Sliptime

by Jeffrey Grode

  He sat back on the bed and held her hand. “You are a beautiful person. I’m sorry I haven’t visited. I’ll make up for that. To be honest, I think I could love you, but I need to get to know you better.”

  She smiled weakly. “That’s a start.” She smoothed a loose curl from his forehead. “Please don’t mistake me for an idiot. I’m hoping for the best, your best, and I’ll need you to show up and commit. I’m keeping this baby no matter what, but in the best of all worlds, you are here and by our side. I want you to make that happen. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Ben swallowed. “I understand.”

  “Good. Do you still have the smartphone thingy? I saw a story about smartphones on television recently. Tech of the future.”

  “Actually, I have a new one.” He pulled his black android out of his pocket.

  “Take our picture. I want you to remember me, when you’re . . . gone.”

  He took several selfies of them hugging, smiling, and one where she kissed him on the cheek. Feeling more comfortable, he kissed her again and smiled. “I gotta go soon, but I’ll visit you. I promise.”

  “Are returning to the future?”

  “What?” He cringed.

  “Don’t be so surprised. Your phone could only be from the future. They’re not available here yet. Last summer you thought they were commonplace. The Commonwealth is just building an Internet and using computers, all since your last visit. You haven’t told us where you really live, but Brandon had hinted that you were from another place.”

  “I’m not from the future.” He frowned. “I—”

  “Knock-knock,” Trudy called from the hall.

  “Come in.” Ruth stood and straightened her clothes.

  “Mom and Dad are downstairs in the living room with Jack.” She peered at him and looked back to her sister. “They want to meet Ben.”

  “Oh, shit,” Ruth whispered. “They said they were going to a movie.”

  “The roads got bad and they bailed on the movie. Sorry.” Trudy closed the door and left.

  Ruth held his hand and looked him in the eyes. “Are you sure you’re not from the future? Now would be a good time for me to visit wherever you’re from.”

  Chapter 19

  Patrick and Amo struggled with the intricacies of decoding Zander’s unique microprocessor. Many grueling hours passed in the phased lab discussing various options. The whiteboards filled with scribbled possibilities, futuristic outcomes, and potential dangers. Patrick sighed. I have to get his right.

  One option included erasing and replacing Zander’s memory and reprograming the orb-like microprocessor. Amo had argued against destroying Zander’s self, even if it gave Patrick the control he needed.

  “But, it’s the best solution,” Patrick said as he shrugged his shoulders.

  Amo’s blue eyes stared at Patrick. “Commander, I respectfully disagree. I am unwilling to participate in an electronic version of murder. Zander has the right to exist.”

  Patrick sighed. “Okay. What if we transfer your microprocessor into Zander’s port? You’ll gain a new body with workin’ legs. We transfer Zander into your current body. You’ll both be alive, but you’ll have control over the internal beacon.”

  “Would you do that to another human being?”

  “No. I . . . see your point. It’s unethical.” Amo is arguin’ for Zander’s life, even though the beacon-bot might kill us all if Erde invades. “What if we leave Zander’s mind intact, but install a copy of your programmin’ as a background failsafe control?”

  Visshhhh-click. “Continue.” Amo’s blue eyes reflected the bright overhead lights in the phased lab.

  “Zander would exist, however you’ll provide operational parameters and command. You’ll have the ability to assume control of his body if necessary. You’ll never allow him to engage his beacon.”

  “So I will be a parasite, or virus, to subsume him when he strays from our path? He will have no free will. Is that an existence worth living . . . for either of us?”

  “Consider your role as a guardianship. You will protect Zander from takin’ actions dangerous to himself, our people, and this planet. You’ll be his conscience and our protector. Besides, you will still exist here in the lab. Your copy will occupy and guide Zander’s mind.”

  “Do you order this, Commander?” Amo stared at him, unblinking.

  His hand fidgeted into a wave. “Yes. For now. We can see how it works and make changes as needed.”

  “So be it. But I must have administrative rights to control my copy.”

  “Why?” Patrick yawned and looked at his watch.

  “Artificial intelligence learns, grows, and adapts. My copy may at some point decide to disagree with us due to evolution, adaption, or degradation. As guardian, I must be able to interact appropriately.”

  “I see,” Patrick said. We’ll need to monitor it . . . Zander, closely. Disagreements can lead to healthy discussion and new and better ideas. As long as you and Zander follow my orders, we’re good.”

  “Yes, Commander. I will start programming, but you need to leave the lab and obtain rest. Your circadian rhythm needs to catch up with the world outside.”

  “Thanks. I want you to know I appreciate your help. Couldn’t have done this without you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Patrick left both his bronze t-medallion and the silver p-medallion in the lab. He walked through the phased wall and entered his cellar one second after he’d originally left. Though someone had taken his day planner, he still knew it would be Friday afternoon. A sleeping Zander, minus a microprocessor, would be on his way to the S&T lab.

  Up the stairs and through the hall, he clambered to his bedroom half asleep. He yawned, crawled into his soft bed, and closed his eyes. Thoughts of Betsy pushed aside all else. He missed her and wished her well.

  Earth’s atmosphere grew as dark as Lovitsky’s mood. Tired of wasting his Friday waiting for Ben to walk out the front door of Grover Cleveland High School, he ventured inside. He strode straight to the small gym set aside for wrestling practice and stuck his head through the open door. The air smelled of sweat as the coach blew his whistle and barked orders at thirty wrestlers in the middle of their drills. Shoes thumped and bodies pounded the foam mat as grunts signaled both exertion and pain.

  A shorthaired boy dressed in street clothes approached him carrying a clipboard. “Can I help you?” The boy blocked his view.

  “Are you the student manager?” Lovitsky said.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m looking for Ben Fuller. Is he here?”

  “No. He left around noon. He’ll be back at practice tomorrow morning.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven.” The manger scrunched his eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Ahh.” Lovitsky frowned. “A college recruiter.”

  A large and sweaty wrestler bumped into the manager. “Outta my way, squirt.” The bruiser brushed past, then did an about face. Lovitsky recognized him as Ben’s friend, Brandon, the boy who helped demolish the original beacon during the OHW. The wrestler stared at him. “Do I know you?”

  Lovitsky looked at the manager. “Thanks. I’ll catch up with him later.” As he turned and walked away, he heard the boys talking.

  “What’d he want?” Brandon said.

  “Says he’s a recruiter. Looking for Ben.”

  “Yea, and I’m a fucking rock star. Don’t tell him shit. He’s lying . . .”

  The conversation trailed off as Lovitsky quick stepped up a short flight of stairs and rounded a corner. Shit, shit, shit. He didn’t leave the building. Instead, he walked to the far wing and hid in a janitor’s closet until the school closed for the night. When he thought it might be safe, he cracked open the door and listened to the quiet. All seemed still.

  Lovitsky found the security room near the principal’s office. He picked the lock and checked the surveillance tapes. They ran on a twenty-four hour loop. He started at five p.m., Thursday, and
found Fuller leaving practice, stopping by a locker, and going to the library’s language lab. The suspect entered, but never left before the library closed. Same thing happened just before noon today. Fuller went in and never came out.

  Lovitsky snuck inside the library and found a soft couch near the back wall. He checked his watch and set his alarm for 6:30 a.m.

  Patsy made it home to Carlston through the Terran snowstorm with her parents. Jack wasn’t home yet and she couldn’t wait to see him. They sat in the family room, and Mom blathered on about how smart and wonderful Dad was, and how much his work benefitted the Commonwealth. Huh. When did Mom get so high on Dad’s work? Eventually, Patsy grew tired of hearing about her father’s successes. After forty-five minutes, Dad hushed his wife and turned up the volume on the television.

  When Patsy asked about her health, Mom insisted she was fine, but still seemed a few packs short of a carton. A good night’s sleep would help Mom. She’d been through a lot lately.

  Snow fell upon the Earth under a dark sky while Dr. Caliban watched the flatbed truck back up to the delivery dock behind the S&T building. Bright lights shown upon the canvas tarp covering the Model #7 robot. This new bot may be the breakthrough he needed—scientifically and politically.

  The Secretary of Homeland Security expected results and had blamed him for letting Ben Fuller destroy both the beacon and the portal watch during the OHW. Worse, the successful discovery of the bogey had been besmirched by its subsequent destruction. Now the Secretary scowled at him whenever they met.

  This robot looked different, unlike the warrior bots they kept in the S&T lab. Why did Patrick believe this one contained an internal signal beacon? How could he know by just eyeballing it? Caliban shook his head. Patrick hadn’t even looked surprised when he first saw the robot . . . and then jumped into the hole to disable it. Maybe Patrick buried the bot himself—as deep as he’d buried all his secrets. I can’t let him anywhere near this one.

  Although it may be dangerous, Caliban hoped the robot contained an internal beacon. Examination and testing would ultimately lead to understanding and victory. He couldn’t wait to redeem himself and wipe the condescending look from the Secretary’s face.

  Ninety minutes later, Caliban met Simmons in the lab. The air smelled of machine oil and disinfectant. Even though Dr. Simmons secretly reported to FBI Agent Miller, his scientific skills were beyond reproach and, unlike Patrick, Simmons followed through on his S&T assignments.

  The green-eyed Model #7 lay dormant upon the examination table. A bright light shown down on its lifeless metal body.

  “We’ve cleaned him off,” Simmons said. “There’s been some corrosion, but Zander’s in remarkable shape for being underground this long.”

  “Zander?” Caliban’s glasses magnified his squint.

  Simmons shrugged. “He’s unique. We usually give the bots a name.”

  “Short for Alexander the Great?”

  “Zander may have been a conqueror if we hadn’t stopped the invasion. We were lucky during the war. If you hadn’t shut down Dr. McDugan’s beacon, we might all be dead, or slaves to Erde. The same might be true if this robot hadn’t been incapacitated.”

  Caliban grimaced. “I didn’t shut down the beacon, Ben Fuller did. Credit him that honor.” His eyes bore down on Simmons. Does he mock me?

  “Yes, Sir.” Simmons eyes focused on the bot.

  Caliban took a deep breath and sighed. Zander. He circled the examination table and studied the green metal body. “I don’t see anything that even resembles Patrick’s beacon technology.”

  “We have to assume it may look different, possibly miniaturized.”

  “How soon can you fire him up?”

  Simmons spread his hands open, waist high. “We can’t.”

  “Because it might have a beacon? Ye gods, man, do a work around. Find and disable the transceiver component.” He prodded his finger at Zanders mid-section.

  “Dr. McDugan has already done that by removing the microprocessor.”

  “Well put it back in. Time’s slipping away. We need to glean anything we can from this bot regarding portal technology.”

  “Dr. McDugan still has it.” Simmons said. “We’re stuck for now.”

  “What!” Sneaky fucking bastard. He must have stolen it when he jumped in the hole. His shoulders slumped. “Did you tell Agent Miller about this?”

  “Yes.”

  Caliban clenched his teeth. “Who else knows?” How could he report this up the chain without looking the fool?

  “Only Agent Miller and a few agents. They found a judge who will sign a new search warrant and will likely give Dr. McDugan an early wake-up call tomorrow morning,” Simmons said.

  Caliban’s forehead grew warm. “Fine. But I want some options on how to power this bot without his damn microprocessor by tomorrow noon.” Patrick will pay for this.

  The night sky grew dark as snow fell upon Carlston and the Commonwealth. Lori opened Brandon’s front door and invited the foursome inside to join the party. Brandon toasted the partygoers in the living room amidst the background laughter and music. She greeted Ruth and Trudy with a smile, Jack with a nod, and hugged Ben. Look who’s back.

  Lori assumed her Uncle Brett and Aunt Dora had squeezed Ben like a lemon regarding Cousin Ruth’s pregnancy, but she couldn’t blame them. Time for Ben to step up and grow a pair. At least everyone could relax a little tonight, since Brandon’s parents were out of town.

  Lori had known about the portal watch and Earth, but had kept it secret from her cousins for Jack’s sake. Letting Ruth believe Ben was enrolled in a witness protection program was a kindness compared to being hunted by the CSD.

  Ruthie glowed and kept her arm hooked in Ben’s all night, as if he might get away. She’s getting bigger. Ben had a silly smile on his face and everyone treated him with kindness. She wondered if he was truly happy or still in shock.

  Lori raised an eyebrow. Jack and Trudy were spending a lot of time with each other tonight and Trudy laughed at almost everything Jack said. What is she doing? Jack’s supposed to be away at school with college girls, not poaching my cousin. He looks good, though. She downed a shot of tequila and felt the burn as it rolled down her throat. I guess things could have turned out worse.

  Chapter 20

  Patrick woke at 4:05 a.m. in the relative luxury of his upstairs bedroom, rather than the meager cot he too often used in the phased lab. Feeling refreshed after a hot shower, he dressed, and treated himself to waffles, eggs, and fried ham. His strong black coffee, hot and bitter on his tongue, looked thick enough to coat the cracks in his asphalt driveway. Life is good.

  At 4:55 a.m. he heard car doors slam shut outside, and considering the time, knew bad news had come to visit. Whether the Sheriff, FBI, DOD, or girl scouts on steroids wanted to sell him cookies, he wasn’t buying. Not quite yet. Without bothering to look out the window, he bolted down to the cellar, slid into the phased lab, and checked the modulator. Time outside the lab would practically stand still until he returned. ‘Hold on a second’ had acquired a purer meaning. A lot could happen between the phased-now and then.

  “Good morning, Amo. I see you’ve been busy.” Small red laser ports bristled from Amo’s forearms. The robot’s broken green legs lay dismantled in the corner of the lab, while two blue metal legs sat on the worktable next to Amo. “Where did you find the spare parts?”

  “Commander, an eternity could pass in this lab while you are absent. I utilized the overhead lift to increase my mobility and removed my legs. I then scavenged the OHW battlefield while i-phased, and retrieved compatible weapons and spare parts to repair my body.”

  “But I thought the National Guard had cleared battlefield months ago.”

  Visshhhh-click. “I traveled back in time to the OHW after the last robot fell. I watched as they carelessly buried Zander. I removed compatible parts from several robots damaged beyond repair.”

  Albert’s eyebrows rose above his dark rimmed glass
es. “You did all this without legs?”

  Amo’s blue eyes whirred. “Yes. I used time and teleportation to my advantage, however, I need your assistance to attach the new legs and connect the gray tubes.”

  Patrick nodded. “Of course. Let’s do that now.” Patrick spent three hours of phased lab time to repair Amo. Afterward, Amo walked around the lab with dexterity.

  Patrick’s thoughts returned to his early morning visitors. “Amo, did you find time to reprogram Zander’s microprocessor?”

  “Yes, of course.” Amo retrieved the orb-like microprocessor from the desk drawer and handed it to Patrick. “Once inserted, a copy of myself will reside hidden within his circuitry and undetectable to his internal scans. My copy and I will monitor him and override his control if necessary. I will also be able to see and hear through his senses. His prime objective will be to deactivate his teleportation beacon.”

  “Very clever, Amo.” Patrick studied Amorphous’ face and body language, but he could not read anything beyond what the robot chose to convey. “Any concerns?”

  Visshhhh-click. “Circumstances may force me to reset or destroy him. My copy knows this and understands. We are ready, however, I am curious to what degree my copied-self will evolve along a different track post upload.”

  “Could your copy change its mind and disregard your orders?” asked Patrick.

  “It is possible. He will evolve from a different perspective and may offer alternate logical solutions, but he cannot disregard my orders without discussion.”

  “Yes, of course.” Patrick’s eyes focused upon the orb. “Is it ready for implantation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well done, Amo.” Patrick gently placed the microprocessor in his jacket pocket. “I believe law enforcement is on my doorstep searchin’ for Zander’s microprocessor. If all goes well, they’ll let me load the reprogrammed orb into Zander. If things go wrong, I may be incarcerated and you might not hear from me for a while. I’m leavin’ my portal medallions here for safekeepin’”