Broken Dragon (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 3) (13 page)

“Try seeing it from his perspective.”

Mara grasped the faceplate and lifted it above the body.

“How’s that?” she asked, turning it downward to face the body’s head.

“Okay. The shape of my head looks good. All you have to do is lay the plate over the opening. Then you will need to place a finger behind each of my earlobes. You’ll feel little bumps back there, like those buttons on a remote control with a flat surface. Press both simultaneously and the plate should integrate with the rest of my cranium. It will sort of meld into it. Understand?”

“I think so.” Mara turned the faceplate upward and aligned it with the opening.

“One more thing.”

Mara stopped lowering it.

“If, once the plate is in place, I don’t become conscious, I’ll need you to remove my entire head.”

“Remove your head? You mean from the rest of your body?”

“Yes. It’s possible that damage to my torso or even my lower extremities might have caused a—What would be the best way to put it?—a short circuit of sorts. It could prevent my cranium from activating, while it is in contact with my body. If that’s the case, just place your thumbs slightly inside the base of my nostrils, where you will find two more buttons. Press on those with your thumbs while pressing the buttons behind my earlobes at the same time. That will disconnect my entire skull, and I’ll be able to talk to you, assuming there isn’t any internal damage.”

“Okay, stick my thumbs up your nose while pressing fingers behind your ears. Got it. Gives a whole new meaning to ‘losing your head.’”

She lowered the faceplate over the opening and pressed the buttons behind his ears. The edges of the faceplate and the opening in the skull turned viscous momentarily and fused seamlessly before once again becoming solid and smooth. Mara stepped back and looked down at Cameron’s face. He looked serene and normal, much more human and much less disconcerting. However, he did not awaken.

She lifted her thumbs in the air at Bohannon and turned to lean over the gurney.

Mara placed her thumbs at the base of Cameron’s nostrils, spread her palms over his cheeks and reached around his ears with her middle fingers. She felt the buttons he had told her about, sort of flat nodules she could feel under the skin. Pressing all four simultaneously, she heard a muffled
click
. The head rolled forward, as it disconnected from the neck. Mara tightened her grip on the face, preventing it from rolling to the side. She grimaced as a shiver of revulsion ran through her. She had successfully decapitated him.

“I’m going to have nightmares for weeks after this,” she said. She slid her hands to the sides of the head, under the ears, and straightened next to the gurney, holding it out for the detective to see.

Bohannon wiped his brow. “I’m not sure I’ll even be able to sleep again,” he said. “How do you turn it on?”

The head’s eyes snapped open. Mara squealed and tossed it at Bohannon. “Oh! I’m sorry,” Mara said, reaching after the flying head.

Bohannon reflectively bobbled and batted it between his hands before catching and establishing a firm grip on it. “Lord have mercy,” he said. “Take this thing.” He shoved it back into her arms.

“Hey, cut it out,” the head said. “Just sit me down somewhere. You’re making me dizzy.”

Mara held it up and turned it to face her. “Sorry, you startled me. I’m not used to holding talking heads in my hands.”

“I suspect being a talking head in someone’s hands is slightly more disconcerting. Just put me down.”

Mara placed the head on the end of the gurney. “I’m not sure that’s going to work. You’re kind of sitting on your jaw.”

“I’ll—” Cameron opened his mouth, his jaw pressing down against the thin mattress on top of the gurney, pushing up against the rest of his head, knocking it off balance and causing it to roll over onto its side. He glared at Mara.

“Let’s try this,” Mara said. She grabbed the head, lifted it off the gurney and walked across the room to one of the shelves on the far wall. They were mounted a few inches above her head, but not out of reach. She sat the head on the lowest shelf, with the jaw hanging over the ledge. Stepping back, she assessed and asked, “How’s that? Can you talk without rolling over now?”

“I think so. Could you slide me over to the right about a foot or so, center me over the gurney? I’ll be able to see what’s going on,” Cameron said.

“Jeez.” Bohannon shook his own head back and forth, while Mara made the adjustment.

“How’s that?” Mara asked.

“Good. Now give me a minute to see if I can establish a connection with my primary core.”

“Your primary core?”

“My main processor, my brain.” He closed his eyes.

Mara glanced over at the detective and shrugged. “The robot is connecting to its primary core.”

“Good. Maybe when it’s done, it can help me reconnect to mine, ’cause I’m feeling a little unmoored myself,” Bohannon said.

After a moment Cameron opened his eyes. “Do you think the two of you could stop referring to me as ‘the robot’ and calling me ‘it,’ like I’m some sort of toaster or something?”

“We’ll do our best. It might be easier once you’re not a talking knickknack sitting on a shelf,” Mara said. “So, you get your head all sorted out?”

“I wasn’t sorting out my head. My primary core is located in my torso, and I was attempting to connect wirelessly, as you call it, by transmitting a signal, but it appears to be off-line. I’ll need your help to assess the damage,” Cam said. His eyes rolled upward. “Detective, you’ve got a call coming in.”

“Wha—” Bohannon’s phone emitted a staccato tone. He frowned, pulled the phone from his pocket. “Bohannon.” After a moment he held the phone to his chest and said, “It’s my lieutenant. I’ll take this outside.” His steps sounded dry and gritty as he left, reminding Mara they were still in the concrete bunkerlike storage room off the side of a parking garage below the hospital.

Mara turned back to Cameron’s head. “You can intercept cell phone signals?”

“Cell phones, radios, garage remote controls, television, wireless networks. You people never met a signal you didn’t want to fill up with useless blather. It took me weeks to develop filters to screen out all the noise and interference in my systems. I’m still not sure I got everything. Bluetooth and infrared stuff still gets through, if I’m not diligent,” he said.

“So you don’t have all those wireless devices in the realm you come from?”

“There’s no need. Our bodies are wireless devices. Why would I need a phone to talk or transmit information to anyone? We just signal each other directly. If I want to open my garage door, I just think it and send the signal directly.”

“Interesting. No television or radio? What about entertainment?”

“Virtual reality programs, downloaded directly to our cores. They can tap into our sensors and provide a fully immersive experience, not just moving pictures on a screen. What did you mean by ‘realm’?”

“Alternate reality? Parallel universe? Pick your term. You crossed over into this reality during the plane crash back in September. You were aware of that, weren’t you?”

“I knew something had happened, that things were different. At first I thought my systems had been compromised, that my core was simply misinterpreting all the sensory information my body was gathering. But everything was too consistently strange, all the noisy signals and the smelly organic people. I knew something had happened, but I wasn’t sure what exactly.”

“All of this must be pretty strange to you.”

“It would be a little less strange if you could help put me back together.”

“Yeah, about that. What are you going to do if I help you?”

“I don’t understand the question. You’re expecting some kind of compensation in return?”

“No. What are your intentions with regard to this realm? What are you planning to do with all the smelly organic people?”

“If you’re asking about me infecting people with a nanovirus or turning everybody into synthetics, I couldn’t do that if I wanted to. I didn’t get my body from a virus. I was transferred into it on my tenth birthday.”

“From a flesh-and-blood body? Your consciousness was somehow transferred into this mechanical body?”

“Crudely put, yes. I was born, just like you, with blood, guts, poop, the whole nine yards. Would it be possible for us to discuss this after my head is reattached to my body? I’m getting a little freaked-out being in pieces like this.”

Bohannon pounded on the door, making Mara jump and gasp. “Sheesh. I almost forgot he was out there.” She jogged around the gurney and opened the door.

The detective walked in and said to Cameron, “Your employer at the gallery is starting to make some noise about your disappearance. Apparently he just got word that you were hit by a car, and he’s demanding to know what happened to you.”

“Gallery?” Mara asked. “What kind of gallery?”

“Art gallery. I’m a painter. If we can get on with this, you won’t have to worry about my boss,” Cameron said.

Bohannon looked at Mara. “You gonna help put him back together?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid it might void the warranty.”

The Oregon Health & Sciences University campus and hospital, a cluster of institutional buildings, sat atop Marquam Hill, just south of downtown Portland and overlooked the south waterfront of the Willamette River. Two-lane roads wound up the hill, but Diana wanted to avoid getting trapped up there in late-afternoon traffic, so she opted to take the Portland Aerial Tram which connects OHSU, perched high among the trees, to the urbanized riverbank below. Hannah excitedly approved of riding one of the silver pill-shaped cabs that glided on wires over Interstate 5, several parallel streets and a couple neighborhoods.

After parking nearby, Diana and Hannah walked past several OHSU buildings that occupied the expansion campus at the bottom of the hill, entered the industrial-looking metal-and-glass tram station and stopped in front of a ticket vending machine, from which Diana purchased a ticket. As she tucked her credit card back into her wallet, Hannah tugged on her grandmother’s coat.

“Where’s my ticket?” Hannah asked.

“Little people get to ride for free, sweetie.”

They joined a line of passengers waiting next to the open bay to their right. Two tram cabs alternated up and down the hill, and the one on the left had departed a moment earlier. Hannah pointed to the working machinery suspended above the berth into which their tram would glide. A large orange wheel slowly turned, appearing to reel in the silver tramcar that descended sharply from the 197-foot tower they could see in the distance through the open side of the building.

“How high up will it take us?” Hannah asked.

“I think I read somewhere that it is about five hundred feet up to the station at the top of the hill,” Diana said.

Hannah had already turned her attention to the little dark-haired boy in the line ahead of them. He appeared to be about Hannah’s age and was engrossed in a comic book—so much so that he failed to step forward with his mother when the line ahead consolidated. His mother turned back toward him, waved a hand and hissed, “
Oye, vente aquí
.”
Hey, come here.

Hannah tapped him on the shoulder and said, “
Tú madre te llamas
.”
Your mother is calling you.
She pointed a finger ahead.

The boy looked up, startled, then skipped ahead. Hannah quickly followed, without looking back to see if Diana kept up. “What are you reading?” Hannah asked the boy.

“It’s a new comic my uncle made about a superhero who can shoot light from his eyes. Look.” The boy held up the color comic for Hannah to see. Sure enough, one of panels showed light coming from his eyes, striking a dark-coated villain in the chest.

Diana caught up and took Hannah’s hand. “Honey, who’s your new friend?” She smiled and nodded to the boy’s mother, who returned the gesture but did not speak.

The boy said, “I’m Tomas,” and did a quick wave by lifting the comic book and then held it out so Hannah could read next to him.

Diana bent down and whispered into Hannah’s ear, “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

Hannah nodded, now too engrossed in the comic to reply. She pointed at the page and said to Tomas, “What happens when he makes light come out of his eyes?”

“That’s how he battles creatures trying to hurt his friends. It’s like he can punch the monsters without touching them. See?” Tomas said, flipping to the next page and holding it up. In the panel, the villain flew into a brick wall, as the light from the hero’s eyes struck his chest and blossomed into a radiant burst.

“Oh, cool! I’ve seen light come from my aunt Mar-ree’s hands before, but not her eyes. I would really like to see that!” Hannah said.

Tomas gave her a doubtful look. “It’s just make-believe.”

Diana’s eyes widened, and her body tensed up. On the verge of leaning forward to change the subject, she stopped, as Hannah said, “In the comic, it is.”

The boy nodded and turned back to the drawings in the book. Diana relaxed and decided not to get involved.

Light shifted and darkened slightly, as the tramcar filled the open space ahead and slid down the cable next to them on the other side of the waist-high glass partition. After a moment the door of the cab opened, and passengers disembarked. Hannah remained at Tomas’s side, transfixed on the comic book. When the line ahead flowed into the tram, Diana tapped the back of Hannah’s head, prompting her to step forward. Once inside, Tomas’s mother led him toward the back of the car and grabbed the horizontal railing that ran beneath the bank of windows comprising the top half of the silver pill-shaped compartment. Hannah, still engrossed in the comic book, absently followed along, trailed by her grandmother.

Diana turned to look back into the station through the cab’s windows, while two dozen other passengers boarded. Two minutes later she felt a slight tremble in the floor as the compartment door slid closed, and the tram climbed the wire. She looked down and watched Hannah wobble slightly, still clinging to the edge of the comic book.