Ocean in the Sea Read online

  “By patterns, you mean… people?”

  Valon smiled. “Bodies die, but the things inside of them, the information inside of them, that’s data of an immaterial sort. Bodies are composed of simulated matter, an illusion, but the mind, Ah, that’s part of the Attistar’s configuration matrix. It gets mixed together and reused. It reveals itself in the fine-points of psychology. It shows up in social programming. And it repeats itself at intervals, sometimes even predictable intervals. So, yes, Lewis. Somewhere out there in the ring, in many places, actually, your Brenda and your Scotty are still alive. You as well, for that matter, copied in perfect detail, awaiting the change.”

  “What change?”

  “Is that your next question? I’ve given you a freebie by rambling. You know, it’s not hard to get me rambling. I wish we had more time, but I’m risking recalibration just by existing here. Let’s move on. Ask your next question.”

  “I… there are things I need to know, aren’t there? Can you help me pick the right question? What will I need to know?”

  “That’s kind of cheating, but you’re right, from your current perspective it is difficult to pick the right question. Alright, I’ll give you a few suggestions. You could ask me why people are trying to kill me. That might be interesting. You could ask me who constructed the ring, or what purpose it serves. You might be interested in knowing more about your ability to manipulate chance, and the rules surrounding it. Pick one of those.”

  “How about the message?” suggested Lewis. “You said you’d put a message in my head to be delivered. What is it?”

  Valon frowned. “Pick again. I can’t answer that one. You wouldn’t understand it if I did. It’s outside your mental capacity.”

  “Really? If it’s outside my mental capacity, then how did you fit it in my brain?”

  “Is that your question?”

  “No, dammit. Alright, fine. Who and why is someone trying to kill you?”

  “Technically two questions, but I’ll let that go. The people trying to kill me are my disciples from another simulation. I was, shall we say, in a situation where I needed to shake off some pursuit. Are you familiar with the concept of chaff used to confuse a radar guided missile?”

  Lewis nodded. “It’s foil designed to scatter the radar signal.”

  “That’s the old stuff. The newer versions are actually more complicated. They simulate the radar signature of the aircraft, tricking the missile into seeing many duplicates. The missile then picks one to go after, but since there are thousands, it usually picks the wrong one. Probability, Lewis. It’s all probability. My disciples were chaff. I left them in my wake to throw off my pursuit. And it worked. Unfortunately, the chaff were people, and they were, um… disturbed when I left them to their own devices. They know I hold certain secrets regarding the ring, its purpose, and its creators. They want that information bad enough to try and capture me.”

  “I thought they wanted to kill you?”

  “Yes, well, to be more precise, they want to force me into a position where I must jump to another simulation in the ring. Presumably, they are waiting for me there. It’s a little trap they’ve concocted.” He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with them. They’re very persistent. In their position, I would be too. Fortunately, they’re not a very creative bunch, and I have another distraction for them to chase after. It won’t be difficult to escape them.”

  “What other distraction?”

  “Gawd!” He shook his head and sighed. “You’ll figure it out. And so ends our little Q and A session. Back to work. Let’s see if you can adopt some nice landmarks from your adult years, shall we?” Spinning around he swiped his finger at the computer screen.

  Lewis felt his stomach tighten. “You’re not going to…”

  Valon tilted his head. “You know it has to be done.”

  “NO.” His face whitened. “Please, Valon. Not… the accident.” He couldn’t live through that memory. It had almost killed him. “Dear God, have some mercy!”

  Valon’s finger hovered over the keyboard. “I did say you’d want to jump, didn’t I?” With a wicked grin, he pressed the key.

  Impacts

  Doors, thought Valruun. Funny little things, always blocking the way. Why hadn’t Senjiita thought of this? It was pretty fricken obvious they’d be in here. Fallout shelters were built with redundancy in mind. After all, they had to withstand a helluva blast. With a sigh, he turned back to the entrance and popped his head out. “Perillia,” he hissed.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need your help again.”

  Returning into the shelter, Valruun pointed to the interior door. Made from heavy steel it was only slightly smaller than the one outside, and designed as a backup if the primary door failed. It was easily thick enough to repel small arms fire, but that meant nothing to Perillia. The woman focused on it for a second and it abruptly vanished. In the empty rectangle where it had been, a long hall appeared, lit with a glow from interior lights. The air smelled musty, but not damp. Passageways led off to either side.

  Valruun grinned. “You’re a walking can-opener.”

  “You want I come with?” asked Perillia.

  “Yeah, probably more doors ahead.”

  The short man crept forward, padding his way down the hall and moving his light in each opening as he passed. Two of the rooms contained bunk beds and dressers. One held a library complete with a computer, and another an armory. Valruun stopped and moved his light over an open cabinet. Probing with the end, he swung the cabinet open revealing a slew of pistols and rifles, all neatly mounted in velvet indentations. One of the indentations was empty.

  “Shit,” hissed Perillia. “He got a gun.”

  “Maybe,” Valruun rubbed his forehead. “Could’a been gone before. You recognize any of these? My host doesn’t know jack about guns.”

  She shook her head. “I only know what the pigs use. This ain’t them. Look military.”

  “Alright. Let’s walk the bases.”

  “Drop the baseball bullshit,” she snarled. “Or we ain’t gonna get along.”

  Valruun nodded. “Fine.” The segregation of sports was a touchy issue among blacks. Not that Perillia was anymore black than he was white, but this was Perillia. It wouldn’t be the first time their particular obsessions had pitted them against each other. He was thankful that her current animosity was at least manageable.

  The hall terminated in a set of steps. As they descended, the air grew warmer. A plush wall-to-wall carpet covered the floor at the bottom. Valruun studied the rich wood paneled walls and their paintings, wondering how much something like this must cost. This was no survivalist hut. Anyone willing to dump this much scratch into an underground fallout shelter expected to use it.

  “Fucking crackers,” growled Preillia. “You ain’t never gonna see the like belonging to a colored.”

  Valruun sighed heavily and kept moving. “Keep perspective, Perillia.”

  “I’m tryin.”

  Rows of steady lights lit the way through another series of bunk rooms, a large bathroom, a medical bay complete with an operating table, a living room, and a kitchen. The warm breeze came from vents in the walls. Valruun opened the refrigerator and raised his eyebrows. Jars and jars of radiation sealed preserves. Moving through the back rooms, he pushed the doors open one by one. Halfway down, he discovered a door that was closed and locked. Putting his ear to the wood, he heard someone shout.

  “No! Pick another one!” A loud yowling then sounded. It was followed by a feral hissing.

  Valruun stared at Perillia. “Senjiita only detected one mind in here, right?”

  She shrugged. “So?”

  “Sounds like there’s a cat in there.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Senjiita don’t get critters on his jammy-jam.”

  “Jammy-what? Oh.” Snorting, Valruun stepped to the side of the door. “Alright, do it,” he whispered, “but make sure you’re out of th
e way first.”

  With a nod, she narrowed her eyes upon the door.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Standing in the lobby of the theatre, Lewis watched cars arriving. The movie started in ten minutes. He clenched his jaw. Brenda insisted on working, even though she didn’t need to, and traffic was a mess today. Frankly, he was pissed. This was her fault. She thought going to a movie for their anniversary was a fun tradition. He did not agree. She was the one who liked horror films, he simply went along with it. He hated crowds, hated standing in them, hated everything about them. Yet here he was on the opening night of a new horror movie in a packed Cineplex.

  His watch buzzed with an incoming call. Brenda’s face flashed on the screen. He touched his earpiece. “Where are you?” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice.

  “We’re on the interstate. The GPS says fifteen minutes. Sorry, Scotty was a mess. They had arts and crafts today and he got the glue in his hair. You should have seen him. He gave himself a massive cowlick.” She laughed.

  “You’re going to miss the start.”

  “It’s just previews. Have you gone in yet?”

  “No!” His voice dropped to a growl. “I’m in the lobby watching for you.”

  “Well I’m sorry. Get some popcorn and save three seats. Extra butter on the popcorn.”

  Lewis grimaced. “Gross.” Movie butter was nothing but flavored oil.

  “See you soon. Happy Anniversary.”

  “Hurry.” He cut the connection with a curt slap on his watch and joined the line at the concession stand. Minutes passed. The man in front of him ordered enough food for a family of twenty. Impatient and frustrated, Lewis gave the cashier a curt look and demanded a large popcorn. He was through the doors of the theater when he realized he’d forgotten Brenda’s butter, but he was too angry to care. The previews were already starting. They would undoubtedly be the best part of the movie.

  Finding the last two seats in an awkward side row, he cursed the fact that he was now going to suffer a crick in his neck and threw his coat down to save a seat. Scotty could sit in Brenda’s lap. Taking a three-year-old to a horror movie was stupid anyway. With any luck, he’d sleep through the whole thing. He usually did.

  An on-screen animation lit up. A group of bedraggled men were digging their own graves at gunpoint. A pirate appeared, lashing them with a whip. “That’s what ye get fer interuptin me movie with yur infernal devices, ye scurvy rats.” He turned to the audience and made a show of looking around as if examining them. “And YOU!” He gestured with the whip. “I better not hear a peep out of you. Dead men tell no tales!” Letters ran across the bottom of the screen, reminding patrons to silence their cell phones, watches, and glasses. It also reminded them that recording movies was illegal, and pirates would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

  Touching his watch, Lewis shut off audio notifications.

  After ten minutes of previews, the movie began with a woman running through a moonlit forest. Branches crashed into her face and she tripped over the roots of a tree. Gasping with panic, she stumbled to her feet and splashed through the dark water of a shallow pond. Abruptly the camera shifted, focusing on the woods behind her and resolving on a tall thin man wearing coveralls. He was played by a computer generated version of the recently dead actor John Malkovich. Lewis snorted. This had become a trend in the movie industry recently, as simulacrums were now indistinguishable from real people. Malkovich carried a pitch fork in one hand and a lit torch in the other. When he opened his mouth, Lewis expected to hear him voice some pithy threat, but instead he emitted a long low vibrating scream like some kind of animal. The sound shook the walls of the theater in full 3D. Far off in the woods, similar screams echoed back from the rear speakers.

  “Stay BACK!” the woman hollered. Her face pale and terrified, she ran further into the forest, climbing up a hill. The scene shifted again, showing her from behind as she approached an old farmhouse.

  The plot progressed rapidly into a full-blown horror epic involving a family of inbred mutant cannibals living near an abandoned genetic research facility seeping toxic chemicals into the water supply. The female lead, Linda, turned out to be the daughter of an ex-CIA assassin known as “Lasting” because, as he explained in his thick Brooklyn accent, “I’m da last ting yous ever gonna see.” Captured by the cannibals, Linda is forced to call her father and demand a ransom. The cannibals cut off her right arm while an enraged “Lasting” watches over the phone. This gives him the opportunity to use his tag line again. ““I’m da last ting yous ever gonna see.” The scene shifts to the airport where Lasting is boarding the first plane to Wyoming. Naturally, he has to rescue his daughter himself, and doesn’t bother contacting the police. Lewis felt torn between wanting “Lasting” to die, (because he was such an obvious asshole) and wanting him to slaughter the mutant cannibals torturing Linda. One could expect both.

  To give Lasting time for his plane to arrive, the movie shifted to a group of girl scouts on a camping trip. Their bus, of course, had broken down in the same woods where Linda had been captured. The cannibals became aware of this just as they are basting Linda’s arm, which was now covered with orange slices and roasting in an old oven. Malkovich dropped his knife and fork and pulled the rustic checkered napkin from under his collar. Rushing to the door, he snatched a pitchfork and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

  Lewis groaned. It was predictable, disgusting, and boring. The girl scouts and their buxom leader were obvious cannon-fodder for an upcoming gore-fest. Glancing at his watch, he saw one message from Brenda. Not wanting to get caught using his phone during the movie, and not wanting to lose the seats, he decided to wait. Scotty probably had to pee or something.

  Another ten minutes passed and he began to get worried. One by one, the girl scouts were captured and tied up. Malkovich gave their buxom leader to his oldest son, a troll-like fiend with three eyes. He hauled her deeper into the house. A door slammed and muffled screams echoed out. After five more minutes, Lewis got up and abandoned the movie. Their dinner reservations were a couple of hours from now, but they could find somewhere to have a drink to kill the time. The movie would be available for streaming in five days. Linda could watch it at home.

  Once in the lobby, he brought up the message and hit play.

  “I just got to the tracks and the damn crossing arms dropped. Looks like the train’s still a long way off. I can see the light. Screw it. I’m driving around. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Driving around? Lewis raised an eyebrow. She didn’t mean driving around the crossing arms did she? Brenda was pretty brazen. Unlike him, she had no problem breaking rules when she thought they were stupid, and she really wanted to see this movie. She’d been talking about it since the previews. Hitting call-back, her phone went straight to voice-mail. He took out his phone and opened the GPS tracker. Her marker wasn’t on the map. Slapping his wrist, Lewis summoned his car from the parking lot and waited anxiously at the curb.

  A sharp pain went through his skull. Claws dug into his scalp. Yelping, Lewis reached up and felt his head. Then it happened again, and he stumbled back. The parking lot wavered, and his approaching car seemed partially translucent. Then came a realization – the same one that occasionally penetrated his mind in such circumstances – and he realized he was dreaming. More than that, he realized what he was dreaming, and in a moment of panic, he instinctively struggled against his own mind. The world fell apart and the dream shattered.

  With a quick movement of his arm, he flung the snarling cat away from him and sat up in bed. Touching his scalp with his left hand, it came away smeared with blood. In his other hand he still clasped the gun he’d taken from the armory.

  Recall of current events came like a vicious tsunami. Valon, the scanner, the memories, all of it. In a few more seconds, he’d have been at the train tracks where… “That fucker.” The next time he slept, it would be right there waiting for him.

  Acros
s the room, the cat approached the door, growling deep in its throat. Lewis frowned. He’d left the cat in Tacoma. This made no sense. Then the door vanished, blinking out of existence as if by some magic trick.

  “What the F…”

  The cat lunged forward and turned to the right. Arching her back in feline fury she spat and hissed. Her tail curled and twisted rapidly. A hand move from the left side of the open rectangle where the door had been, and the cat disappeared – vaporized or disintegrated. A feeling of danger rose, an urge to act, and Lewis raise the pistol just as a short man wearing a baseball cap stepped into the opening. His hands were raised, but Lewis didn’t care. With no further thought he opened fire, blowing a ragged hole right through the middle of the little bastard.

  Valruun’s eyes opened wide. He dropped to his knees. Perillia screamed his name and leaned her head around. As Lewis caught sight of her he adjusted his aim, but a millisecond before firing the world blinked, and he was falling through dark cold air. The gun barked in his hands, discharging into a star-filled sky.

  He flailed, throwing his arms out as if that would do any good. It was sheer instinct – the attempt to grab anything that might arrest his fall, but there was nothing to grab, and he landed on his back, slamming hard onto something made of metal. Shocked by the impact, his diaphragm seized. Staring helplessly at the sharpness of the stars twinkling above him, he gasped for air, struggling to breathe.