Ocean in the Sea Read online

  "Yeah. Once."

  "How'd that work out?"

  "Bad. Lotta good people died doing what they thought was right." The driver glanced at the dash clock. "But it's after curfew. If we're lucky, no one's gonna let their curiosity give them a case of the stupids, and even if they do, it won’t come to much. Not in Oregon. It's pretty liberal up here, and this is an executive neighborhood."

  "Meaning they'll have their own security. They ain't gonna like seeing a Negro. Might even take a shot. I would if'n it were my neighborhood."

  "I get it. You'd feel they'd be justified, and you'd think twice about shooting back, right? Well don't. If we gotta make a mess, we're authorized. Cleaning it up is the Captain's problem."

  "Yeah. But I don't have to like it."

  Perillia ground her teeth and wrinkled her nose in a snarl. Valruun clasped the woman’s hand and squeezed, but she wasn’t interested in his comfort. She’d had enough – seen too much of this world. It wasn’t just being black. Being a woman on top of that gave her a perspective the others couldn’t understand. Her obsession was a threat to them all, and no one knew that better than she did, but she couldn’t ignore what was in her heart.

  Pigs. These men were no different than the pigs in her hometown. The same bastards that looked the other way when the Klan had raped and murdered her host. The same bastards that kept their boots on the necks of her family. Kept them down. Beat them for protection money. Vanished any Brother with the balls to stand up. The deep hatred raged, barely held in check. These fuckers didn't own this country, they ruled it. Their ancestors hadn’t paid shit, they took, and then kept taking, building on the backs of her people.

  “They mine,” she whispered quietly to Valruun.

  “Petty revenge?” whispered the little man. “I’m sure Randuu can excuse their termination, but you might want to take a more realistic view of things. Remember who you really are. This is a game and they are only simulants.”

  “Ain’t a game,” she hissed back. Her dark eyes looked past the leather seats in to front of the van. “And they ain’t playin.”

  Further into the suburbs, the caravan slowed, parking on the curb outside a house nice rambler with a large front yard. Perillia and the others piled out of the back and had a look around. Surrounded by picket fences, every house in the neighborhood looked the same with the exception of their lawns and flower gardens. Glaring fluorescent streetlights lit the street in stark relief, giving everything a cold faded washed-out look. Tall pines blew in the cold breeze. Nearby, a sign read, “WASP Neighborhood.” The small script beneath the sign provided a long list of races, religions, and sexual orientations that were all unwelcome and subject to arrest if found present here. No Jews, no Gays, no Transvestites, no Asians, no Blacks, no Hindus, no Muslims, the list went on, ending in, "Violators legally subject to violent reprisal."

  Perillia spat on the sign. “Fucking separatists.” The others stared at her. Shrugging, she rolled her eyes and sighed. “You think you know what it like?” She turned her attention to the house. “It look empty. Senjiita?”

  Like most places in the U.S., the windows had bars and steel shutters in preparation for civil defense in the event of invasion. Beloris patted his belly through his heavy coat and watched his white breath puff away in the breeze. Senjiita lowered his head and closed his eyes. The others waited as the thin man used his interface, sensing the faint indication of life within – intelligent life, an aspect of autonomy in the system's geometry.

  “The house is vacant,” Senjiita finally confirmed in his rasping voice. “But there is someone in the bunker behind it.”

  “Must be him,” Valruun declared with a happy grin. “Should we verify with Randuu?”

  "Oh fuck Randuu," blurted Shanzea. "Do you always have to ask 'momma' for permission?"

  Car doors opened behind them and the NSA support agents stepped out. Two from the van and four more from each car. Crouching in their black combat armor, they raced to the side of the house and took cover in the shrubs. One of them, a man with a single white dot on his shoulder, approached Senjiita.

  "Lieutenant Igan." He identified himself. "We have to secure the perimeter. It could be dangerous in the open, and I'm responsible for your safety. Please return to the van until I call for you."

  Senjiita stared at them with his dull heavy-lidded expression. Condensation puffed from his nose in a derisive snort.

  “We better off without ‘em,” suggested Perillia. “They was good for gettin us here, but otherwise, they a liability.”

  “Agreed,” replied Senjiita in his whispery voice. “Go ahead Perillia. Put them somewhere… safe for the time being.”

  Perillia smiled wide and turned around. The Lieutenant disappeared first. Both cars vanished next, then she turned her attention to the surprised men crouched in the shrubs at the front of the house. Narrowing her eyes, she focused. They each vanished out of existence before they could register what was happening.

  "So-long piggies."

  “Where did you send them?” asked Valruun.

  “I sent the cars a few hundred clicks west,” she answered. “They oughta be in the ocean. I dump the men over that big river we pass on our way here. Not sure about the elevation though.” Her lips tightened. “Might be a drop.”

  “Just one issue,” grunted Beloris in his deep voice. “The keys to the van?”

  Shanzea rolled her eyes. “Dammit, Perillia, the radio is in there.”

  Perillia took her hand out of her pocket and jingled a set of keys. “I ain’t that stupid. I ‘ported the keys outta his pocket first.”

  “Good,” hissed Senjiita. Reaching under his turtleneck sweater, he scratched the scar on his neck. Taking the keys from Perillia, he proceeded back to the van where he retrieved a satellite phone. Keying the command ciphers into the device, he dialed a number and put the receiver to his mouth. “We’re in position,” he stated.

  “About time,” replied Randuu from the other end of the connection. “I just got the neighborhood cameras up. What happened to the men? Their radio beacons are gone.”

  “We decided not to use them. We don’t need the distraction. Have Evaeros wipe their memories. They should be in the Columbia river.”

  “As if Evaeros doesn’t have enough work to do,” grumbled Randuu from the radio. “I’ll tell him. You have five hours to obtain the jumper. After that, the local police are going to start wondering why their patrols are being re-routed around this area. Also, just to let you know, I’ve detected activity in France. Someone’s using an interface to play havoc with the Kraut occupation forces. I’ve sent Xanatos to investigate, so he won’t be available if you need him. Five hours is a hard deadline, Senjiita.”

  “Sufficient for this,” rasped the thin man. “Keep me informed.” He lowered the sat-phone and looked to the others. “We must be done in five hours. Someone has jumped into this partition. They are in Europe. Xanatos is investigating. If it is Tanandor, Randuu will notify us. Priorities may shift. Valruun, what do you know of this?”

  The tiny man adjusted his baseball cap, closed his eyes, and pushed his interface with the Attistar. “Yep. Sorry, I wasn’t paying any attention. It could be Tanandor. Whoever it is came through the same conduit as this guy,” he nodded toward the house. “Could be one of ours, though. Heticus is due.”

  Senjiita shook his head. “Heticus wouldn’t have jumped before Tanandor. It must be him. We should be on our way to France.”

  Beloris shrugged. “Nyet. Let us proceed as planned. Xanatos will tell us if is Tanandor in France, and we are here already. This jumper may have information.”

  Senjiita brooded in silence.

  “Alright, then.” Valruun straightened his back and cracked his knuckles. “Now, remember, let me go in first and the rest of you stay out here. We’ve only got one chance at bat, and we don’t want to strike out. Considering what he’s gone through, this poor fellow’s probably as nervous as a first year rookie on opening night.�
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  Beloris walked around the side of the house and opened the gate. The four others followed the big man into the back yard. Past the gate lay the remains of a dog house and an empty leash. A half-painted porch jutted out from the back sliding door. A can of white paint sat on one of the railings next to a paint brush. The bunker, a low cement affair, sat further back toward the fence surrounded by several tall fir trees. It was the standard design – required by building codes since 1951.

  Beloris halted at the top of the steps. “Perhaps we should hide while Valruun knocks,” he suggested. “We don’t want him to see us.”

  While the others hid themselves, Valruun waited by the door. When he could no longer see them, he rapped his knuckles against the metal. A minute passed without answer and he knocked again. Grabbing a stone, he beat it against the door. “Striking out here,” he called over his shoulder. “Are you sure he’s inside?”

  “He may be sleeping,” hissed Senjiita.

  Perillia stepped out from behind the lawn shed across the yard. “Y’all want me open this sucker?”

  “Yes,” said Senjiita. “Quietly, if you can manage that.”

  “Quiet as a church-mouse.” Dropping the NSA agents into the river had improved Perillia's mood. Marching from the shadows she stopped next to Valruun and held out a hand, stretching her fingers close to the metal, but not touching it. “It’s hard,” she whispered. “Damn pieces is all close together. Messy tryin to move ‘em when they close like this.” Abruptly, the door vanished, reappearing instantly behind Perillia. Tottering, it fell onto the wet grass with a heavy thud.

  “Not exactly quiet,” rasped Senjiita in disapproval.

  “Fuck you very much,” grinned Perillia. She backed away from the opening. Her dark eyes stared down at Valruun with a look of concern. The short man glanced at her and shrugged. He stepped toward the dark empty hole where the door had been. “Maybe he’ll think I’m the owner,” he suggested to Preillia. “He didn’t see you move the door, so he won’t know it’s missing.”

  “You be careful in there,” she warned. “He might be armed, and we still don’t know what his interface ken do. Best raise yer hands if you sees’im.”

  “Good point. Stay near the door. If you hear me screaming bloody murder, or a gun goes off, then come running. My host body isn’t worth much in a fight.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Valruun took a flashlight out of his pocket and moved down the steps past the entrance.

  The Suffering

  The sudden light in the room awoke Lewis, who groaned from his position in the chair. His limbs were stiff. How long had he been out? The passage of time seemed skewed and indeterminable. He blinked his dry eyes and moved his tongue over his mouth. From the feel of his teeth, he hadn’t brushed in at least a day. Footsteps from behind drew his attention. Rather than the clomping of business shoes, they sounded sharp and defined. The double tap-tap of high heels. “Hello?”

  Doctor Trent appeared at the corner of his vision and stuffed a water tube in his mouth, filling it with warm liquid. Lewis gulped greedily, suddenly aware that his bladder was ready to burst. “I need to use the bathroom,” he told her.

  “Don’t try anything.” She leaned over and squinted into his eyes. “No games, Mister Herman. Valon will be here any minute.”

  “No games.” What did she mean? He was locked in a chair. Then he realized she might mean the interface. Valon must have told her. “You don’t like card tricks?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  She moved out his sight and returned with a rubber cylinder attached to a plastic bag by a silicone hose-line. Leaning forward, she unbuttoned his trousers and clamped the cylinder over his penis, pushing it tight against his scrotum. “Go.”

  Sighing in relief, Lewis made no comment, and closed his eyes while she disconnected the motorman’s helper. When he heard the zip of his fly, he cracked his eyes again. It was considerate of her. She could have left the motorman’s helper attached instead of cleaning him up and putting him back in order. He wondered how far the consideration extended. “Why are you doing this, Nora? This is kidnapping and torture, and you’re a doctor.”

  “Money,” she said without further embellishment. Opening a waste can with her foot, she dropped the bulging bag of urine inside. The lid closed with a clang.

  “That’s it?” Lewis curled his upper lip. “Money?”

  “Money can buy a lot of things,” she gave him a dark look. “I’m one of them. Don’t bother giving me a guilt trip, Mister Herman. Valon bought me a long time ago. I was a child-slave once, a piece of meat without an identity pimped for a few dollars on the back streets of Venezuela. Valon found me there, but he wasn’t looking for my body. He came looking for me. You know what Valon can do. He sought me out for a reason. I was the solution to a question he had asked. What are the odds he would find me otherwise?”

  “I’m sorry. You owe him, but how much do you owe him, Nora? Do you owe him your life? Do you owe him your soul? You know what he’s doing to me?”

  “My soul,” she scoffed. “Yes. I know what he’s doing, and you’re lucky. Do you know what he’s doing?”

  “Yeah. He’s fucking with my head just like he’s obviously fucked with yours.”

  Nora patted him on the cheek. “No. He’s making you into something important.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re a funny little man, Lewis Herman. A broken man, and yet Valon finds you worthy. Ask yourself what would have become of you if not for Valon? Nothing. Just like me, you’d be nothing. But when Valon is done with you, you’ll be something. He’s making you better than you were.”

  “You believe him?” Lewis held her eyes. “You believe in what… Valon professes? That we live in a computer? That reality is a simulation?”

  “You’ve seen the proof,” she countered. “Do you believe him?”

  “I… yes, I do now.”

  “Then do as he asks. Learn what he teaches. I envy you, Lewis. I wish he’d picked me, but I’m not the right one.”

  “What did he pick you for then?”

  “To help with you.”

  The door opened and Valon marched in, twirling his cane around his index finger. He smiled at Lewis, nodded to Nora, and then took off his coat. “Second round, Lewis,” he stated. “You can leave us Nora. This will take a few hours. Be ready to initiate plan 9 when I give the word.”

  “I will be ready.”

  Sitting on the stool, Valon clapped his hands together and examined the computer.

  “Plan 9?” queried Lewis.

  Valon ignored the question. “You seem to be holding up better than expected.” Nora’s heels clicked faded and Lewis heard the door shut. Valon continued. “Brain enneagram’s all nicely lined up, neural rhythms pulsing evenly, and plenty of room in your orbitofrontal cortex and hippocampus.” He cracked his fingers and typed rapidly over the keyboard. “Let’s get to work.”

  Lewis tugged on his left restraint, trying to pull his wrist through the metal encircling it. With only a few millimeters of space, and no give to the metal, he felt his skin pinch and tugged harder. Sweat made it slippery, but the thick of his palm was just too wide. What were the odds the chair would break? He believed it would and pushed, but the flush of energy didn’t come.

  “None of that, now,” chuckled Valon. “I’m blocking access until you’re ready.”

  “People are going to miss me.”

  “Doubtful. It’s only been twelve hours, and you’ll be buffered in the Attistar soon. Two more implants, and a bit more training. Then you can go.” He raised a finger over the keyboard. “Remember this sensation.”

  “No.”

  Valon laughed. “You’ll remember.” His finger dropped.

  Lewis twitched as a thread of energy trickled through his brain. It stared at the rear and moved forward, running around either side of his temples and ending in a point just behind his eyes, then reflecting back in
ward. His eyes blinked rapidly, and visions of his past flew across his internal sight like a high-speed camera. “Uh…” The pulsations faded and he clenched his fingers on the arms of his chair.

  “What you just felt was an access point into your own memory system. That’s how you’ll learn the language of your host form. Every time you jump, your host will be different. Like your location, the host is selected by the Attistar. There are rules to it, but you wouldn’t understand the algorithm. The math of your world hasn’t yet evolved to describe it.”

  “My… host body? What does that mean?”

  “Only the mind can move between simulations. You won’t know who or what you’ve become until you’ve arrived in another partition. The first time is always the most difficult. Once you get over the shock of the transition, you’ll gain a talent for finding your way around your host’s brain and locating the most important bits of information. Language is the first priority. Remember that, Lewis. If you can’t communicate in your new environment, you’ll be at a serious disadvantage.”

  “You’re crazy.” Lewis ground his jaw and twisted against the restraints. “You actually think you can put my mind into someone else’s body? The human brain stores terabytes of information. This contraption of yours can’t move all that.”

  “I’m well aware of the scanner’s limitations,” stated Valon. “And the human brain actually stores around a million gigabytes.” He shrugged. “What you’re failing to understand is that your mind is already in the Attistar. I’m not transferring data out of your head. Think of it as moving a file from one server to another. That’s a better analogy.”

  “What about my body?” asked Lewis. “If I’m not… in it, then what happens to it?”

  “A perceptive question. We’ll get to that. Right now, you need to learn how to emulate the sensation you just felt. It’s not as obvious as the first one I taught you, so I’m going to guide your attempts until you get it right. That could be unpleasant, as you’re going to be surfing your own brain, and you’ll have to deal with the memories that dredges up. Some of them may be… intense.” Valon chuckled. “Are you ready?”