The Dream Widow (9 page)

“Wake up!”

Jack opened his eyes to an English garden and a leather recliner. The swish of wind flowing through the trees and the song of a mockingbird replaced the dull ringing in his ears. He realized where he was.

He waved his hand sideways and a flickering video screen appeared, showing the dark ring of controller domes. Wilson and an older woman stood around Jack’s fish bowl.

“Jack, wake up!”

“I’m awake, stop yelling,” he said.

Wilson’s mother held her hands over her ears. “What is that awful sound? It’s like a goat being kicked over and over.”

Wilson sighed. “Jack, stop trying to scare her. Use your normal voice.”

“Fine. Is this better?”

“Thank you. Jack, this is my mother.”

“Of course––Dr. Mary Abrikosov. I remember the surgery, because you were such a tall girl.”

“That was thirty years ago,” said Mary.

“Was it? You’re just as pretty today.”

“Mother, don’t let this old man molest you with his words,” said Wilson. “This was such a bad idea.”

“What are you talking about? Thank you, Jack,” said his mother.

“How can I help either of you?”

“My mother needs some time away from the village,” said Wilson. “Are there any living quarters down here?”

“There’s a room or two near the surgical room that I can clean up. I admit, I’d be happy to have some company. Don’t feel like you have to talk to me if you don’t want to, Mary. I’m used to the quiet, anyways. I’ll send the boys to fix up your quarters.”

Silver spider-arms burst from ports in the nearby wall and zipped along narrow tracks toward the surgical room. Near the stairwell, tiny green lights flashed on a waist-high rounded cylinder covered in slick white material. The short machine spun a circle on squealing metal wheels and dashed after the spider-arms.

“What was that?” asked Wilson.

“A Zoomba,” said Jack.

“A what?”

“Uhhh ... it cleans things.”

“Thank you,” said Mary.

“My pleasure. Just don’t tap on the glass again. Or sing.”

Wilson spread his arms. “Why do you hate that? When we came down here the speakers were blaring with some song about ‘land of the free, home of the brave.’ Over and over, until I almost yelled myself hoarse trying to wake you up.”

“That’s not good,” said Jack. “Not one little bit.”

REED LOOKED UP from the screen on his desk.

“What are you talking about––she wants to stay where? In the Tombs?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I found rooms that used to be living quarters. I also gave her codes for the entrance.”

“I’m glad you’re in such a sharing mood, but what’s she going to eat? Rats and silverfish?”

“I moved food supplies down there. She’s also promised to come out for one meal a day.”

“What if something happens? It’ll be impossible to contact her unless one of us goes down to the bottom of the Tombs.”

Green lights flashed over the display on Reed’s desk and the air popped with static.

“Wrong about that, padre,” said a hollow version of Jack’s voice.

Wilson leaned over the screen. “You said you couldn’t reach us up here!”

“Ever heard that old line: ‘That was then, this is now?’”

“Don’t be flip with me,” said Reed. He moved his fingers over the display. “How are you transmitting a signal?”

“I don’t know––flip this, swipe that. I asked Dreamer and she figured it out.”

Reed pointed at a symbol on the display––a triangle with ‘42’ in the center. “This is new. Appears to be a type of power channel.”

“There you go. That’s how I’m talking to you.”

“My mother can use it, too?” asked Wilson.

“Sure. Say hi to the nice folks, Mary.”

“Hello, Cubbie,” said his mother. “‘Don’t worry––I’m fine.”

“If you need me, press that new symbol, the triangle,” said Jack.

The static popped into silence and Reed shook his head.

“The things I have to deal with ... Wilson, you’re in charge for the rest of the day.”

He stood up and stuffed a portable viewscreen, stylus, and writing pad into a leather satchel.

Wilson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But what about Jack?”

“That’s where I’m going.”

REED LAY FACE-DOWN on a treatment bed in the Tomb’s medical area. Spider-arms zipped across the ceiling above him in flurries of silver metal.

“Whatever happens, stay awake,” said Jack’s voice. “And don’t move. You’re strapped down but just in case ...”

“Fine.”

A needle jabbed Reed’s neck. Tiny, high-speed drills whirred to life behind his head.

“Now,” said Jack. “Nobody wants to hear the sausage being made. You’d probably like a little distraction at this point. I searched through the old databases down here and found an audio file you might enjoy.”

“I thought all of that data was corrupted. Old formats that can’t be read anymore.”

“The official records and most of the other stuff, yes, but I found a few audio files that I was able to convert. I’ll turn the speakers up.”

The air crackled and a hiss filled the room.

“Listen, Greg––that’s just how it works,” said a male baritone. “We can’t let any of the implanted team leave, especially the ones in the control group.”

“You could have told them,” said another man. “People change their minds.”

“I understand. Believe me, I understand. But until we discover what happened with Rogers and Fong, we can’t remove any implants. And I don’t want anyone walking out of the base with them. If the Chinese–”

“All right, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I think I do,” said the first man. “You don’t have the right attitude for this project, Greg. I’ve never thought that.”

“In that case, it’s good thing I don’t give a damn what you think,” said the other man.

“Fair point. I don’t have a doctorate from M.I.T.––a mouth-breather from Quantico like me shouldn’t get any respect from someone like you. But let’s kick our personal feelings to the curb, Greg. What you’re working on is greater than the Manhattan Project, the moon landing, or any other human achievement. It’s more important than the freedom of a few individuals. It’s more important than the freedom of anyone, you and me included.”

“The ends do not justify–”

“Don’t throw that self-righteous garbage at me,” said the first man. “We’re sending men and women to the stars, man! We’re expanding from this stinking mudball into the universe. This is the beginning of the greatest age of humanity. Implants to make us like superheroes and hiber-sleep chambers to cross the vast ocean of stars. If we found a tribe in the Amazon who’d built an orbital laser it would be less impressive than what’s about to happen.”

“What’s about to happen ... you watch what’s about to happen. The control beds are getting bleed-through from the other test subjects. If we launch them into space and turn them into a pack of gibbering madmen, what’s that worth?”

“It’s worth all the lives of our sweating, struggling ancestors,” said the first man, “Because this has to happen. Our destiny is out there, and not here.”

The recording broke apart into white noise and stopped. Behind Reed’s head and out of sight, tiny drills whirred at high speed.

“Is that it?” asked Reed.

“I’ve got more,” said Jack. “Case studies from the control group those bozos were talking about. Also a few more on the reactor systems. Hope it doesn’t put you to sleep.”

“No chance of that.”

THE STUDENTS CHATTED in the corridor of the rectory as Wilson took them one-by-one to the treatment room. He connected diagnostic cables to each teenager and watched columns of data fill the screens. Nothing showed out of the normal limits.

Afterwards, Badger led everyone to the practice field and Wilson settled in Reed’s office. A few patients came in with minor ailments, but he still had time to read a text on pediatrics.      Badger returned and showered a few hours later, and after the evening meal they returned to the rectory.

As the inner hatch closed Wilson heard a high-pitched chirp from Reed’s office. The flat desk display flashed with the triangular communication symbol. After Wilson pressed it the speakers hissed and popped and the screen changed to a single line broken by amplitude waves.

“–don’t know if this is working,” said Father Reed. “Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” said Wilson.

“I wanted to give you an update, and I know you’re wondering why I’m still down here. Everything’s fine. The project that Jack and I are working on is taking longer than I expected, but there’s nothing to be concerned about. I’ll stay here tonight instead of walking up all those steps to the surface.”

“How’s my mother?”

“Busy fixing her living quarters. I haven’t seen much of her; that’s probably for the best.”

“When should I expect you back?”

“It’s difficult to say. Tomorrow evening, at the latest.”

In the middle of the night the glow-lights on his bedroom wall flickered then died. Badger murmured in her sleep. Wilson kept his arm around her until the glow came back.

“THIS MEETING IS BEING called at short notice, and for a good reason,” said Father Reed. “Please, have a seat.”

The department leaders stood around the meeting room in open-mouthed shock. Thirty-six hours had passed since Reed had descended the deep stairwell to the Tombs, and a full twenty-four since Wilson had talked to him. Apart from his normal blue jumpsuit his appearance had changed completely.

Reed’s head and beard had been shaved and his eyes were dark and hooded. The flour-white skin on his head was dotted with tiny metal circles, brushed silver in color and with minuscule, threaded bolt-holes.

Hausen stepped into the room. “Sorry I’m late––what in the name of the founder and his three holy cats!”

“Watch your language,” said Reed. “Have a seat, everyone.”

Reluctantly, the men sat down and wooden chairs squawked across the floor. Reed took a knit cap from his pocket and pulled it down around his ears.

“I apologize for shocking all of you with my appearance, but it was important for you to understand the situation. Jack is approaching a failure state much faster than either he or I anticipated. His instability is even affecting power distribution throughout the village. Given the options available to us––options we discussed weeks ago––I’ve decided to replace Jack as controller for the entire facility.”

“This is out of control,” said Hausen. “This can’t be the best way.”

Wilson put his head on the wooden table.

“Temporarily, right?” asked Simpson.

Reed shook his head. “Once a person enters a controller dome and begins the interface process, he cannot leave. To be more precise, once inside and integrated with the system, he cannot survive outside.”

“It’s a death sentence,” said Hausen. “Suicide.”

“Suicide is doing nothing and waiting for Jack to die,” said Reed. “The Circle is approaching. We can’t survive the winter and fight them off at the same time. I’m trading what’s left of my life for the safety of everyone at Station.”

“We don’t know that the Circle is coming,” said Wilson.

“And who’s going to replace you?” asked Simpson.

Reed pursed his lips. “Wilson–”

“He’s a traitor,” said Hausen. “He left us before and he’ll leave us again.”

“Say that closer to my face,” said Wilson.

“I don’t hit children.”

“Both of you sit down! I won’t tolerate this behavior. Now, Hausen, understand that I’ll still be available through the communications link. And any surgery or medical procedures can take place in the Tombs. There is a fully automated and functional surgical suite down there. Don’t forget that’s where everyone receives their implants during their Passing.”

“People are still superstitious about that place,” said Simpson. “It might be hard to convince them.”

“Right,” said Hausen. “And Wilson’s not–”

Reed slammed his fist on the table and rattled a pair of wooden cups.

“I don’t have time for this bickering. Wilson and Hausen will share leadership of the village. Wilson can handle administration and the rectory while Hausen leads the preparations for our defense.”

Hausen and the rest of the council nodded reluctantly, but Wilson shook his head.

“When will you ... do this thing?” asked Yishai.

“Tonight. Ask the people to gather lanterns for an assembly.”

REED STOOD ON a small wooden box, the same platform he’d used for the wedding of Wilson and Badger. The entire village packed the central plaza, even though it was evening, and late. Around the crowd, lanterns hung from hooks at the top of tall wooden posts.

“I don’t make this decision lightly,” said Reed, in a projecting voice, the one he used for his sermons. “You know me well enough to understand that. But desperate times require desperate measures. You’ve all heard of the old man under the mountain, the one who’s watched over us for centuries. His body is weary and his mind fades by the hour. Since we can find no better option, I will take his place. I will be that man under the mountain.”