journey, wherever this may take you.” She stiffened as the needle penetrated her flesh. Niyati closed her eyes and forced her mind to stay on the one memory she wanted to be her last, watching her newborn, Jay, suckle her breast for the first time. Her limbs chilled and weakened. A high-pitched thrum filled her ears. I’m dying…drifting…dying…

  A noisy, sharp pop pulled her back. Then another. And another much louder. Niyati opened her eyes. The cabin wall where the bureau Jerry and Roland were resting against exploded. The two men vaporized into a pulpy spray-paint that showered across the room. The explosion’s impact caused Alonso to tumble away from Niyati, but the syringe remained lodged in her neck. Steve knocked down Marjory as he scrambled out the door. Niyati’s mind reeled. Have I died and this is my hell? Through the hole in the cabin wall Niyati saw a cadre of armed men and women rush by.

  One of them tossed an egg-shaped object into the room. A flash and another pop. Marjory screamed. Niyati’s bed blew off the floor and landed sideways. Marjory’s bloody head toppled against Niyati’s chest. She screamed and tugged with all her might to rip the shackles holding her to the bed rails. The rails, which had cracked from the bed’s plummet, gave and snapped. She slipped the shackles off, pulled the syringe from her neck and studied it. Most of the fluid was still in it. That means I’m still alive. Niyati tossed the syringe and staggered to her feet.

  There were more noises outside her demolished cabin—glissando whistling sounds, rat-a-tats, heavy footsteps, booms and pops. War noises. She shivered with shock. Should I run? Should I hide behind the bed? More booms and pops. What was left of the room started to spin. Where is my mind? I can’t think. Heavy footsteps. They weren’t hers. Hers were frozen in place, too scared to move.

  “Who are you?” a woman in military gear demanded. Her pupils were blue and her sclera was purple. Standing next to the woman was a sickly man dressed in the same garb. His eyes were paler versions of hers. He had receding gray hair, sallow wrinkled skin and hate on his face. Niyati was uncertain if he was old or looked old due to his ailment.

  “I mean no harm.” Niyati raised her trembling palms to show there was nothing but her sentiment in them. “I’m looking for my son. Have you seen him?”

  The woman glanced at the man. He said to her, “No mercy. Give what they give!”

  “Give what they give,” the woman repeated. She tossed the same type of egg-shaped object at Niyati that had blown off Marjory’s head. The two soldiers ran. A flash and a pop.

  Warmth engulfed Niyati for the minutest instant. The warmth roared to an infernal blaze that seemed to burn through her eyes. Her face blistered, seared, curled. She shrieked. It was a dry, cracked sound. She raised her hand. It was purplish charred pulp. She lurched forward, or backward, or sideways, or cater-cornered. She finally decided she was on a Ferris wheel ascending with Jay. They were celebrating his tenth birthday. He was telling her he had decided to be a scientist like her. It was the happiest day of her life. They reached the top. She kissed his forehead, caught the stink of her burnt flesh and saw the bloody mess she was heaped in. Niyati descended into a pit of bottomless black.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Date: 2250

  Planet Truatta

  Mining Compound Alpha One

  The Malalani feathered onto Alpha One’s landing base. Rebeka had ordered that she and Xia be taken immediately to the new GTS warehouse. She wanted to see for herself the reconstruction progress. She also knew it was important for Xia to see it in order to maintain his confidence in her ability. They were being chauffeured to the site in a windowless armored limo.

  “When was the last time you were here?” Xia asked.

  Rebeka peered at the outside view displayed on the limo’s monitor screens. “By here, do you mean on the planet or in the compound?”

  “Both.”

  “A hundred and thirty years ago. I came in to oversee and sign the transfer of mineral rights from Truatta’s regional government.” She mentally noted there had been vast changes to the complex since then. Most prominent, was the twenty-four-feet-high lead and concrete security barricade that had been built around the three-mile radius.

  Prior to its construction there were unmanned Ultro-SoundWave shields to keep intruders out. From a PR standpoint the shields had been more desirable because they were nearly invisible and less threatening in appearance. The stockholders had liked them, too, because they were cheaper to build and maintain.

  Damn the insurgents, Rebeka thought, for figuring out how to disrupt the sound waves, for bombing the warehouse and for stealing the Humachine.

  “How many people reside behind these walls?” Xia asked.

  “Three thousand five-hundred and twenty-two, sir.” The man who answered was Battalion Commander Combs. BC Combs had bulging muscles and was dressed in black fatigues. His look was standard fare for a man of his rank: shaved head, amputated earlobes and a gold nose ring dangling from his pierced septum. BC Combs rested a 344 LP2 laser rifle across his lap. He was seated at the front of the limo; his seat reversed, facing Rebeka and Xia. The auto-navigation system guided the vehicle north, past the residential area. “Ninety-percent of the compound’s population is made up of Ameri-Inc. militia. The remainders are non-military merchants, caretakers and such.”

  “How in fuck could you allow the warehouse to go under?” Rebeka had asked the question hundreds of times before to as many people. She already knew what BC Combs’ response would be; the same denial of responsibility as the others she had interrogated.

  “I’m not making excuses, Madam, but Covert-ops failed to pass along information to my predecessor regarding the planned attack, and that the rebels had acquired anti-phase weaponry of a magnitude that allowed them to disable the UltroSounds. Had I been in charge at the time I can assure—”

  Rebeka waved her hand. “You’re all part of the same militia, Commander. A failure by one is a failure by all.” The force of her last sentence indicated it was a statement of fact not a supposition.

  BC Combs cleared his throat.

  “What I don’t understand, my good man.” Xia wore a beaver-skin stovepipe hat accented with a red feather tucked in the band. “Is how in Hades did these ragamuffin terrorists obtain such sophisticated weaponry in the first place?” A white shirt beneath a black tailcoat and matching trousers completed his outfit.

  “Well, sir, the Tech Ops crew—” BC Combs glanced at Rebeka, “—that is we have examined the captured weapons and have concluded that though the technology is sophisticated, the devices for deploying them are not. They’re, for lack of a better term, powered electric hand rods.”

  “Powered by what?”

  “Carbo
batteries,” Rebeka answered. “Similar to our ozone batteries of long ago.”

  Xia puffed a cheek. “What’s old is new again.”

  Rebeka glimpsed at his nineteenth-century garb and nodded.

  “From the weapons design we have concluded they’re being built by the insurgents themselves,” BC Combs said, “but that there’s an outside force or forces who are supplying the know-how.”

  Xia removed his hat and placed it on his thigh. “If I’m hearing you correctly, you’re saying an Earthling is supporting the enemy?”

  BC Combs glanced at Rebeka for approval. She nodded. “That’s what we believe, sir.”

  “Someone inside the compound?” Xia asked.

  The golden question, Rebeka thought.

  BC Combs tugged his nose ring. “Compound personnel are embedded with nanotracking devices. We’re monitored not only by in-house security, but also by Ameri-Inc. security on Earth. Any deviation from normal activity would be instantly known. That includes data transfers of any kind.”

  They approached a T intersection. The road went left and right. Directly ahead were the mining operations. Armed guard towers dotted the perimeter as they did everywhere else within the compound.

  Xia leaned forward in his seat. “What’re the chances of someone transferring weapon information to the terrorists from Earth or space?”

  “None,” BC Combs said. “Truatta is a government-sanctioned province of Ameri-Inc. It is afforded full protection under Federal Interstellar Corporation Guidelines. Because of the importance of GTS the FIC has this planet under more security than the president’s residence.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Xia said. “It’s harder to get on Truatta than it is for a warthog to pass through a mouse hole.”

  Rebeka was losing interest in the conversation. She’d been through it so many times with so many others. She turned her attention to the monitor screen. It showed the rocky mining land they were now facing. Trams crowded with Truattan forced labor rolled into the immense holes that burrowed deep into the ground.