The Reborn (The Day Eight Series Part 1) (17 page)
Read The Reborn (The Day Eight Series Part 1) Online
Authors: Ray Mazza
Tags: #Technological Fiction
“Done,” said Trevor.
“You have ten seconds to flip the knob back to ‘active’ while
holding in
the ‘re-engage’ button.”
His heart pounded and his hands shook with each pump of blood through his system. He held in the button and grabbed the knob, the surface of his skin sliding over it, slick with sweat. He gripped it tighter, and threw the knob back to the ‘active’ position.
The entire machine halted, then whirred, its LEDs blinking out of existence, then they all came back on at once. Allison’s drives and cooling pumps roared, then settled into an equilibrium of activity.
“How will we know it worked?” said Trevor.
“It will only take a moment for Allison to come back online. You can check at the tablet in a second. But first, replace the panel and put away the tools. Damon has a camera somewhere in the room that he can monitor you with.
Don’t tell him I told you
.”
A camera? Trevor got off his knees and searched the ceiling of the room. Then he saw it mounted in the corner – a small, unassuming tube with a lens. Looking directly at him.
“Hurry, Trevor. If he hasn’t called to ask what the hell you’re doing, then he probably hasn’t seen you yet. Get out of there before he decides to check it.”
He replaced everything and was safely back on the couch, panting, in only thirty seconds. The interface tablet showed a stream of diagnostics as it re-engaged Allison from the backup. And then…
Darkness. The screen was empty.
Trevor was two heartbeats from panic when pieces of Allison’s world popped into existence quickly and in succession until it was exactly as he’d remembered it.
Allison sat with the
Candyland
board and finished explaining about the stylus: “…for the games mostly. Sometimes Dad uses it to tuck me in at night and turn out my light.”
And then she cocked her head, squinting. “Hey, you’re different. You flashed and now you’re not holding the stylus anymore and your hair is messy. That means something bad happened to me again, doesn’t it?”
“No,” said Trevor. “You’re fine. Everything is just fine. If you finish setting up the game, I’ll be able to play in just a moment. I have to talk on the phone for a bit first.”
“Okay, I’m going to win!” Allison jumped around and then dumped the pieces onto the board.
Trevor muted the mic on her tablet.
“She’s back,” he said. “And she looks fine.”
“Oh, thank God,” Hillary sighed. Just through her words, Trevor could hear her entire body relax.
“Thanks for helping me through that traumatic experience,” Trevor said, still inspecting one of his shaky hands. “Your encouragement really helped. It was like you put some of those ideas right into my head. I owe you one. A really big one.”
“To tell the truth,” she said, “I didn’t believe you’d be able to do it. The whole time I was freaking out. I’ve helped raise her for the past few years, you know, and after what Damon went through to save her… I couldn’t imagine losing her now.”
“Can you forgive me for messing her up?”
“Just don’t do it again. And I know you won’t. Listen…” she said, lightening up. “I’m sorry I yelled on the phone earlier. You did great. And you made a good choice to call me. Everyone makes mistakes… hell, I’ve made plenty. But Damon doesn’t understand that humans are fallible, and he’d probably chew your head off. My advice is not to tell him. And if I don’t tell him, my head is on the line, too. Because if he finds out that I was keeping this from him…”
“I won’t tell him.”
“Good,” said Hillary. She lowered her voice to an enchanting hush: “This will be our secret.”
It was damn early. Lenny worked for a private courier service, and today was normally his day off. He could have still been in bed for another three hours… why did he answer the damned phone? The company requested he fill in for another runner that was out with the flu. Lenny had never been quick with excuses. Maybe if he’d been more awake he would have been able to come up with something clever, like he was trapped under the rubble of his apartment after it collapsed, and to please send over a large pepperoni pizza to help him survive.
His head also pulsed with dull pain from drinking about four too many lagers at the pub last night. Lenny sped down the highway, pleased, at least, to be driving such a sweet car. All the company vehicles got replaced every year; he’d take any of them over his own junker, which spewed so much filth from its muffler that it probably contributed more to global warming than all the industry in New York State.
He wasn’t sure what he was delivering today, all he knew was that it was “extremely urgent.” His pickup had been at a nearby airstrip where the package had arrived on a private jet. There was no name on the receiving end, only an address. Lenny was dismayed that the delivery was already paid for, which usually meant about half as much chance he’d get a tip. It didn’t matter how affluent his receiving clients were, nothing guaranteed a tip. As a matter of fact, he’d learned over the years that the richer someone was, the less likely they were to give him one.
One time he had to deliver a package to a famous NHL player – he was pretty sure it contained steroids, judging from the size of the guy – and the dude actually handed Lenny a wrapper from a Twinkie he was chewing the last of, as if Lenny would be thrilled to have such a breathtaking piece of sports memorabilia. He remembered the guy’s nonchalant words: “You can sell this on eBay.” Dick.
It was the only time Lenny had been tipped with trash, but to make up for it, he helped himself to a nice leak on Holier-Than-Thou’s potted orchids on the way out.
After a ten minute drive through a wildly affluent suburb where the houses reminded him of Beverly Hills, Lenny arrived at the indicated address. It wasn’t the biggest home on the block, but it was probably still worth ten times more than Lenny had either made or spent in his entire life.
A security guard at the front gate took a snapshot of Lenny and his driver’s license with a digital camera, frisked him, searched his trunk, then finally waved him on through.
Christ. They have this place on lockdown
, Lenny thought.
He hoped the recipient was home, because this was a hand-to-hand delivery, meaning Lenny would have to wait and hand it over in person. Funny thing was, without a name, he had no idea who to ask for, but was assuming it would be the head of the household.
Lenny grabbed the shoebox-sized parcel from the passenger seat and made his way between the pillars to the front doorstep. A young female housekeeper answered the door, and was irritated that Lenny wouldn’t hand over the package. After explaining to her, she huffed off up the grand staircase in search of her employer, while Lenny leaned in a bit and enjoyed the view of her curvy backside marching away in a short skirt.
In a few moments, the intended recipient strolled down the stairs, dressed casually, and approached Lenny. Lenny hadn’t expected… was this really who it looked like?
“I believe that is for me?” the man inquired. He smelled lightly of ambery cologne.
“Conway Couriers, at your service. This must be for you, sir.” Larry handed over the package. The man thanked him and shook his hand, and Lenny felt the wonderful sensation of crisp cotton-linen paper bills brushing the inside of his palm. He withdrew his hand, palming the cash, and politely deposited it in his pocket for later inspection.
On his way out the door, all Lenny could think to say was, “Good luck!” and immediately winced and cursed to himself under his breath, wishing he’d had something more intelligent to say.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
When Lenny got back in the car, he fished the money out of his pocket. He uncurled his fingers. Sitting in the palm of his hand was a joyous pair of one-hundred dollar bills. A two-hundred dollar tip. And from
him
! As Lenny pulled out of the driveway, he considered saving one of the bills as a memento. The other bill, well… Benny Franklin would be buying him a few rounds tonight.
~
He made his way to his study upstairs where he locked his door and drew the curtains, then settled down in a sofa chair. He put his feet up on the edge of the coffee table and methodically removed the tape from the cardboard box and opened the flaps.
Inside was a sleek onyx lockbox with a note. He gently unfolded the note. It was on plain paper. It read:
He put the packing and the note aside, and sat with the lockbox in his lap, going over the code in his head. He knew it backward and forward, but the thought of accidentally annihilating the item was terrifying.
The man tilted the digital keypad toward himself, and punched in the numbers so they lit up on the display where they emitted a comforting blue light: 2-9-9-7-9-2-4-5-8. The one who gave him this code explained its significance – it had something to do with... space? Stars? The universe? He hadn’t really paid attention because he had spent all his energy committing the number to memory. Right now, the item in the box was the only thing on his mind.
He double-checked, then triple-checked the code. When he was satisfied, he pressed the
Submit
button. The digital readout now displayed “Dialing…” accompanied by some faint tones and static of various pitches, as if the thing had a built in modem. The display flashed to “Accepted,” then turned blank.
There was a slight hiss of compressed air escaping from the seams as the lid popped up an inch. He opened the heavy lid the rest of the way. Inside was a small, thimble-sized device nestled in a bed of silvery foam.
Next to it was the shiny, thin disc the note had mentioned, the size of a quarter. He quickly affixed it to the underside of his watch, its cold presence uncomfortable at first, though it quickly warmed to his body temperature.
Then, he gently lifted the item from its protective surrounds and set the box on the floor. He turned the item over in his hand and stared at it for a few moments. It was a shimmery-tan color, felt spongy, and miniature flaps of silicon-like material protruded from the surface. Scores of them, almost like fur. And it was nearly weightless.
It seemed so miniscule, yet so elegant. To anyone else this might appear to be litter from the street, but he understood the effort that went into developing it.
A shiver of anticipation coursed through him. This item was going to help him change the world. He clasped it between two fingers, closed his eyes, and inserted it into his left ear. The tiny flaps rubbed against the edges of his ear canal, creating a tickling sensation. Then, as if it was meant to be a part of him, he couldn’t feel it anymore.
Slightly creeped out, he stuck his finger back in his ear and yanked it out with ease. He had worried the thing might have affixed itself to his ear permanently. It was a ridiculous notion; he should have known better than that.
He took a deep breath. Lifting it back to his ear, he whispered, “Salvation…” and reinserted it.
He experienced the same tickling followed by non-presence sensations. The man sat there and waited. He wasn’t sure what for, he just knew it would be obvious when it happened.
And then, it did happen.
His ear tingled briefly.
An impression of pins and needles grew, rippled through his extremities, then subsided. Then a delicate warmth washed over his brain. It was one of the most soothing feelings he’d had in his life. The man smiled.
Then, darkness, as he fell unconscious, collapsing into the sofa chair, his arms dangling awkwardly over the armrests.