Ocean in the Sea Page 16

  Lewis went through the bookshelf again and relied on the same technique to ‘push’ for what he wanted. The bindings themselves told some of the story. The Canadian Insurgency, the Second Mexican War, the Domination of Central America, the Antarctic War. It was a box set – ‘America at War’ by Tri-Color Books, Inc. What was now “America” encompassed North America and Central America. A nearby map confirmed this. Mexico and the countries of Central America were states, as were the provinces of Canada. He remembered seeing something similar in the other shelter. It confirmed what he already knew. As for why, the answer was obvious – to control the borders and hold the line against the Nazis. As to how the public was convinced, Lewis suspected they weren’t. Government control of America was likely far more absolute. Marital law, once instituted, had probably never been lifted. This was a fascist America fighting a fascist enemy. Social evolution had halted. Civil rights were whatever rights the government chose to allow.

  His eyes fell on the cover of a magazine - ‘Modern Warfare Digest.’ Flipping randomly through the pages, he stared at articles and images showing the proud might of the U.S. war machine - mechanized walking armored tanks, nuclear powered submersible aircraft carriers, orbital laser arrays, starships, moon bases, and quantum communications. His fingers stopped, and he stared at a page as a cold sensation crawl over him. It spoke of the latest in psychotropic enhancers for U.S. infantry units. The article was titled, “Stopping C.R.A.P in its Tracks!” Leaning down, he slowed his reading speed.

  Welcome to the future of physical enhancement technology. LythoCAP – an advancement over Saiben-D – now provides immunity from Combat Related Acute Psychosis by including ‘cyto-cell’ memory binders that wipe a soldier’s mind of their actions while maintaining the learned skills and heuristics of the combat experience. Say goodbye to C.R.A.P.

  A smiling man in a white medical uniform held a needle filled with blue fluid. Behind him, rows of men lay strapped in beds running the length of the hall. Beneath the image, the caption read, LythoCAP offers an end to the scourges of C.R.A.P.

  Until now, it hadn’t occurred to Lewis that C.R.A.P. might be due to a drug. He’d assumed it was post-traumatic stress disorder. His eyes moved to the interview.

  “Dr. Hanover, the detrimental effects of Saiben-D were not discovered for over a decade. How can you be certain LythoCAP will prevent C.R.A.P?”

  “This is an important question. Very important! Let me give you a straight answer. We know LythoCAP will prevent C.R.A.P because it prevents soldiers from remembering. Research with C.R.A.P. victims has shown that memory elimination is a cure for C.R.A.P.”

  “If that’s the case, then why haven’t we erased the memories of the millions of C.R.A.P. victims?”

  “Because our memory erasure technology is still in its infancy. LythoCAP targets memories explicitly. We can only do that before an event occurs. If an event has been encoded into memory without the cyto-cell markers in the neural matrix, then there is no way to target which memories are erased. For current C.R.A.P. victims, we would have to erase everything. They’d become mewling babies starting from scratch. That would be immoral and unethical. We’re Americans, not Nazis.

  “How does LythoCAP compare with the Nazi’s new KMD-96?”

  “KMD-96 was modeled on RKC-19, a drug we considered too dangerous for human testing. While it increases the strength of the cardiovascular system by a factor of three, it also causes cancer, dementia, depression, schizophrenia, and infertility. LythoCAP shows no long-term ill effects, and still increases cardiovascular strength by a factor of two, while maintaining the same lack of fear, hyper-aggression, ability to go without sleep, and immunity to pain as Saiben-D.”

  “So you’re saying our soldiers may not outrun the Nazis, but they’ll still beat them in a head-on battle?”

  “That’s correct. With LythoCAP, our men don’t need the cardio-boost nearly as much because they won’t be running away from battle. They’ll be marching into it. And they'll win!”

  “Well said, Doctor!”

  Lewis checked the magazine's date – 2020 – five years ago. Gerivaldi was 44. LythoCAP wouldn’t have been available to him. He’d have been given Saiben-D. His own country had done this to him! Millions, the article had said. There must be C.R.A.P. facilities across America filled with American servicemen.

  Garibaldi was a victim. That didn’t change what he’d done, but it shifted the blame, and there was no cure. Why didn’t the public rise up against the government? But Lewis knew the answer to that question without thinking: fear. With a hostile technologically advanced enemy like the Nazis, fear ruled the country.

  Fear ruled the world.

  Disgusted, he threw the magazine down and checked his watch. Sleep. He needed sleep, and he needed Valon's training so he could get out of here. But first, weapons. There should be an armory somewhere - gifts waiting to be opened. He smiled in anticipation, entirely out of character for him, but he didn’t notice. All he knew was the craving for the grip of a gun in his palm.

  Heticus

  In a hospital located in the Nazi-occupied French city of Riom, a young woman awoke from a two month coma. Sitting up in the dingy room, she stared out the filthy thick glass window and pulled the intravenous tubes from her arm. Alarms sounded, quickly summoning an orderly who blinked in surprise and called for the doctors. After examining her, the doctor on duty shook his head and muttered something in German about a miracle. Two other doctors joined him, all seemingly confused.

  “Where am I?” asked the woman in English. “Is this a hospital?”

  The physicians looked at each other. “It makes no sense,” a doctor commented in French. “There is nothing in this woman’s records to indicate she speaks English. Is it an error in the records?”

  “Perhaps,” replied another doctor. He held an x-ray film up to the light. “It makes even less sense that she woke at all. We need to schedule an ESIC scan. Doctor Beaulieu, your English is better than mine. Can you ask her what she remembers?”

  Doctor Beaulieu tugged the lapels of his white jacket and peered at the woman.

  “Madam Armendariz, do you know where you are?”

  Looking from the window to the doctor, the woman shook her head. “Seattle?” she guessed.

  “Seattle?” Doctor Beaulieu raised his eyebrows. “Non, mon cherie. Why would you think of Seattle?”

  “Because that’s where I was when I jumped you fucking moron.”

  “Jumped?”

  The three doctors looked at each other with concerned eyes. “Do you remember any French?” asked Doctor Beaulieu.

  “Should I?”

  “Indeed. You were born and raised here.” Pulling a note pad from his pocket, he clicked his pen. “You have never been outside of France, and you have never known English. It is difficult to understand. Do you remember learning English?”

  “No. I don’t remember anything yet. What year is it?”

  “The year? It is 2025. You have only been asleep for two months. I must ask, do you know your name?”

  The woman blinked and narrowed her eyes, staring down that the bed sheet. “I know several names. I am not sure if they are mine. You are a doctor? What’s wrong with me?”

  “You suffered a stroke, a brain aneurism. Your name is Aimée-Marie Armendariz. Your husband and your family have been very worried.”

  “I’m female?” Her face crinkled in revulsion. “Bring me a mirror.”

  The nurse brought a hand mirror from the lavatory. Grabbing it, the woman stared at her reflection. Tracing the scar over her shaved skull, she asked, “how old am I?”

  “Thirty seven,” replied one of the doctors.

  “Is that old?” Before they could answer, she shook her head. “No. It is middle age for this species.” Leaning back in her bed, she set her head on the pillow and moved her lips in thought. “There it is. Yes. I think I’ve got it now.”

  How unfortunate, Heticus thought to himself. He’d jumped i
nto a mentally damaged female. But the information required was still resident. The goal – his mission – the others were here, he just had to call them. They had to know. “Bring me a phone,” she commanded.

  “The phone? I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” said Doctor Beaulieu. “Phone calls are reserved for official use only. But if there’s someone you’d like me to contact, I can make the call for you. What is the number?”

  She rattled off a series of digits. “Tell them I’m here,” she finished.

  The doctors shook their heads. Two of them looked fearful. One departed the room in haste. “This is not a number I can call,” explained Doctor Beaulieu. “This is… outside the country. Where did you get this?”

  “From my brain. There are restrictions here? I’m afraid I do not understand them. What ties bind you, doctor? Am I a prisoner of this facility?”

  “Of course not, but you are injured. You cannot leave until you’re healed. We don’t allow our patients to wander the streets. Besides, your husband will want to see you. You… do want to see him, don’t you?”

  “Can he secure my release?”

  “Ah! Um… No.”

  “Then he is irrelevant.”

  Doctor Beaulieu frowned and put his hand on his chin. He nodded and a nurse approached Aimée’s side, filling a needle from a small glass vial.

  “No chemicals,” stated the woman.

  The nurse smiled. “It’s alright, dear. This is only a muscle relaxant. It will help with any anxiety you’re feeling.”

  An invisible force slammed into the nurse, throwing her across the room and battering her against the wall. Doctor Beaulieu’s mouth dropped open. He rushed over to the nurse, kneeling by her side. Aimée-Marie threw away the bed sheet and stood.

  “Ce que c'était?” gasped the other doctor, staring at the injured patient as she rose. “Avez-vous fait cela?” He pointed at her. “Retour à votre lit, s'il vous plaît.”

  “I do not speak that language. Where is the phone?” she demanded. The door slammed shut of its own accord.

  “Merde!” the doctor sputtered. “Le poste des infirmières. S'il vous plait, Madam.”

  “Your gibberish is irrelevant.” With a wave of Aimée-Marie’s hand, the young doctor flew backward into the wall, slamming hard into the plaster-covered brick. Eyes rolling, he slid to the floor painting red over the cracked white surface with the back of his broken skull. Aimée-Marie turned and focused her emotionless eyes on the terrified gaze of Doctor Beaulieu. “You will assist me. Undress the nurse and help me into her clothing.” She unbuttoned her gown and let it drop to the floor.

  Doctor Beaulieu shook his head, confused and scared. “I do not understand,” he blurted. “What do you hope to gain?”

  “Access to a phone,” she stated. “The clothing, NOW. If you will not help me, then you are irrelevant too.”

  “But, the phone, Madam, it will not call that number. You wish to contact the United States, yes? Only official party members can do that. The hospital phone can only call within France.” He licked his lips and looked at the dead doctor, his friend. “How… did you… what are you?”

  “Where can I obtain a party phone?” she demanded. With a flip of her hand, Doctor Beaulieu flew up and hit the wall, though not nearly as hard as the other doctor. Heticus held him there, pushing with invisible force. “Doctor Beaulieu. I do not make idle threats. Undress the nurse.” Dropping her hand, she let him fall to his feet. Scrambling to obey, the Doctor unbuttoned the nurse’s jacket and took off her blouse, skirt and tugged at her underclothes, tossing the articles to Aimée-Marie Armendariz, who slipped them on. As she was covering her scarred head with the nurse’s cap, a fist pounded at the door.

  “Sécurité,” shouted a voice. “Ouvrez la porte, MAINTENANT!”

  “Put her in the bed,” Aimée-Marie directed the doctor in English. “When I open the door, you will order me out to get something. You take an oath to save lives, do you not?”

  “Oui, y-yes,” stammered the doctor. With a grunt, he put the nurse into the bed and threw the covers over her. More impatient pounding came from the door. Aimée-Marie waved her hand at the window. As if punched by an invisible battering ram, it exploded outward. Glass shards crashed along with the frame, falling somewhere outside. Wisps of green mist swirled through the vacant portal.

  “That is good,” she said. “Many lives now depend on your performance, Doctor Beaulieu. If they attempt to arrest me, I will kill you along with them. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he gasped. Rushing around to the other side of the bed, Beaulieu put his hand on the neck of the fallen doctor, searching for a pulse. As he did so, Aimée-Marie opened the door. The angry face of a man in uniform glared at her. She pointed to the window.

  The guard leapt into the room. Covering his mouth with his sleeve, he bellowed something in French and pointed to the door. Several nurses and an orderly appeared. The guard rattled off a series of orders.

  “Go!” Doctor Beaulieu told Aimée-Marie.

  With a nod, Aimée-Marie rushed out and moved down the hall. There was still the matter of the third doctor. If he were to see Aimée-Marie, he would identify her, and there’d be a mess. A mentally crippled female host, a foreign language, and an external atmosphere that appeared toxic. The Attistar had not been kind this jump, but Heticus had experienced worse.

  Due to the calling restrictions on the hospital phones, there was no point in staying here. He made his way to the closest exit – a stairwell. The third doctor, wherever he was, didn’t materialize to cause trouble, but on the way down an audible alarm began sounding. Reaching the first floor, the stairs opened on a vacant hallway filled with empty gurneys and stretchers. Heticus tugged at the nurse’s hat again, pulling it down over the scar, and pushed what remained of his host’s greasy hair around the side to provide as much cover as possible. Remembering the green haze coming in through the window, he wondered how the inhabitants moved from building to building. Probably vehicles, possibly underground passageways connecting the buildings. Maybe he should go to the basement. Times like this, he wished he had a more versatile interface.

  Reaching what he assumed was the front lobby, Heticus looked out into a large open space filled with people. Many wore suits covering their entire bodies, orange, red, and green in color with filtered helmets. Gas masks, he realized. Others were as unprepared as he, wearing jackets and slacks, skirts and dresses. Street clothing. Across the lobby, a series of heavy glass doors formed an airlock. A flashing red light above them complimented the alarm. A voice spoke in French, nattering on about something, most likely the broken window upstairs.

  Thinking back to his time in Pandemonte, a world infested with lethal bacteria, Heticus recalled similar suits used to go outside. They’d had transports with airlocks, and decontamination centers. This place would have something similar. Where would they park the vehicles? The basement. Leaving the lobby, he marched back into the empty corridor toward the elevator. As he got there, elevator door opened behind and a man stepped out.

  Impeccably starched, his grey uniform sported a gaudy display of awards and ribbons emblazoned upon his chest. His pants, Gabardine Jodhpurs, bulged flatly at the thighs like the wings of a disabled arctic waterfowl. His shoulder spauldings pouted with stiff black fringe displaying a tight double-lightning bolt SS symbol. Stepping smartly out of the elevator, his knee-high black boots clicked over the floor with a staccato rhythm. Seeing Aimee-Marie, he assessed her with a look of disapproval.

  “To your station,” he told her in French. “There’s been a breach, have you not heard?”

  “You are an officer,” said Heticus, looking at the uniform. Noticing the swastika in the center of the man’s shiny black cap, Heticus added, “I recognize that symbol.”

  “English?” The man responded. “Are you brain dead?” he barked. “What is wrong with you, woman?”

  If the Attistar had given him a male body, thought Heticus, then the unifo
rm might have been useful. As it was, he wondered if being female might give him any advantages in this culture. He was having a great deal of difficulty accessing his host’s memories. The officer’s question regarding brain death was interestingly relevant under the circumstances. “No,” she told him. “I am not brain dead, but apparently I am brain damaged.” Heticus reached up and lifted the nurse’s cap, showing him the scar running down the side of her skull.

  The officer narrowed his eyes. “What? You are a patient? Why are you in a nurse’s uniform?” His hand dropped to the holster at his hip, hovering over it threateningly. “You will come with me,” he stated.

  “With you,” repeated Heticus. “Do you have a vehicle?” he asked.

  “I will ask the questions, woman.” The officer pointed down the hall with his left hand. “That way. Stay in front of me and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  The officer suddenly flew forward in a burst of speed, zooming toward Heticus who stepped easily out of the way. As he sailed by, Heticus turned and paced to the end of the hall where the officer slammed face first into a brick wall. Pushing further, Heticus held him in place, applying just enough pressure to keep him from moving his arms. Reaching out, he extracted the pistol from the man’s holster and gestured again, flinging him back down the hall. At that moment, two orderlies ran around the corner.

  As the officer came to rest on the floor in front of the elevator, Heticus waved his hands and slammed both the orderlies into the far wall with enough force to render them unconscious or dead. He wasn’t picky, so long as they posed no threat. Stopping over the groaning uniformed official, Heticus raised the weapon and pointed it at his chest. “Where is your transportation,” he demanded through the female lips.