Cog Page 11

  “Agent XH11, how may I assist you?”

  “Take us down to the play room, J9,” Thia said.

  The assistant fell silent, then the elevator plummeted before coming to a slow stop. The door opened onto a laboratory. J9 led the group past large tables outfitted with robotic arms that shuffled various beakers and tubes back and forth, pouring the contents into other containers.

  They walked past the arms and came to a door at the far end of the lab. J9’s transparent head lit up and the door opened. The cleanliness of the laboratory did not carry over. The back room had a concrete floor, dirty yellow walls, and a single old-fashioned bulb that hung from a wire in the middle of the room.

  Thia pushed Nicholle inside and she stumbled over a pile of sackcloth bags. The smell from the bags overwhelmed her, even from a distance. A table stood in the middle of the room, covered with various tools. Pressure settled in the middle of her chest and her scalp began to tingle.

  “What is that smell?” She spoke to help quell her fear.

  “You’ll find out. You, in there.” Thia waved the gun at Chris, motioning him toward another room. He edged inside and the door quickly shut behind him.

  “Make sure he doesn’t get out,” Thia told the robot.

  J9 stood by the door and fell silent. Its lights darkened except for a single blinking yellow dot in the middle of its head.

  “Tell me where Wills is,” Thia said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Put one of those bags on your head.”

  Nicholle looked with disdain at the pile of bags and the smell emanating from them. “But I really don’t know.”

  “Now!” Thia squeezed off a shot, which seared past Nicholle, singeing the side of the table. She picked up a bag and put it on her head. The smell was horrifying, filling her nose and mouth. She gagged.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Yak piss.”

  “Yak piss? You are a sick...” Nicholle coughed deeply. “...bitch.”

  “Put these on.” Thia threw something at Nicholle that clacked like metal on the hard concrete at her feet. Nicholle bent over to retrieve it.

  “Handcuffs?” she said.

  “Now!” Thia said.

  Nicholle fumbled with them as the stench filled her nostrils and crowded her senses. A series of clicks, then they fastened around her wrist.

  “Now what? Ah-AHH!” The air ripped, and a burning pain shot across Nicholle’s back, cleaving her skin. She fell to her knees, open-mouthed and silent. Warm blood trickled, soaking her shirt. Short gasps escaped her lungs, but hardly a sound, as the pain wended its jagged way home.

  “Nicholle! Leave her alone! Don’t you touch her! Nicholle!” Chris pounded on the door of his small room. His muffled commands comforted her, even if they went unheeded.

  “Where are the plans for transfer of consciousness?”

  “What are you talking about?” Nicholle said. “AAAHH!” Another lash cut across her back, ripping up cloth, skin and flesh. More blood soaked her shirt and it stuck to her back in a wet, clammy mass. She swam in pain, gulping in deep breaths of it, along with the yak urine as she fell forward, onto her elbows.

  “I...don’t know anything. My brother...never tells me about the business.”

  “Why don’t I believe that? Come on. Something that’ll make the rich richer? I know you’re interested in that,” Thia said. “Even an art dealer like yourself. Rich bitch.”

  “You’re the...bitch. Who the hell are you, anyway? Some crazy whore my brother screwed and dumped? Take a number. There’s plenty more where HAAAA!”

  The pain lashed harder this time. Nicholle figured she hit a nerve with Thia. Flaming shards of white lanced across her vision. The agony forced her flat on the floor and the muscles in her arms began to spasm. She was losing medinites in the blood flow, but they were giving her some relief.

  “Where are the plans for consciousness transfer?”

  She kept asking for that. If Wills had discovered it, then it was no wonder Perim wanted them all out of the way. Bastard. So that was it. And this crazy bitch probably wanted it for herself.

  “All right! I’ll tell you.” Essence of yak filled her mouth and she spit against the sackcloth. The saliva dribbled down the sackcloth and onto the front of her shirt.

  “It’s on the AmHo node. But the vice president locked me out, so you’re going to have to hack into it. Look for the corporate security subnode, then Wills Ryder’s personal node. It’s there, marked File Thirteen.”

  “Password?”

  Any one would do. She wouldn’t get that far anyway, thought Nicholle. “Constantine.”

  “Well, I see the cat has conquered another victim. She never fails.” Thia laughed. Nicholle didn’t know if she was talking about the whip or herself.

  Nicholle heard the door open and close and figured Thia had gone out to get a fryer. She took the urine-soaked bag off her head and spat several times, then took in deep breaths of fresh air. The J9 unit stood still next to the door, unfazed by Chris’s incessant pounding.

  Thia walked into the room with a fryer on her head. She waggled her finger at Nicholle.

  “Tsk tsk. I didn’t say you could take off the bag. But since you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll let you slide. Now, watch the downfall of American Hologram.” Thia activated the controls on the fryer and began her sortie.

  Nicholle watched in anticipated horror. Seeing people die, or at least writhe in pain, wasn’t easy. Not even, she guessed, when it was a tormentor.

  Thia performed a series of finger movements, then froze, a half-smile on her face. She dropped to her knees, bucked, and fell to the ground, face first. Her forehead hit the concrete with a dull thud; her right leg began to twitch, then stopped. The military sentinels had done their work, earned their pay for the week.

  “Thanks, Perim. You were good for something.” Nicholle stood up, keeping a wary watch on J9. She didn’t know if it had AI. Regular robots were dumb. They only did what you told them. Nicholle slid toward Thia and reached to get her lason, keeping watch on the robot. It remained still. The powerpak on the lason indicated it was half-loaded. But it might have been programmed for Thia’s use only, and Nicholle didn’t want to take a chance with a robot. She’d have to use Thia’s hand.

  On the table was a long curved piece of metal with a serrated edge. She walked slowly over to the table, keeping an eye on the robot. The metal gleamed in the dull light, as if it had been polished after each use. She could picture Thia lovingly shining it after sawing off someone’s genitals.

  Nicholle made her way to the table, facing the robot, and reached behind her as she lifted the blade, then stepped over to Thia and kneeled down. She took the woman’s right hand and began to cut.

  Blood seeped onto the floor, pooling at her knees and soaking her pants. The blade caught when she reached bone and Nicholle anchored the arm by kneeling on Thia’s palm. She leaned over the blade, bearing down as she sawed on.

  “Nicholle? Is that you? What’s going on?” Chris asked.

  “Hold on.”

  When she got her prize, she held it by the fingers and tapped off as much blood as she could. It splattered on the floor and across Thia’s body. She picked up the gun and placed it in Thia’s hand. She positioned the fingers, but there wasn’t enough room on the trigger for both index fingers, so Nicholle had to insert her pinky, which made it awkward. Still, she would have the element of surprise. Or so she hoped.

  She crawled behind the table and aimed the gun at J9. Thia’s cut-off wrist proved a gruesome sight, but she looked past that to J9’s head. It would be gone in a minute. She squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened. Except J9 must have detected a weapon directed at it. Its head lit up and turned toward Nicholle.

  “Crap.
” She overturned the table in time to block a plasma blast. Nicholle grabbed a hammer and chucked it at the robot. It shot the tool out of the air. She ducked back behind the table.

  “Glad it wasn’t my head.”

  J9 began to move toward her. On the floor next to her were two metal clamps attached to rubber wires that led to an electrical device. No doubt another tool for genital torture. She grabbed the clamps and threw them over by Thia’s body, then dragged the worktable so J9 would have to go around it to get at her. Which meant it would roll into—

  Nicholle switched on the electricity, sending a current through the pool of Thia’s blood.

  J9 sparked and the blood sizzled, splattering on the worktable. The robot lit up and flickered on and off, then crashed into the wall. Its lights dimmed and died.

  Nicholle snatched up Thia’s severed hand and shook it off the gun. She ran to the door and inserted Thia’s thumb in the slot and the door opened.

  “Nicholle. Are you all—” He noticed the severed hand and took a step back.

  “I had to cut it off to shoot the robot with the gun, but the gun didn’t work, so I had to electrocute it.”

  Chris gaped, then swept Nicholle up in his arms. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

  Nicholle sank into his muscled embrace, savoring the smell of his cologne. The threat of finality had an aphrodisiac effect on her, and she nestled her head in the crook of his neck. He pushed her away, his face drawn up in disdain.

  “Oh, yeah, yak urine.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  b

  They drove up Route 301, searching for someplace to settle for the night. The strains of Bach filled the space between them, along with the faint scent of lavender mingled with urine. They rode in silence as Nicholle processed the day’s events. Chris offered a few comments, but only garnered a grunt in reply.

  Chris passed by the famous hotel chains, knowing they would require cogin for a deposit. They needed a place that would ask few questions and accept cash. The Blue House Motel beckoned with its shabby exterior and neon sign that announced vacancies. It rested on the edge of a copse of trees on a patch of land between the northbound and southbound lanes. The exterior coat of blue paint gave off an iridescent sheen under the nearby floodlights.

  “This looks promising,” Chris said. He slowed and eased into the lot. “Wait here.”

  “Hmm,” Nicholle said. She didn’t have to be persuaded to stay in the car. As Chris went inside, a woman wearing nothing but a towel spilled out of one of the rooms. She held a cigarette in one hand and the towel in the other.

  “I tole ya ya left it inna car!” she said. She stumbled to a dirty white car, opened the door, and began rummaging in the front seat.

  “Git ma beer, too!” echoed from inside the room.

  The woman closed the car door, hauling a bag, with the cigarette clasped firmly at the edge of her mouth. She ambled back to the room and kicked the door closed.

  “Old-fashioned doors,” Nicholle mumbled. She jumped when Chris opened the door to the car.

  “C’mon. We’re in room 3.”

  Chapter 10

  Lights twinkled across the horizon, covering the Baltimore landscape. Towering orange cranes huddled over the Port of Baltimore, transferring cargo from the ships hugged against the docks to the colorful containers that dotted the sea port. The scene loomed larger as the car approached the port, a brilliant vista viewed from the I-95 bridge.

  Chris had uploaded altered photos and IDs for them, son and niece of the foreign diplomat who was the registered owner of the car. She checked the status of her father, but he remained unchanged. She almost called the doctor, but she could never be ready to hear from a doctor who said that her father only had two days to live. Hard to fathom. And if she dwelled on it, she’d be unable to function. So she put it out of her mind, at least as much as she could. She thought hard of something else.

  Nicholle wondered why Wills had called the meeting with reps from bio research, pharmaceuticals, and aeronautics. They had nothing to do with wiho.

  Diversifying, Wills? And why a warehouse?

  Warehouses were cold, dirty affairs, not plushly outfitted conference rooms with wet bars and catered gourmet food. He was that spoiled. Before a meeting, his aide would send a list of particulars to meeting coordinators, demanding imported water, Dutch licorice, and Moribel cognac. She doubted they had Dutch licorice and aged cognac within the metal hull of a warehouse.

  “This brings back memories. I grew up in Baltimore,” Chris said.

  “Near the docks? Did the sailors tell you stories from distant lands?”

  Chris laughed. “No. I lived in the county. But some weekends my dad would take me to go get a chili dog and we’d come down here to watch the ships. He used to work the docks and said it was a treat to watch other people working.”

  “If I worked here, I think it’d be the last place I’d want to come on the weekends.” Nicholle shifted in her seat, relieving the leg that had fallen asleep. She remembered the docks, as well. Waiting for shipments of pakz, which she helped divide up to deliver to those who couldn’t afford skeemz.

  “No. He loved this place. It was his life. He worked here for thirty years. Knew everybody.” Chris slowed the car as they came to a red light. “He even died here,” he added in a quiet voice.

  Nicholle angled a look. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You okay to come here?”

  “Oh, yeah. Just a little, you know. Like I said, brings back memories.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “What was it like? Losing your father.”

  Chris drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. “It was, at first, so surreal. I didn’t believe it. Then after the funeral, it began to sink in, and I’d never felt so alone. We were close.”

  We weren’t close. Wills had always reminded her of that, over her denials. But in that, Wills was right. She finally had to admit it. She had wanted to believe they were a typical family with its share of typical problems, but she was finally beginning to see the dysfunction.

  The car behind them honked and Chris accelerated past the green light. They pulled up to a sentinel gate lined with secbots, which could fry the car if their limited AI found anything overtly suspicious.

  “If you are not an employee, please turn your vehicle around and exit the premises,” the holographic guard said.

  Nicholle placed her hand on Chris’s arm as the memory self-resurrected from stasis.

  “I know where we can go. Drive toward Dundalk. I’ll give you directions along the way,” she said.

  Chris glanced sideways, the space between his brows folded in annoyance.

  “And tell me we won’t get kidnapped and nearly killed this time,” he said.

  His reaction bruised what sense of confidence she still had left. The confidence she needed to help get them inside.

  “What? You act like that whole ordeal was my fault. I had no idea she was after us.”

  Chris turned the car around and followed the sign to the main road, veering left. “She was after us to get to Wills for some experiment she believes he’s conducting. Only I’ve never known Wills to conduct experiments, and she seemed to be well connected with access to high-tech areas, so I don’t think she was crazy. Well, completely crazy. She found us easily enough, and I think it’s entirely possible she knew something that we didn’t, namely, what the hell it is that Wills is up to.”

  Since Nicholle had time to process recent events, Chris’s musings were beginning to make sense. Nothing normal had occurred since Monday night, at least not from her perspective. So maybe it’s time to think from a different perspective.

  “Make the next right,” she said. “So what if Wills somehow discovered the sec
ret of transferred consciousness…downloaded personalities, whatever you want to call it. What would the implications be?”

  They pulled into a neighborhood of brick row houses. Generations of entrenched families had stabilized the area, staving off the typical suburban decay. Streetlights lit the way. In other suburbs, they would have long since been broken.

  “Second right, third house on the left,” she said.

  Chris obeyed and pulled in front of the specified house. He shut off the engine and leaned back against the head rest.

  “Jeez, Nicholle, they’d be staggering. Never really having to die…if you get a disease, you can just upload to a new body. Although whose body would you upload to? I doubt you could upload to a dead body and have it work. And most people are already using their own bodies.”

  Nicholle bolted upright in her seat as realization dawned. “Oh, my god. People in comas,” she whispered. She faced Chris, hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. The thought offended her. She tried to put it out of her mind, but it edged back, around the corners of her defenses. “My father.”

  Chris grabbed her by the shoulder and squeezed. “I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you. Think about it. How could Wills put your father in a coma?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “So let’s not jump to conclusions. We’re here. What now?”

  Nicholle smeared the tears across her face until they dried, until her medinites mopped up the ones beneath the surface.

  “There are tunnels that lead from three of these houses over to warehouses at the terminal. They’re usually guarded, but we may be able to create a diversion. Loud music coming from the car, I’m thinking. They don’t want to bring attention to the area, so they’ll probably come outside to shut it down. We can hide in the bushes and jump inside as he’s walking to the car. Tuma’s kinda cheap, so there should only be one guard.”