To Dream

by Lowy, Louis K;

  “Really, sweetheart,” Carl said as soon as Paula was beyond earshot. “Don’t you think it’s time we retire her?”

  Herb sniffed. “And replace her with who? Jocsun?”

  Carl removed his hand from Herb’s. “This is getting old. The man’s our punch card to paradise. How should I treat him, like a leper?”

  Herb hurled his glass on the ground. “No, but that doesn’t mean you should treat him like your whore, either.”

  Paula scurried back with a mop and bucket. She silently waited several feet away from them.

  “How could you think that of me?” Carl welled up. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this raging jealousy of yours.” He walked to the first of seven date palms planted in openings along the marble walkway leading to the bay. He hung his head in his hands.

  “Shit.” Herb lifted the cover of a gold relish bowl lying on the table. Inside was a mother of pearl caviar spoon and G-89 powder. He took a generous snort and went to Carl.

  Paula moved in, cleaned up the mess and returned to the bar.

  Herb removed Carl’s hands from his face. “I’m sorry, dear. I can’t help myself. I’m crazy in love with you. Forgive me?”

  Carl looked deep into Herb’s eyes. “There’s only one man for me, mister, and that’s you.”

  Herb hugged him, and whispered, “I hope so…I’d rather die than to see you with anyone else.”

  They kissed. The long, impassioned embrace lasted until the fingernail on Herb’s left middle finger blinked scarlet. A voice projecting from it said, “Sir, Mr. Jocsun Lipp has arrived.”

  Herb cleared his throat. “Thank you, Eugene. Escort him to the lanai.” Herb released Carl and said to Paula, “Fresh glasses and refills, please.”

  As they walked hand-in-hand back to the table, Carl tongue-moistened his lips. He wanted to look his best for the new arrival.

  ~~~

  Jocsun placed his attaché case on the marble tabletop and started to open it. Carl pressed his hand over the lid and stopped him. He whispered something in Herb’s ear.

  Herb replied, “Right you are, darling.” He turned to Paula. “You may take lunch now.” Paula entered the mansion.

  “Okay?” Jocsun said to Carl. He nodded. Jocsun raised the lid.

  Holographic images of several documents rose up and faced Herb, who was seated between Carl and Jocsun.

  “As you can see,” Jocsun said. “I’ve set the wheels in motion.”

  While Herb and Carl studied the documents, Jocsun marveled at how much nicer life was at this mansion than on the nosebleed height of his condo. He could actually smell the ocean salt. Jocsun compared the sounds he was hearing now—the rustle of date palms, the slosh of ocean against the seawall and the clink of ice against crystal—with the city noises from his side of the bay: the grumble of public transportation, the never ending rat-tat-tat of hustlers and whores, and the tired footsteps of aging, overworked men and women jostling to and from their daily grind. He never wanted to be on his side of the bay again.

  “I don’t know,” Herb said. “It looks too easy.”

  “That’s the genius of it,” Carl said. “The simpleness, am I right?” He smiled at Jocsun.

  Jocsun nodded. “And we got lucky. Rebeka’s tied up on Truatta for the next month sorting out warehouse operations. I doubt she’ll take notice of a routine matter that I, as her personal attorney, would normally handle anyway.”

  “All right, then.” Herb pressed his left index fingernail. It blinked yellow. He said into it, “Eugene, please bring me the satchel.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  A moment later, Eugene exited the mansion and handed a black leather case to Herb, and re-entered the building. Herb handed the satchel to Jocsun. He opened it and dipped his pinky into the blue powder it contained. He brought it to his tongue, waited a second, smiled and snapped it close.

  “As for the accompanying cash payment.” Herb rose to his feet. “You’ll find a substantial deposit in your off-galaxy bank account.”

  Jocsun also rose. “If anything comes up, I’ll notify you immediately.” He shook hands with Herb and Carl, and left without looking back. When the valet brought his vehicle, Jocsun tossed the satchel in the back before taking his place in the front. As the car drove him from the Mediterranean-style manor, he unwrapped a paper that Carl had slipped in his palm when they shook hands. It was an invitation to Herb and Carl’s Roaring Twenties party to be held next month at their home. Jocsun knew there would be plenty of high quality GTS on hand, and where there was plenty of that, there would be plenty of sexual escapades. He said to himself, “Sounds like my kind of party,” prior to instructing his computer to add it to his calendar.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Date: 2250

  Planet Truatta

  Interior, Mount Kwieetus

  Someone brushed a lock of hair from J-1’s left brow. Though his eyes were shut, a deeper internal vision—more like a feeling of joy—knew the fingers that did it were delicate, feminine and hinted of tobacco odor. This was his mother’s hand come to protect him. He was sure of it. He opened his eyes and shuddered with fright. He was lying half-recumbent in the dark against something hard and jagged. Seven pairs of corn-yellow eyes surrounded him in a small, tight semi-circle. One pair of eyes moved in, closer to his face. Something sharp poked at his scalp. He flinched. The eyes jumped back.

  As his sight adjusted to the frail illumination that seeped through the overhead crevice, J-1 realized with fear that he was back in the Dark Prey’s cathedral-like main chamber, and that the shrubbery surrounding the pond was nearly gone from the fire that he had caused. Most frightening, beyond the seven pairs of eyes surrounding him, were hundreds and hundreds more staring from the stacked rows of hexagonal lairs imbedded in the walls.

  “What do you want?” J-1 spoke in Truattan. His voice was arid, hoarse.

  There were one or two distant sounds resembling the patting of a child’s back—wing flaps.

  We ask of you the same, replied the creature that had earlier approached him.

  It was the Truattan language, but there was no physical sound. Like the dream of his hair being brushed aside, the words filled J-1’s inner vision. The creature moved in again. J-1’s eyes attuned to the dim light and he could see its outline. It half-walked and half-hopped in a hunchback position. Its arms and legs were thick. Its toes and fingers were long, thin and ended in short, pointed nails.

  J-1 estimated that if vertical, the creature would stand around seven-feet tall. It had wings attached to its back that folded upright in a half-opened position, like a bat’s. The skin covering the wings was a thin membrane that in the dark resembled ancient mummy wraps.

  The thing bent down to within a head’s distance. You are not sinew and flesh, true?

  J-1 stared into the Dark Prey’s face and again shuddered. Besides the yellow, piercing eyes, it had large circular ears and a small, flat nose. Two small horns grew from its head. Its wide, lipless, rictus smile was held open by twin rows of arrowhead teeth. The thing looked part simian, part gargoyle.

  You are not sinew and flesh. Is this correct? the creature repeated. As before, the words weren’t spoken, but appeared in J-1’s head.

  A thrill ran through J-1. He was again able to communicate internally with other mechi-devices! You are a machine, yes? he asked it internally. The creature stared for a moment and slowly blinked. J-1 repeated the question. No response.

  It appears dysfunctional.

  Though he didn’t know why, J-1 was cognizant that this statement had come from another of the Dark Prey semi-circled around him.

  J-1 concentrated harder. You are a machine, too. Yes?

  Or vacuous, another in the circle replied.

  “To answer your questions,” J-1 said aloud. “I’m not human and I’m not vacuous.”

  The Dark Prey that had moved in close to him glanced at the others in the semi-circle. J-1 sensed that it flashed the equivalent of a sm
ile to them. The thing turned back to J-1. What are you called?

  “What are you called?” J-1 replied.

  You would mind to be respectful. This came from the Dark Prey in the semi-circle who had questioned J-1’s intelligence. J-1 swallowed hard. The Dark Prey’s words cast an ominous, foreboding sensation inside of him.

  I am Ghedmon. This emanated from the Dark Prey closest to J-1. Despite the creature’s ghastly appearance, Ghedmon’s internal voice was calm, almost comforting in its sovereignty. It produced a sensation inside J-1 close to the one he had had when he dreamed his mother had brushed his hair aside.

  “I am J-1. It seems I can’t communicate with you as you do with me.”

  You are the first outsider we have encountered that has any capability of language with us.

  “How did you know you could communicate with me?”

  We suspected it as you lay comatose. Your occasional reactions to our discussions regarding your fate appeared more than coincidental.

  “My fate? What kind of reactions?”

  Ghedmon ignored the questions. We weren’t confirmed of your ability until now, when you responded to our questions.

  J-1 tried to make sense of this, but it only left more questions starting with, “How is it you speak the language of the Truattan people?”

  Eons ago, before Truattan flesh and sinew ruled this planet, it belonged to our kind. Then came perpetual light. A second sun. No more night. With perpetual light came blindness. In our helplessness we were slaughtered for food by savages—ancient flesh and sinew—that rose in our stead. The second sun died, but too late for us. Our few survivors found this dark haven. Where we have remained ever since. Ghedmon cocked his head and with it J-1 was filled with the emotion of someone smiling ironically at him. Our civilization was left behind, stolen by Truattan’s. The language they speak is not theirs, but ours.

  Ghedmon’s internal words had carried with them an emotional flood of anger and bitterness that staggered J-1. “But how can that be when you make no sound?”

  Ghedmon flapped his wings twice, lightly. Wasn’t always so. Evolved. Maybe as survival against enemy.

  “The Truattans are not the same people of long ago. They, too, have evolved. Have you tried making peace with them?”

  Their death is our only peace. This came from the Dark Prey who had questioned J-1’s intelligence.

  Ghedmon turned to him. Thot, this time is not the time. The sternness in his reply swept through J-1.

  In response, Thot beat his wings hard five times. A hundred Dark Prey lurking on their perches echoed the action.

  Noted. Ghedmon turned back to J-1. Our desire is to not involve ourselves in machinations of flesh and sinew unless, as Thot expressed, they trespass upon us.

  “They’re being wiped out by others from another planet.”

  Sooner the better. This was a Dark Prey standing near Thot.

  Ghedmon raised his hand. The Dark Prey snorted. Ghedmon spoke to J-1. When they are gone we will flourish again.

  “No,” J-1 said. “What will replace them will be worse.” He explained the GTS mining, the subsequent war and the effect it was having on Norma and her people. When he finished, there was a tidal wave of howls. All of them soundless, all of them screaming inside J-1’s head. With them came a thousand emotions, most he’d never felt before: hope, frustration, shame, relief, disgust, excitement, contempt, joy and rage. J-1 squeezed his hands against his ears in an attempt to silence what couldn’t be silenced.

  Enough! Ghedmon turned to the others and spread his wings above his shoulders. Enough!

  The wave subsided.

  Ghedmon again focused his attention on J-1. We are curious of you. You are…different.

  “Yes.” J-1 told them of his life in the warehouse, how he sampled the GTS, the changes it was causing and how he had been struggling to understand himself ever since. When he finished, he said, “Earlier, you said that you had spoken of my fate. What are your plans for me?”

  Ghedmon stepped back into the semi-circle of Dark Prey. From their rapid head and wing movements there appeared to be a heated discussion going on, but a shield seemed to have been raised. He heard nothing in his head. In his silence, J-1 zeroed in on the creatures’ twin rows of teeth and how easily they could rip through his polyflesh and sever his cables. The creatures settled down and turned to him. J-1 feared the worse.

  Ghedmon approached. You are free to go.

  J-1 was astonished. It was better not to question it, he knew, and instead get out while he could. “Why?” he asked, ignoring his own common sense.

  Ghedmon stared in silence at him.

  “Please. It’s important for me to understand.” Though J-1 wasn’t sure how he came to think this.

  You are machine to flesh and sinew, and flesh and sinew to machines. You have no place. You are an outsider like us. I—we—have pity for you.

  J-1 dug his good foot in the ground and pushed against it until he slid up the cavern wall that he had been propped against. He stood upright, stiffened his back and said, “Do not pity me. I exist. That is reason to celebrate.” He raised his chin though he felt heavy with sorrow and lonelier than he ever had.

  Ghedmon glanced at the others in the semi-circle. Three of them nodded. Two shook their heads. Thot turned his back on J-1. Ghedmon leaned in and stared into J-1’s eyes. Go through the passageway where the woman abandoned you. Enter the second opening that sides with your bad leg. Follow it.

  “Thank-you, Ghedmon.” J-1 stuck out his hand to shake. Ghedmon tilted his head in curiosity. “This is the way Earthlings express friendship.” Ghedmon hesitated, then grasped J-1’s hand. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

  Ghedmon released his grip. If we do, it will be in war. The emotion that came with it was foreboding; dark. Leave now before our minds change. Ghedmon and the group flew away and took their places in their hexagonal cells.

  ~~~

  Making the turn into the second opening that Ghedmon had spoken of, J-1 considered why he was able to internally receive the Dark Prey’s words. There were a few possibilities, none comforting: his Inner Communication System may have become jumbled from the warehouse explosion, from the GTS he ingested—or possibly both.

  He rounded a bend and was stunned to see that standing about ten yards away from him were two large men. Their electro-rods were humming and aimed at his face and chest. From the flicker of their wall-mounted torches, J-1 could see thick, metal double doors with a heart-shaped keyhole in the right one. The keyhole was similar to the one Norma had used to open the tunnel entrance on the outside of the mountain.

  J-1 raised his hands in the air. “I’m looking for Pocketsville.”

  “We do the speaking, robot,” the man pointing the electro-rod at his head replied.

  J-1 nodded, but beneath his calm demeanor anger roiled. The Dark Prey had treated him with more dignity than the disdain implied in that man’s voice.

  “How is it that you’re here? You were captured by the winged creatures.”

  More like I was left for them, J-1 thought. “It’s a long story.”

  A blue electric ray whizzed within a fingernail of his scalp. “We’ve got time.”

  J-1 explained how he and Prudence were captured, but made up a story about how he had escaped after Prudence had abandoned him. “I stumbled upon a small cranny beyond the Dark Prey’s lair, crawled into it and waited until they had tired of looking for me, then I made my getaway.” He didn’t know why—so many unanswerable questions, lately, he thought—but he didn’t want these people to know that he and the Dark Prey could communicate.

  When he finished, the two men looked at each other. One of them shook his head and spoke into an intercom next to the door. He turned back to J-1 and said, “Come forward, robot.”

  J-1 hobbled to him. The other man waved an egg-shaped device over J-1 and frisked him. When he finished, he said, “He’s clean,” and again went to the intercom. He inserted a heart-shaped key i
nto the keyhole. The double doors swung outward. The first man motioned with his head for J-1 to enter. J-1 limped forward. One of the men pushed him through. The doors slammed behind him. Five men and women surrounded him. Four pointed weapons at him. The fifth chained him in heavy shackles.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Date: 2250

  Planet Truatta

  Mining Compound Alpha One/Battalion Commander Combs’ residence

  BC Combs swiped away the remnants of shaving cream from his face and scalp with a hand towel. His left thumbnail glowed red. He quickly squeezed a streak of GTS gel from a tube lying on the bathroom counter onto his forefinger, and rubbed it on his gums. He pressed his thumbnail once. “Top of the morning, Bloyzhay, what’s up?” he said as he studied his bare scalp in the mirror.

  “Commander, we’ve received another navigation signal from our informant. This is the big one. The data’s waiting for you at your office.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I would imagine on your office computer.”

  “No, you idiot. Where’s the rebel’s hideout?” BC Combs grabbed his black camo-T and slipped it over his chest.

  “Sorry, Commander. The coordinates indicate it’s near the top of what the natives refer to as Mount Kwieetus.”

  “How’s that possible? Our V-drones clearly show there’s no possible way to climb more than two-thirds of the way up there, and even if there was a way, the holograph footage hasn’t spotted any livable terrain. No caves, nothing.”

  “Well, sir, from my understanding the insurgents’ compound is camouflaged by some sort of dome and mist surrounding the mountain peak. As to what it looks like there, and how they get in and out, we’re still waiting for that information.”

  “What’s the damn holdup?” Of course he already knew the answer. It was more of a question to his self, but Bloyzhay didn’t know that.

  “Sir, our spy is in a sensitive position. One inopportune move and the cover could be blown.”