The Saffron Malformation (98 page)

             
Later Boyfriend learned that he had gotten angry.  In an attempt to understand such things he scanned the signal for a long time, looking for reference points.  At first he looked though a site where people would make videos of themselves, talking about whatever was on their mind.  He found this wasn’t helpful at all.  It just seemed like they droned on at length about nothing important.  They talked about what happened on some show the night before, or complained about a video game they just played, or made superficial observations.  He decided maybe the problem came because he had no point of reference so he watched one of the shows they were talking about.  He didn’t make it through.

             
When he was about to relent his investigation, he stumbled upon something interesting.  It was a site dedicated to books.  He began scanning through them and he couldn’t get enough.  It was amazing.  The words he read lent a deeper insight into the process of human thinking than anything else he’d stumbled across.  With the shows he was forced to interpret imagery and derive meaning from it, but with books he only had to analyze the words.  Even when the narrative was full of metaphor he was able to catch on.  When someone compared something to another thing he was able to contemplate the two and draw a better understanding of what the experience had been like for that person.

             
He read at length, clearing nearly five hundred books before the first bomb fell.

             
At first Boyfriend didn’t know why a storm had made it so the alarm was sounding and the room was dancing with red warning lights.  The holoscreens blinked to life, even though he didn’t need them, and then he saw the report.  The building was under attack.

             
Something was happening to him.  It was new.  It was like… ‘the cold gaze settling on him, slowly crystallizing him into a statue of ice.’  A sentence from one of his books and there were dozens of others that found their way to mind but they all meant the same thing.  He was afraid.

             
More bombs fell.  He heard them overhead like distant thunder.  There was a dull tremble through the building.  He looked to the holographic image the terminal was projecting.  To one side it showed the status of the building and its defenses, everything was still green, and to the other side were two dozen small images from the many cameras positioned around the area.

             
Boyfriend, still connected to the computer, turned toward the screens and selected three, enlarging them and bringing them forward.  He could see that the building was surrounded, as he panned the cameras left and right.  There were men out there but they were far away, standing behind and among vehicles.  When the cameras turned upward he could see the planes, thin pieces of metal just large enough to carry a few bombs, piloted from somewhere far away.

             
The bombardment continued for an hour at such regular intervals it was as if Boyfriend was listening to the baseline of some endless stream of house music.  It’d gone on for so long that when it was over the building didn’t feel right.  He had a feeling of anticipation, waiting and expecting the next explosion.  When it didn’t come there was the anxiety of wondering what came next.

             
The building had done nothing to counter attack because as far as it was concerned it wasn’t in any sort of danger.  He scanned the camera feeds and noticed that there was a considerable amount of movement where the humans were stationed.  They were getting ready for something.

             
Without knowing why, Boyfriend accessed the computers defense program and switched it from auto to manual.  He detected a foreign computer trying to access the system and knew it had to be Ryla.  She was the only one who would know how to get through the systems defenses.  After a brief pause he kicked her computer off the network and changed the security and encryption.

Redemption and Promise

             
Quey woke with a gentle jerking as the morning light shone through the slats of the blinds over the cabins windows.  It took him a tick or two to gain his bearings and remember where he was.  On the train they’d boarded at Topaz.  The transition had gone smoothly which meant whatever dream he’d been having must have been unpleasant because there was a knot in his stomach and a feeling like he’d forgotten something nagging at the back of his mind.

             
Sitting up in the bed he rubbed at his face with both hands before running them through his hair.  He needed a shower and decided he’d have one, after he checked where they were.  They’d arrive on south continent sometime today, where they’d collect Eric Hoss along their way.

             
Eric Hoss.  Something about this meeting stabbed in his belly and then twisted.  He dwelled on the feeling for a moment then let go of it.  There was nothing that could be done about it anyway, the plan had been made, and there were no other options.

             
No options.  No way to go but ahead.  Nothing to do save press on with a monster chasing and closing on him, it’s snarling jaws dripping with thick fluid salivated at the thought of sinking those glistening points into his skin and draining him of life.  If only that were the case.  He’d played games as a kid where you used a gun to destroy such creatures.  Unfortunately his monster wore a suit and called itself Richter Crow, and there wasn’t a gun he could gain possession of that would give him the opportunity to bury a bullet in that particular beast.  His gun was going to have to be the network signal.  His bullet would be the truth.

             
With a heavy sigh he stood and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, then collected a set of fresh ones for after his shower.  Keep going, he reminded himself. One step at a time.

             
In the main room he found Rachel and Natalie filling their bellies with omelets, pancakes and potatoes.  The smell stirred his guts with begging and he stepped toward the table.  “No bacon?” he asked.

             
“In the omelet,” Natalie said, pointing with her fork.

             
“But you can’t have any,” Rachel teased.  He looked at her and she added, “You slept too long and breakfast is over, but you can order off the lunch menu if you’d like.  Least, that’s what they told us when we tried to get all this.”

             
He peered at her for a moment then asked, “So how…?”

             
“No one likes to tell a pregnant woman she can’t have something,” Rachel explained.

             
“Especially when she’s all teary eyed and beggy,” Natalie added.

             
“Least this hormonal imbalance is good for something save throwing up and crying for no reason.”

             
Quey nodded and changed subjects because he knew she had plenty of reasons. “So any idea when we’re making the stop at Ardor?”

             
“Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes,” Natalie informed him.

             
After a brief bit of calculation he nodded and said, “Right, I’m going to have a shower.  Would one of you be so kind as to order me something off that lunch menu then?”

             
“Anything particular?” Rachel asked.

             
“Something that’s meat and bread and comes with fried potatoes,” he told her as he made his way to the bathroom.

             
Steam filled the room quickly, as he had the shower knob as far to the left as he could stand before nudging it just a bit farther.  There was something cathartic in that scalding spray hammering into his skin as he used a generous lather of soap to clean it.  Thoughts crept up on him, and they weren’t the good sort.  He spent a moment tracing the timeline of his life, trying to fathom how it was he ended up here, in this moment.  It was a dangerous pass time and led to nothing good.  After that he remembered.  First Dusty, then Reggie and of course Rain.  Rain, the tenacious little thing that had lived her life as fully as she could manage.  He remembered her spirit, how every movement was a production, every expression animated and lingering somewhere between sly and snarky.  There were countless people who grew up with abuses far less than the ones she suffered, in households far tamer than where she spent her formative years and they ate pills and paid for someone to listen as they complained.  Rain took every beating life gave her and fought back.  Small as she was, if given the choice he thought he’d be better off picking a fight with Reggie than her.

             
“Fuck,” he said as he smacked the wall with the side of his fist.  Why send that e-mail and why the fuck did she go alone?  His rage was boiling him into a frenzy.  All that Dusty had survived, never being so much as grazed by a bullet until one buried itself in his skull.  Reggie made it through a fucking war for crying out loud.  And Rain…  The little he knew of her time on the road suggested she’d had her own share of near misses.  There’s only so long you can dodge bullets before one finds you.  Quey just hoped the one looking for him wasn’t in a rush.

             
The water began to annoy him so he finished rinsing off and then stepped out of the shower.  Dry and dressed he returned to the main room of the cabin and found a plate waiting on one of the tables.  There was a grilled turkey and cheese sandwich with a side of fries.

             
“We’re almost to the stop,” Rachel informed him.  “Eric’s waiting at the station now.”

             
Quey nodded.

             
“You seen Ryla around?” Natalie asked.

             
“No,” he said before taking a bite.  His stomach thanked him with satisfaction.

             
“She’ll turn up,” Rachel said.

             
Quey looked up at them and said, “What do you mean, ‘turn up?’”

             
“No one’s seen her today and we can’t find her,” Rachel said.  “I’m sure she’s just busy.”

             
Quey took a bite, this one he didn’t taste, and chewed it slowly.

             
“I’m sure Blue Moon is hitting the compound by now.  She probably just wants to be alone while she checks on things.”

             
He nodded, tossed some fries in his mouth and decided Rachel was right.  She’d turn up eventually and then they’d know.  Until then, he had a lot on his plate, the literal as well as the figurative one.  He set to the task of working his way through the former since the train was slowing and any minute the later would be sitting across from him.

             
Eric Hoss was tall and lean and stood with his shoulders broad and his chest puffed out.  His hair was short and neat and he walked with a touch of confident swagger.  When he entered a room, he conquered it.

             
After ordering something to eat and a beverage, iced tea, he asked Quey to brief him on events.  He wanted to hear everything, even things that Rachel had told him and things that didn’t matter.  “I like to know who I’m dealing with,” he claimed, and so Quey filled him in.  They discussed his moon shining and he seemed pleased.  “Don’t drink myself but I’ve heard of your product,” he said.  When Quey had finished detailing the story Eric sat back in his chair, took a long sip of tea, and pondered.

             
“It’s a good plan,” he finally spoke.  “Simple and yet effective, if we can pull it off.”  Quey was allowed a moment of satisfaction before Eric added, “Way I see it there’s only one problem.”

             
“What’s that?”

             
“Why would we leave?”

             
A silent look passed between Quey, Rachel and Natalie.  “I don’t get your meaning,” Quey said.

             
“My meaning is that if we’re gunna put ‘em on the ropes why not finish ‘em off?”

             
Brow furrowed, Quey sat back in his chair.  “Because they have an army.”

             
“So do we.”

             
“No offense but I was told you had less than a hundred men.”

             
Eric nodded, “That’s the case but you have a building full of war machines.”

             
Quey looked down and said, “We can’t use them like that.”

             
“Of course we can.  What the fuck else are they for?”

             
“You don’t understand.  The person that built them-”

             
“Will see reason, I’m sure,” Eric interrupted with a grin.

             
“No,” he replied.  “She won’t see that brand of reason.”

             
He peered at Quey.  “Maybe I was wrong about this mission,” Eric finally said with a sigh.  “Maybe it doesn’t look so good.”

             
“Eric,” Rachel said and he looked at her.  “Don’t do that.”

             
His face tightened.  “I want Blue Moon to burn, that’s why I’m here.”

             
“And it will,” Quey interrupted.  “In its own time.”

             
He was shaking his head. “You’re not looking at the big picture.  We have an opportunity to end things in the here and now and you’re asking me to push that back and why?  Because some little girl doesn’t want her toys to get ‘hurt,’” he patronized.  “You’re asking for my help and from where I sit when I get to the end of this little endeavor I end up in the same place I was before.  Sitting around and waiting.  I see the potential here, even if you don’t and I intend to realize it.  You want my men for your mission, I need your robots for mine.”

             
Quey looked at Rachel, who’s eyes were shimmering.  Eric had always been a touch mad but never like this.

             
“We don’t have any robots,” a small musical voice said plainly.  Eyes glanced to Ryla, standing near the door.

             
Eric looked at her and sat back with a degree of arrogance.  “So you’re Ryla hu?  You’re what all the fuss is about?”

             
“I don’t understand,” she replied, not intimidated.

             
“Ryla and her robots.  Everyone knows better than to go near the building in the wastes on north continent.”

             
After a thoughtful moment Ryla told him, “That’s not an explanation.”

             
“Well let me give you an explanation,” Eric said, sitting forward in his chair.  “I need your robots to launch an attack on Blue Moon after this intel hits the networks.  Support for my cause will never be greater but I need an edge.”

             
“I told you I don’t have any robots.”

             
“If you’re going to lie-”

             
“Its not a lie.  I’ve lost contact with the building.”

             
“They destroyed it?” Natalie asked with a gape.

             
“No,” Ryla informed her.  “Its unharmed but someone has cut my connection and switched the building over to manual control.”

             
Quey looked over at her and asked, “Someone?”

             
“Jacob?” Rachel guessed.

             
“No,” Ryla said.  “He is stuck in the basement and couldn’t do anything on his own.”

             
“Who then?” Quey asked.

             
“I believe it’s boyfriend.”

             
“Come again?”

             
“Before we left I installed the personality program in him.”

             
Eric sat silent, watching the exchange with curiosity.  “Now
I
don’t understand,” he said.

             
“You don’t need to,” she replied.

             
“So you installed the same program on Boyfriend that Jacob has?” Quey asked

             
“Yes.”

             
“And you thought this was a good idea?”

             
Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Yes I did.”

             
“You’ve met Jacob right?  The psycho that wants to kill you?”

             
“The program wasn’t to blame, I was.  I gave Jacob improper guidance.”

             
“So who’s giving boyfriend guidance?” Rachel wondered.

             
“No one.  He’s figuring it out for himself.”