Linkage: The Narrows of Time (27 page)

L slipped out of his street clothes and into
the camouflage green uniform before putting on and lacing up his
heavy, black boots. Bruno helped him into an equipment vest. It fit
perfectly. Suddenly, L’s stomach felt empty and he had an
overwhelming craving for cotton candy, which was strange since he
hated the sticky treat.

Bruno checked the sights of an assault rifle,
then handed it to L, along with a metal clip of full ammunition.
“Go ahead and load the weapon.”

L flipped the magazine around, inspected its
contents, then inserted the open end into the rifle’s stock. He
forced the clip upward, hearing a ratcheted click. “Did I get it
right?”

“Yes, perfect.”

L pressed the release mechanism to discharge
the clip, catching it in his other hand. He held up the open end.
“Why do these bullets have crimped ends instead of a
projectile?”

“Because they’re blanks. We never use live
ammunition unless we’re left with no other choice.”

“Won’t this be a problem when we have to
defend ourselves?”

“We’re not authorized to engage until we’re
fired upon first, and when we do, we’re not to harm anyone.”

“Can’t we just miss them on purpose?” L
asked, putting the rifle down on a storage container to his
left.

“Even a poorly aimed weapon fire can cause
collateral damage,” Bruno2 said.

“Kleezebee expects the mission to be carried
out to the letter, which means
zero
casualties,”
Bruno added. He handed L a semi-automatic M9 Beretta handgun and a
magazine full of blanks.

Cool, a nine-mil,” L said.

Bruno reached for his beltline and pulled out
his vibrating cell phone to answer it.

L rubbed the tips of his fingers over the
9mm’s contoured grip and polished barrel, waiting for Bruno to
finish his call. He aimed the gun at an empty spot on the wall and
imagined what it would feel like to squeeze the trigger and feel
the weapon’s lethal recoil when the round left the barrel,
traveling without thought to its target. He felt invincible with it
in his hands, even if it was loaded with blanks.

He slid the gun into its holster and flexed
his palm and fingers a few times, trying to loosen the soreness
inflicted on the real Lucas by the BioTex. He looked at both sides
of his hand, wondering why his body was registering pain from
something that happened to someone else— before he even existed.
Had he formed some type of empathic relationship with his
donor?

He thought about his recent birth, reliving
the moments leading up to his creation. He remembered how nervous
he was slipping his hand into the gooey substance, right before his
viewpoint shifted from one body to another. He recalled his first
thoughts as a replica, sitting up and introducing himself . . . to
himself. His head was swimming with childhood memories, all of
which now seemed like artificial flashbacks inserted from someone
else’s life.

His memory and emotions were alive, but was
he?

During Man’s evolution on Earth, he wondered
if there was a single moment in time when an ape’s pure instinct
for survival evolved into self-awareness, thereby classifying the
mammal as a sentient being. Was it an instantaneous change in
perspective, or did Man’s primordial emotions slowly develop and
adapt over time?

And what about laughter and humility? Did
those emotions suddenly manifest or did they have to be cultivated
and learned through complex social interactions with other bipedal
primates? Maybe it was simply a random convergence of factors that
developed out of necessity, or possibly, nothing more than the
inevitable result of an ever-advancing intelligence.

When he was the real Lucas, he had studied
every facet of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, pondering the
complexities of time fluidity and the twisted paradox of Cause and
Effect. Temporal Mechanics would cause a mental meltdown for most
graduate students, but like his younger brother, he welcomed its
complexities. He knew he was not caught in a time loop, but his
distorted reality seemed to be governed by a close cousin to Cause
and Effect.

His existence transcended the limits of a
single life and a single consciousness, leaving him as both the
real Lucas and the replica, but not both simultaneously. He was a
stateless contradiction, living somewhere in between the worlds of
theory and fact. Perhaps it was more accurate to say he was living
somewhere between human and alien. Either way, his existence was
difficult to quantify.

Then he realized that, as a synthetic being,
he had no real family and no home. His life had been rebooted,
bringing him back to where it all started. Once again, he was an
orphan whose passions were imprisoned between the margins of
fortitude and heartache.

Just before hanging up his cell phone, Bruno
said, “Yes, send them down to the armory.”

L felt a cramp in the middle knuckle of his
right hand, which soon spread to the rest of his fingers. His hand
turned a scarlet color as it slowly wilted like a water-starved
tulip. “Bruno, I need a little help here.”

“Check your vest’s pockets,” Bruno told him.
“You’ll find candy bars and other sugar rations inside. Eat one of
them now.”

L inventoried the contents of his pockets and
found a five-inch caramel-covered chocolate bar. He tore open its
plain white wrapper and consumed the snack in only three bites.
Within seconds, a wild rush of energy surged throughout his body,
invigorating him. “Wow, what a total rush,” L said, watching his
malformed hand and fingers spring back to life in human form.

“I take it you were feeling hungry right
before the deformation?” Bruno asked. “Hunger is precursor to
reversion and means your sugar reserves are low. If you want to
avoid a public spectacle, you should refuel immediately once hunger
starts.”

“Seems rather impractical,” L said, pulling
out a stale, golden sponge cake from the right front pocket of the
vest. “To have us stop in the middle of whatever we are doing to
fire down a five-year-old Twinkie.” L tapped the Twinkie against
the metal rifle rack, emitting a loud
CLANG
.

“Your new body has had little time to build
adequate fuel reserves, which means you’ll only have a few minutes
to refuel.”

“That’s not much time to find sugar. Will it
increase?”

“Yes, once your synthetic engine adjusts to
your new human metabolism. It’s like breaking in a new car.
Eventually, your body will give you more advance notice when
reserves are low.”

L raised his eyebrows while looking at
Bruno’s rotund waistline.

Bruno rubbed his belly. “I know what you’re
thinking. I have a lot invested in my rather stout figure and must
be able to go for days without a pit stop. But don’t forget, my
size is simply an internal volume adjustment, nothing more. I can
choose any programmed identity, like skinny little Mary, for
example. My shape has nothing to do with how much onboard fuel I’m
carrying.”

“It’s more about building up glucose,” Bruno2
said. “Your artificial nanocells need the stored energy to maintain
their volatile memory. Without it, they’ll suffer a cascade failure
and revert to pure BioTex.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to wear a
device that acted like a fuel gauge?” L asked. “With all your
advanced technology, I have to believe there’s something better
than: When your stomach growls, run to the fridge and scarf down a
dozen Ding Dongs.”

Bruno opened one of the corrugated storage
boxes stacked in front of the rifle rack, pulling out a
pentagon-shaped digital watch. “You mean something like this?”

Bruno2 pointed to the watch on his right
wrist, which was partially camouflaged by his forearm tattoos. “We
all wear them. They also double as a communication device, a
proximity sensor, and a bunch of other cool stuff.”

“Awesome,” L said, taking one of the watches
from Bruno. He latched it around his wrist. “How does this it work?
Is there a hidden speaker and microphone somewhere?”

“No, it uses a non-linear, neuro-electrical
connection. As long as you’re wearing the device, communications
will be delivered through your nervous system and directly into
your inner ear. No one else will hear it. To transmit, press the
face of the watch and speak normally,” Bruno replied.

“Does everyone hear what I’m saying? Won’t
that be confusing if we’re all talking at the same time?”

“They’re wirelessly networked through a
central comm system, which uses artificial intelligence to monitor
and deliver communications automatically.”

“Like a smart voice router,” L said. “Aren’t
you afraid someone will steal them and reverse engineer the
technology?”

“Not possible. They’ve been encoded with
biosensors that allow them only to be used by our kind. If it loses
physical contact, the advanced technology inside the watch
self-destructs. To a human, it would appear to be just an ordinary
watch.”

“So, basically, don’t take it off your wrist
or it fries,” L said.

“Correct, unless you turn off the
self-destruct mechanism first.”

Before L could ask about the self-destruct
mechanism, a mostly bald, male technician in a lab coat walked into
the room. He was carrying an enormous syringe, big enough to scare
an elephant.

“They’re here to install tactical
programming,” Bruno said.

“Okay, but where are you going to stick that
thing?” L asked, worrying about his backside.

“Left ear canal,” the tech reported. “It’s a
direct neural interface device.”

Lucas pushed the tech away from him. “If you
try to stick that thing into my ear, I’ll stab you in the eye with
it.”

“You just need to deactivate your pain
receptors,” the tech said, holding up the probe for insertion.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

Bruno replied, “Close your eyes, tilt your
head back, and concentrate on your ear’s cellular structure. You
have the ability to control your shape, which means you can morph
any part of your body into gelatinous form. It’ll allow you to
receive the encoder probe without pain.”

“Like this,” Bruno2 said, tilting his head
back. The side of his head began to lose its consistency, turning a
scarlet color. He inserted most of his left hand into the
shimmering glob, then withdrew it a second later. “See? No pain,”
he said, while his ear canal retook human form. “Pretty cool,
huh?”

L was still skeptical but decided to try the
reversion process. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and
concentrated on his left ear canal. He thought he might be getting
the hang of it when he felt a watery sensation inside his left ear
canal, but when his right eye drooped down across his cheek, he
knew he was in trouble.

“Dude, your eye,” Bruno said.

“Oops, my bad,” L said, covering the
deformity with his right hand. He quickly adjusted his
concentration, making his eye return to its normal shape and
location. “Whew, that’s better.”

“Go ahead. Try it again,” Bruno said. “Only
this time, try not to think of anything but your left ear.”

L took a deep breath, then exhaled a rush of
wind across the roof of his mouth. He mumbled quietly, “Don’t think
about your groin . . . You don’t need its contents melting down
your leg . . . Concentrate on your ear canal . . . You can do
this.”

L continued his efforts and eventually
succeeded in converting his left ear to the native BioTex. He was
able to hold the semi-liquid state long enough for the technician
to insert the probe and complete the fifteen-second programming
update.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” the balding tech
said.

“Glad that’s over with. It’s harder to do
than it looks,” L said, feeling his ear return to normal shape.
Without thinking, he inserted the tip of his index finger and began
to rub the inside of his left ear, making the moisture squeak. He
removed his finger and checked it for earwax, realizing his new
ability would make removing the water from his ears much easier
after his daily shower. Things were looking up, he mused.

“Gentlemen, it’s time to start our mission,”
Bruno said.

L stuffed four extra ammunition clips inside
his vest pockets. “You can never have enough ammo, even if they’re
only blanks.”

“Lock and load,” Bruno2 replied.

Bruno escorted L and Bruno2 down to the
ground floor, where Brunos 3 and 4 were waiting in front of the
silo’s entrance. Two lumbering tanker trucks and one unmarked sedan
with tinted windows pulled up in front of the group.

* * *

Drew leaned back in his wheelchair to watch
the array of video monitors in the surveillance room. The screens
were filled with energy fields wreaking havoc across London,
Moscow, Las Vegas, and New York City. Densely populated
neighborhoods, and even entire cities, were being razed without
mercy. He had seen enough. “Lucas, we can’t just sit here while
thousands of people are being murdered in their homes.”

“I agree. But what can
we
do?”

Drew furrowed his brow, pretending not to
know the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Remind me
again, how big was the energy spike in our lab?”

“Six times 10
³¹
terajoules, but
I’m sure you remember that.”

Drew’s concentration drifted away from his
brother. He stared straight ahead at nothing in particular, while
the tip of his tongue pushed at his lips, protruding out of the
corner of his mouth. His head bobbed like it was ready to join the
crowd on a dance floor.

“Hey, I know that look,” Lucas said. “You’re
on to something. Come on, spill it.”

“Assuming we could generate enough energy,
and then somehow channel it into the dome’s vortex, do you think it
would be sufficient to destabilize the wormhole?”

“In theory, yes, it might work. But the
energy requirement would be huge.”