by W D County
Zita let go, trusting Laura to keep her safe. She went deep, deep, so deep that she barely noticed Gordon’s discordant voice emerge from the paging system. “Dr. Harrison, Laura Dubov, report to the observation room immediately.”
She floated like a formless jellyfish in a musical ocean. Laura said, “Zita, you will remain in this trance, relaxed and receptive, until I return. Do you understand?”
The response surfaced of its own accord. “Relaxed. Receptive. Yes.” Time passed. It mattered not how fast or slow or how much. Eventually a voice spoke.
“Hello, Zita.”
“Hello, Nathan.”
“You need to do something. It is very important, vitally important.”
“Important,” she said.
“Imagine that it’s bedtime. You are in your room. You are tired. You are afraid of dreaming. You want to be with someone...”
Orders followed. She wanted to resist the commands. They felt wrong, but the smooth voice always provided the perfect reason to justify what she must do. Obedience was vitally important, more important than her personal feelings. Following instructions of the voice, she rose from the table and drifted toward the pharmacy cabinet. She found a particular vial and slipped it and a syringe into her pocket. She returned to the table.
“... and you will have no memory of what I’ve said, no memory that I spoke to you.”
“No memory,” she breathed as his voice and memory faded, carried away on the strong currents of her subconscious. Or was it currents of air as a door opened and closed? It didn’t matter. Time passed. Perhaps a little. Perhaps a lot. A voice spoke.
“Hello, Zita.”
“Hello, Laura.”
“Ready to regain control of your dreams?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter 31
I had just finished washing dishes when Kingpin’s page sounded. Anything requiring Doc’s immediate presence in the observation room couldn’t be good. I headed there and found Kingpin, Mopes, and Doc in a heated discussion. They didn’t notice me at first. The boss had his back to me, and the other two focused their attention on him.
“It’s unconscionable,” Mopes said. “Just because clozapine didn’t work doesn’t mean we jump to inducing a coma. Let’s try quetiapine or risperidone.”
“His megalomania is worsening. We have to knock him out,” Doc insisted. “Propofol should do it, and Midazolam in his IV should keep him out. If the taint doesn’t grow further.”
Mopes shook her head and opened her mouth but Kingpin cut her off. “Ten minutes ago, I saw Barry levitate off his bed! Saw him stick his hand through a camera. In and out, like a ghost. Then he gripped it, solid again. He’s testing his powers, Laura. I’m not ready to see how far he can go.”
Hallelujah. Kingpin was starting to see things my way. The taint needed to be stopped, not studied. Coma might be a viable option, though I preferred a more permanent solution.
“It’s our imagination,” Mopes said. “Hallucinations. He can’t really do those things.”
Doc addressed Kingpin. “Given his resistance to drugs, I’ll start with fifty milligrams of Propofol. We might need to go higher, maybe a hundred. Then five milligrams per hour of Midazolam to keep him there.”
Mopes’s face darkened. “We can’t treat psychosis by putting the patient in a coma. It won’t stop the hallucinations, either. Barry isn’t the source. It’s the taint.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Kingpin said. “National security takes precedence. Contain and analyze the threat, and Barry is the threat, or at least its carrier.”
Doc said softly, “Our research doesn’t require the patient to be conscious.”
“Tests! Experiments!” Mopes snapped. “We’re doctors. Barry’s treatment comes first. Everything else is secondary. He’s the victim here.” Her desperate, imploring eyes turned from Doc to Kingpin. She noticed me standing nearby and found no sympathy there, either.
Choirboy’s voice came over the console speaker. “Isn’t it curious how the number three keeps cropping up? The three-fold nature of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The three hours of darkness that fell when Christ suffered on the cross. Peter denying three times that he knew Jesus. And now, three of you come to me.”
“The mic and camera are off,” Kingpin said. He looked pale.
A glance at the console confirmed it. Choirboy couldn’t see or hear anything in the observation room. He must have guessed how many people were here, and he guessed wrong, since there were four of us.
“Doc, get your drugs.” Kingpin spoke in a voice as if afraid Choirboy could hear him through the thick metal of the vault. “Knock him out.”
Doc reached into a pocket of his lab coat. “Brought it with me.” He headed for the bin of protective clothing and suited up. I joined him, which got Kingpin’s attention.
“Miles, get out of here. No. You’re right. Go in with Doc. Have your Taser ready.”
I suited up, keeping the essential gear—gun, Taser, knife, and can of military-grade pepper spray—exposed and handy. The boss and Doc had made the right decision and I felt good supporting it. Mopes glowered as Doc and I opened the outer airlock. I considered giving her a new nickname. She hadn’t seemed depressed lately.
Choirboy didn’t put up a fuss. He didn’t float in the air or walk through walls. He lay quietly on the bed while Doc hooked up the IV. In less than two minutes the tainted one fell fast asleep, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
***
An hour after helping Doc put Choirboy in a coma, as I sat in the security office reviewing the day’s surveillance videos, Steampunk called and asked to see the recording of Laura’s latest alleged visit from John. I had it cued to the right spot by the time she arrived.
“Hello, Miles,” she said in a listless voice accompanied by a mechanical smile.
“Something wrong?”
She shook her head. “The video?”
“Ready.” We watched the monitor. I expected a replay of yesterday’s video showing Mopes moving and talking as if to a silent, invisible man. Pathetic behavior for a shrink, but strangely comforting to us, proving we remained immune to the illusions affecting the rest of the team. It gave her hope in the quest to understand the taint and gave me assurance in protecting people from things that weren’t there.
Today’s video showed Mopes wearing a net of electrical leads on her head, connected to a purse-like box slung over her shoulder. “Portable EEG,” Steampunk said.
Mopes remained in the observation room, using mics and cameras to discuss dreams with Choirboy. Steampunk shivered.
“Want me to turn up the heat?”
She shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. An off-screen Choirboy chatted amiably, ending with a quote about God’s house having many rooms.
We both gasped when a glowing vertical hoop materialized between Mopes and the vault. No, not a hoop. An opening. From here to not here because the view through the hoop showed part of an observation room that wasn’t ours. The angle of the camera made the opening appear oval-shaped and limited how far I could see into that other room. The hoop formed a border around the opening, which began at the floor and stretched about seven feet in diameter.
“The boundary layer glows in multiple colors and patterns like the taint,” Steampunk murmured.
“Looks like a round fluorescent light to me,” I said. “Thin, bright, and steady.”
A man approached the circle from some unseen place. Surprise and joy suffused his face. Mopes shouted, “John!” as they ran toward each other, only to rebound as if an invisible trampoline covered the hoop.
They pushed and probed and eventually the man caught hold of her hand and pulled her through to his side. They embraced, spoke quietly, and took a few steps farther away. They disappeared behind the edge of the circle, a magic door to who-knows-where. The mic didn’t pick up their voices. It did record Choirboy laughing.
Fear
dumped ice water in my veins. My stomach slipped into a moment of helpless anticipation just before an invisible hand surrounded it and clenched into an angry fist. I breathed through an open mouth and shut off my emotions.
Steampunk said, “This is terrible. The hypnosis didn’t work.”
A tremble in her voice threatened to unlock my emotions. Shit. I did not want to develop feelings for her. I shoved my feelings into a mental cellar and padlocked the door. I paused the video. “What are you talking about?”
“The hallucinations. I saw John. I knew the taint was probing my mind, getting closer to breaching my defenses, but I thought hypnosis would help. I asked Laura to... oh, this is terrible. How can I know what’s real?”
“I saw it, too.” This was bad. Deep shit bad.
Steampunk gripped my arm. “Oh, no. No. Not you, too!”
Her touch felt exhilarating, but didn’t stop my mood from falling into a sinkhole of fear. “If we’re both seeing it, then we’re not immune to the illusions.”
Steampunk blinked. “Or they’re not illusions anymore.”
I didn’t have an answer to that. “Want to watch the rest?”
She nodded without enthusiasm. The video showed nothing for a few minutes; it could have passed as a still shot if not for the time counter at the bottom. The glowing circle abruptly vanished when Mopes reappeared. She looked around as if dazed. Choirboy’s voice warned her to sit down, but she collapsed in a heap on the floor.
“How did he know she was there?” I said. “She wasn’t near the camera. She didn’t make a sound.” My gut said it wasn’t a lucky guess.
Steampunk lowered her head and pressed her fists against her temples. “Why am I so slow today? Come on, think!”
I put an arm around her shoulder. Her head jerked up and I pulled away. She said, “Maybe equipment in the vault picked up the wireless signals from her EEG.”
“I’ll check it out.” The next segment of the video showed Doc entering the observation room and discovering Mopes on the floor. Steampunk didn’t want to watch any more. I walked her to her room, noting with concern her slow pace and lack of chatter. I offered to call Doc, but she emphatically rejected the idea. She shook her head as if fighting off drowsiness and then slid her keycard through the lock. She gripped the door handle but didn’t open it. Her knuckles turned white.
“Zita?”
She turned to me, eyes wide and worried. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Miles, don’t open your door for anyone tonight.”
“What?”
She blinked, then looked away, embarrassed. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Let me get Doc.” Steampunk’s behavior, always odd, nonetheless possessed a certain consistency. This felt different, and not in a good way.
“No! Really. I’m fine. Just tired. Got to sleep. Goodnight.”
She didn’t look fine as the door swung closed. I stared at it for a while, wondering what she meant by not opening my door. Then it hit me. She was making it clear she wanted nothing to do with me. Nothing. And she was trying to say it in a kind way. How many times was I going to screw up by misreading her? I’d rather be back in Afghanistan shooting people.
***
After making rounds and ensuring that Choirboy remained in drug-enforced stasis, I went to bed feeling less tense about Steampunk. With Choirboy no longer a threat, neither was the taint, and the weird shit would work itself out. My head touched the pillow and I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I opened one eye to spy the alarm clock. Who the hell dared knock on my door at 0200 hours? I strode to the door and opened it a crack. It took my eyes a moment to register the sight.
Zita stood naked except for her top hat. “Let me in, silly. Before somebody sees me.”
I pulled her into my room and shut the door. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Turn on a light. It’s dark in here.”
The meager light of the digital clock allowed me to see clearly, but I turned on a lamp to make her comfortable. “Okay, Zita. What’s going on?”
“I was lonely. Afraid. I don’t want to be alone.” She stared through me with glazed eyes.
Shit. “You’re sleepwalking. Here, let me cover you with a blanket and get you back to your room.” I looked for my pants, suddenly aware I was only a pair of boxers away from being as naked as she was.
A pout covered her face. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”
Pretty, hell. She was beautiful. Flawless. Her wide, expressive eyes and full, sensual lips teased me daily. Now the buoyant swells of her breasts screamed for attention, each topped by a jutting nipple pieced by a silver ring. A firm, flat stomach led down, down, down to a trimmed landing strip and an oasis of heavenly delight.
Private Miles stood at attention, eager to answer the call of duty. I tried to look away, to distract myself. Her sensual legs caught my eyes and pulled my gaze back to wonderland.
She noticed my plight and smiled. “You do think I’m pretty.”
She wrapped nimble fingers around me. I gasped in pleasure as she pulled my leash and led me to the bed. “I want you, Miles. I need you.”
I almost succumbed. God knows I would have, but Zita’s eyes didn’t match her actions. Neither did her voice. Both were flat and disconnected from whatever dream played in her head. No way could I fuck a girl while she slept, even though she begged me.
I reluctantly pried her fingers away, then wrapped her in a blanket to trap both arms. “Back to your room, Zita.”
She squirmed and thrashed. Her top hat tumbled to the floor. I hoped she’d wake up and realize the dilemma she’d gotten into. Instead, she turned threatening. “Miles, you better sleep with me or I’ll scream rape right now.”
She twisted out of my grip and the blanket fell to the floor. The flatness in her gaze turned cold and dark. Her lips pulled back into a snarl. The notion of demonic possession seemed suddenly credible. No one would hear her scream if we stayed inside the room, but once in the hall all bets were off. I decided to play along.
“Zita, are you sure about this?”
The snarl eased into a smile; lacking only warmth, love, or desire. “Get into bed,” she said, “while I freshen up.” She sashayed to the bathroom, pausing to pick up the top hat. I took advantage of her absence to grab my handcuffs and slip them under a pillow.
She returned, walking seductively, hands behind her back, looking exposed, defenseless, and utterly desirable. She reached the bed and leaned over to kiss me. Her arms moved forward as if to embrace me.
We both lunged at once. She thrust a syringe toward my neck as I slapped a cuff around that wrist. The needle jabbed my neck and I jerked away, feeling fluid squirt on my skin. I snapped the other half of the cuffs onto the bed frame and rolled out of her reach.
She struggled, jerked on the handcuffs, and tried vainly to pull her hand through the hoop.
I picked up the now empty syringe, then searched for her top hat to see if she’d brought any other surprises. I found a vial of something... tried to read it but couldn’t focus. The room began to spin. Something wet on my neck. Clear fluid tinged with blood. Not enough to be serious... why can’t I feel the floor? Oh, I’m flying. So light, floating and peaceful. I staggered stumbled floated to the bathroom, certain that a splash of cold water would clear my head. The sink chose that moment to jump me, delivering a kick to the head that turned everything black.
Chapter 32
Dreams remained the easiest mental state for the Awareness to contact minds that held reflections of itself. This limitation grew less stringent as awareness became mutual and the distinctions between awake and asleep, conscious and unconscious blurred. Perceptions of physical existence began to change, opening new vistas for exploration and offering alternative constructions of reality.
Gordon dreamt of playing in a chess tournament. He knew how to play and did so rather well, giving him a rating of expert—just below master level. In the dre
am he performed far above his previous best; a victory here would make him world champion.
The final match took place with real people as pieces and a non-regulation board of interlocked, rotating cubes of a thousand hues. Each cube of the board interacted with the piece on it, producing a synergy that amplified the strengths and the weaknesses of that person. The interaction implied an intelligence.
What is your intent?
Gordon saw with clarity the strengths and weaknesses of every piece, saw the potential moves unfolding like the branches of a tree. The foresight did not guarantee victory, especially since he had not yet ascertained his opponent’s plans.
He looked up from the board to study his opponent’s face and saw there a gray mask of intense concentration. It was the face of Barry Fletcher, oddly devoid of color.
Gordon reached for Nathan, representing the queen and strongest piece on the board. Barry also reached for Nathan. A stunning revelation hit: We’re both moving the same pieces. This complication rendered conventional strategy useless, although the objective remained the same—compel the enemy king to surrender or face annihilation. A second realization came on the heels of the first: he and Barry were the kings.
He reviewed Barry’s last few moves: granting Nathan telepathy, guiding Sonja to permeability of solids, and resurrecting the dead for Laura. On the surface, those were acts of appeasement, signs that Barry wasn’t interested in battle and conquest. But Gordon saw the true purpose of the moves: bribing pieces to change their allegiance.
This wrinkle left him unable to trust the strongest pieces for critical tasks, forcing him to consider how to best utilize the remaining forces. Doc’s diagonal approach at developing a healing potion held no offensive value nor could the man be trusted. Zita’s ability to make nonlinear moves and leap over obstacles might have provided a tactical advantage if she hadn’t been lured into the dead-end ability of decoding communications.