To Dream

by Lowy, Louis K;

  BC Combs thought about it. From their meeting nearly two weeks ago, he knew that Takáts was not only unhappy with his performance, but with all the military chiefs. He’d better get this right or she’d have his head. “If we get the required information in say, the next ten minutes, are your troops ready to stage a major assault, Lieutenant?”

  “Well…uh…Yes, sir.”

  Hearing the doubt in Bloyzhay’s voice, BC Combs replied, “They’d better be. It’s your ass if they’re not.” In reality BC Combs knew that it was really his ass on the line. He flashed to a recurring vision—he was gray haired, stooped, wearing a sweat-stained security guard uniform and chasing three punkaloids from a downtrodden hotel lobby. “Starting at zero-eight-hundred I want all forces placed on level five combat ready alert. Do you read me?”

  “I do, sir.”

  BC Combs squeezed his nail. The red glow disappeared. He snapped his nose ring into place and rubbed more GTS gel on his gums. He snorted from the rush. War was coming and he was pumped.

  ~~~

  The military compound buzzed with activity. New shipments and forces had arrived. From the balcony of their suite, Rebeka and Xia watched a spinning, circle-shaped U.S. Federal Warcraft, about a hundred and fifty yards in diameter, zip over the compound. Engraved on the bottom and top was Lady Liberty. The majestic woman’s left hand cupped a dove to her chest. Her right hand was raised above her head. It clutched a coldfuse hand-cannon. In near silence, the ship docked on the landing base a mile away, on the opposite side of the compound. Four other similar ships followed the same trajectory, each one heaped neatly on top of the other like a stack of coins.

  “Counting yesterday’s four, that makes eight.” Xia puffed on a smokeless cigar, a concession to Rebeka, who likened the real thing’s odor to military boots. He was dressed in a gray Gladstone overcoat with black and white houndstooth pants.

  “You get a kick out of watching the Fed crafts land, don’t you?”

  “Of course, my sweet. Don’t you?”

  “Morristone said the final WarBot platoon is arriving tomorrow. Zip me up?” Rebeka was again dressed in her power attire: black collared shirt, black pleated skirt and red knee-high boots. This was her daily meeting apparel with the Joint Chiefs.

  Xia stepped behind her, pressed a spot near the back bottom of her shirt and watched the platinum zipper ascend to the nape of her neck. He nuzzled his lips against her ear. “God, I love you.”

  She pressed the back of her body against him. “Why?”

  He wore a puzzled look.

  “No, I really want to know. Why do you love me?”

  He whispered in her ear, “Because I know what lies beneath that steel exterior.”

  This caused her cheeks to flush and her center to heat. She felt more naked than she ever had in her life. Rebeka kissed him passionately. She stepped away and donned her suit jacket.

  Xia raised an eyebrow and smiled at her.

  “What?”

  “I’ve never seen you this loving.” He walked to her and squeezed her hand.

  She pulled it back. Rebeka was ashamed that she had allowed herself to be caught in a vulnerable moment. Malalani, her mother, had never revealed weakness.

  “My god, Rebeka, there’s no dishonor in being human,” Xia said, sensing her thoughts. “You’re not a mechi, after all.”

  “Thank you for the obvious.”

  Xia shook his head. “Perhaps I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  Rebeka took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That was crass of me.”

  “It’s perfectly fine. I should get out of your way.”

  A Federal supply ship darted across the sky. As it dashed toward the landing base Xia stepped inside from the balcony. Shit, Rebeka thought, removing a tube of GTS from her suit pocket. I can’t afford this, not now. She squeezed a slice of gel on her gums, smoothed it with her tongue and followed him inside. Xia was sitting on a sofa chair, puffing a real cigar and studying the ashtray resting in his free hand.

  Rebeka glanced at the wall clock. She had ten minutes to straighten this out before her transport arrived. “Xia, be patient. Once we get the rebels, I promise this will all be over.”

  He looked at her. “If you’re worried about me signing over control of my shares, don’t be. I have no doubt that with the military might you’ve accumulated, the poor bastards don’t stand a chance. And frankly, what I’m set to gain financially is satisfactory enough to abolish the conjugal portion of our agreement.”

  She sat on his lap, removed the cigar from his hand, stamped it out in the ashtray and placed it on a table next to the sofa chair. “What if I don’t agree to eliminate the conjugal part?”

  “I thought I could do this, Rebeka, but I can’t. It’s like eating, but always feeling hungry afterward. The longer it continues, the more starved I become.”

  She nuzzled his ear. “I can satisfy that hunger. I promise.”

  “No, you can’t. You’re looking for something different than what I am.”

  Rebeka buried her head in Xia’s shoulder to shelter her from the ache of loneliness. “It’s not true,” she said. “I’m looking for the same thing.”

  “My dear, if you only knew how I want to believe that.” Xia removed her from his lap. “Have your people schedule me on the next flight out.”

  Before she could protest, her left pinky nail flashed orange. She glanced at the clock. The transport wasn’t due for another five minutes. “Madam Takáts,” a voice said. “I’m sorry for the unscheduled call.”

  “Azuma? What’s going on?” She glanced at Xia. Ameri-Inc.’s Chief Information Security Officer wouldn’t breech protocol unless it was urgent.

  “Madam, I have received a report. It indicates that you’re to be served an injunction regarding Corporation Last Will and Trust, specifically breach of clause number A-34.4.”

  Rebeka knew what he was referring to. “How can that be? I have checks and double checks to prevent that from occurring. Where the hell is—” Her heart slammed against her chest. Jocsun! That fucker!

  “Madam, if you’re referring to Mr. Lipp, it appears he’s now under the employ of your brother.”

  Rebeka forced herself to maintain her demeanor, though she couldn’t prevent herself from placing her hands by her sides, and balling each one into the tightest fists she could muster.

  Xia said, “If I were to arrange for Madam Takáts to hold majority stock in the company would that make the injunction moot?”

  “I’ll have to confirm with Olatunde in legal, but the answer is no. The clause holds precedent over everything.”

  Rebeka’s left pinky nail flashed again, this time the color was peach. “Madam Takáts, your transport has arrived.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.” She squeezed the nail. The peach disappeared. “Azuma, how long before the papers are to be served?”

  “We can hold them off a week, ten days max.”

  “Schedule a conference with the full board three hours from now in my office. I’ll holo in at the prescribed time. Tell them I want solutions.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Rebeka squeezed her nail. It returned to its normal color. Before leaving she said to Xia, “Will you be here when I return?”

  “No.”—Her heart sunk—“I think it’s time I paid a friendly visit to Herb and Carl, and their new employee.”

  She feathered his cheek with the back of her hand, and thought, I love you. She felt it so strongly that she nearly uttered it aloud to him, but she knew her mother would’ve never said anything like that unless it was a lie to advance her career. This wasn’t a lie and so she wasn’t going to say it. Instead she kissed him. “Thank you.” Rebeka stiffened her spine and headed to the Joint Chief’s meeting. Xia watched her leave and then rubbed his fingers along the portion of his lips that had touched hers.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Date: 2250

  Planet Truatta

  Pocketsville/Infirmary

&nbs
p; Niyati struggled to sit up in her drug-induced sleep. She fell back on the infirmary bed without awakening. In her dream-like state she relived broken segments of her past.

  She envisioned the giant, Stringer, who tossed a hunk of curved gutter on his workshop table, motioned to it and said to Niyati, “This is more than a fair price.”

  Niyati placed her good right hand and her left withered one on her hips. “My knowledge is worth more than that.” The eighteen-foot tall man angled his head in uncertainty. Niyati thought about how she had spoken the sentence. She repeated the Truattan words, slower and with a few syllable changes.

  “Ahh,” Stringer said. “Now you make sense.” He sat near the fireplace-stove and motioned for her to take a seat in the smaller chair directly across. The one he kept as a courtesy for his small customers.

  “If you want to learn about robots,” Niyati said. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

  “With the war raging, scrap metal is precious and hard to come by. What little there is, is being recycled.”

  “I understand, but these are my terms.” She locked eyes with him.

  Stringer snorted. “Then we have no deal.”

  Niyati stood. “Thank you, anyway.” She stepped toward the door, praying he was bluffing. In the next month it would go from warm to bitter cold practically overnight and she would freeze to death unless she had the items she needed.

  “Hold, I might be able to give a little more.”

  Niyati exhaled. As she returned to her seat, she thought about her time on Truatta. She had managed to survive the first year after the transport station explosion by scrapping together her catalyst-infused GTS, and a briefcase full of the unmodified mineral from Roland’s room, one of the Ameri-Inc. agents. He had died on the ship with everyone else.

  She used her GTS to heal and keep herself alive, and Roland’s supply as a bartering tool to slide past Ameri-Inc. checkpoints. The explosion had not only disfigured her flesh but as best as she could determine, had altered the composition of melanin in her eyes.

  They had turned maroon. This, too, was a blessing in disguise. The Ameri-Inc. guards had no way of knowing who she was, or where she had come from. They were just happy to have the GTS and to get the hideous, old hag on her way.

  “I want specifics,” Stringer said. “What can you teach me about mechanical things? Why do I need to know them? And why on Truatta would I believe you can do anything like that?”

  “A cup of tea first.” Niyati glanced at the kettle on the fireplace.

  “Don’t play me for a fool.”

  “I need to take my medicine. It goes down better with liquid.” Plus, she wanted time to gather her thoughts.

  Stringer smirked, and went to the kettle. Niyati’s mind roamed to how once she had made it into Backborne she had played PDSD, post disaster stress disorder, to prevent having to speak too much of the Truattan language. Again, her horrific looks aided in sympathy for her. She was housed in a disaster relief shelter. It was a miserable existence, but she had access to physical therapy, and it allowed her body time to heal. Over the countless decades the war worsened and the shelters could no longer handle all the casualties. Niyati helped out for as long as she could, but eventually the shelters—along with most everything else—fell. She took what was left of her GTS and left Backborne.

  “Tea.” Stringer handed her a human-size cup pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

  Niyati removed a shaker of GTS powder from a pocket of her coat and sprinkled it into the cup.

  “I thought you didn’t have anymore?” Stringer asked.

  “I don’t have any more for barter.” She was down to about a month’s supply. The time needed to carry out her plan—if she could work out a deal with him.

  “Hmmph, I guess that brings us back to where we left off.”

  Niyati nodded. Once she had left the shelter in Backborne she had made her way into the woods where she stumbled upon Stringer. She had used the little bit of GTS she could afford to part with to purchase a knife, some clothing, and a few food items from him. That was nearly six weeks ago. “The answer to your first question is, I can teach you more than any living creature on this planet about robots.”

  Stringer huffed curtly and shushed his hand at her.

  “Answer two: the reason you want to learn about mechi-devices is because it’s your best and maybe only defense against the Earthers.”

  “The Earthers have no interest in these parts. You know that.”

  “They will. It’s only a matter of time.” She locked eyes with him. He knew she spoke the truth. “Furthermore, it’ll give you greater bargaining power with the resistance.”

  Stringer perked up. “How do you figure?”

  “They have little knowledge of robotics, but they’re going to need it against the Earthers. If you can supply that, well…”

  Stringer rubbed his mouth. “Yeah, but if you can supply that information to them, why haven’t you already?”

  “It’s not because I can’t,” Niyati said. “It’s because…” She was caught off guard. Why haven’t I?

  Stringer caught the perplexity on her face, and smiled: Gotcha.

  “I’m tired,” Niyati finally said. “Look at me. My body is a mess. It hurts.” And I’m lonely, she thought, so damn lonely. “A hundred years ago I would have.” She studied her deformed stump of a hand. “God help me, I just don’t have the will.” She lowered her eyes. They moistened. Niyati waited for Stringer’s retort, but all she heard was the boom of a distant explosion.

  “Why do you need the material?” His voice was gentler.

  She again raised her eyes and forced them to dry. “The woods offer me no permanent shelter. I’ve done some exploring on Mount Kwieetus. I found a small cave where I can live out my days in peace—if I can heat and light it.” She wasn’t about to mention that there was a vein of GTS running through it that, with luck, she could mine and maybe use to ease her physical pain.

  “Heat and light. Fire. That’s simple enough.”

  “There’s not enough wood growth. Even if there were, the fumes inside the cave would be unbearable. I’ve designed a sort of recyclable battery, using what little shrubbery there is, as a catalyst. That’s why I need the items.”

  “You’re either mad or a genius.”

  She shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

  Thinking, Stringer patted his knees several times. “I suppose my first two questions are answered. But what about the third?”

  “Why would you believe I could teach you anything?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you have any mechi parts?”

  “Like what?”

  “Limbs? Or a head, maybe?”

  Stringer walked into the back room and returned with three carbo-metallic legs, an arm, and a battered, ceramic looking head. He held them out to her. She placed her teacup on the floor, took the head and examined it. She handed it back to him. “I need something to stand on that will allow me a good view of your work table.”

  He placed the head on the table and brought over a stepladder. Niyati gradually made her way up, grunting from the pain in her hip. He stood next to her. “Slip on your magnifier,” she said, “and follow my instructions.”

  Stringer placed the eyewear over his pupils. Niyati pointed to various tools, and instructed him how to properly disassemble the skull; which fibers and circuits to dry weld, remove, connect and disconnect. She was surprised at his steady and deft hand. The giant was a skilled craftsman. When the skull was again whole, she said, “Mechi-sweep, awaken.”

  The robot’s eyes opened and flickered green. Its mouth clacked open and shut three times.

  Astonished, Stringer stepped back.

  “Normally the mouth doesn’t do that,” Niyati said. “I’m afraid we don’t have the equipment here to fix it properly.” She said to the mechi-sweeper, “What’s your serial number?”

  “R-43.2EAt072qGH,” it said. Its mouth
again clacked three times.

  “Power off.”

  The robot’s eyes deadened and shut.

  “Do we have a deal?” Niyati asked Stringer.

  “Give me your list.”

  Niyati smiled and slowly descended the ladder. Except she didn’t descend, she tumbled. Tumbled into the hollow between sanity and insanity.

  Niyati tried again to sit up in her bed. Her eyes half-opened, the room wobbled. She closed her eyes and fell back into her medicated-stupor.

  She was with Dan Panther in the Alzheimer’s ward. Or was she with God? He was stomp dancing. A war dance. Bells on his ankle and wrist bracelets jingled merrily. She was yelling, “I’m not Niyati, I’m Mata!” Doctors were holding her down. One of them forced something over her face. The world darkened. Her screams muffled. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart hammered with such force it felt like her chest was cracking from the pressure.

  Someone screamed.

  She forced her eyes wide open. The ceiling stared down at her. She whimpered. Her visions of Stringer and poor Chief Dan in the Alzheimer’s ward faded away in a druggy haze. She remembered where she was. The infirmary.

  The scream came a second time. The outside latch unlocked. A man rushed through the thick door.

  The scream came from a man who was trying to free his limbs, which were strapped to the only other bed in the small room. The man who rushed in injected something into the screaming man’s left arm. The screaming man gagged for several moments and passed out. The other man glanced at Mata. She said, “What time is it, Cuthbert?” The small room was windowless. Hallway bustle was the only indicator of day and night. It was slow, which meant it wasn’t daytime.

  “A few hours before dawn,” Cuthbert whispered. He was a thin man with close-cropped hair. “Sorry for the disturbance, but it’s time for your Pramador, anyway.” Cuthbert slipped the injector back in his jumpsuit pocket and removed a small squeeze tube.

  The medicine, she knew, was a compound of GTS and a tranquilizer derived from the root of the pramadeen shrub. “I don’t want the tranq, it makes me hallucinate. Just give me the mineral.”