CHAPTER 18

Urian wiped his head of perspiration once again and pressed his eyes to the iris reader.  Entering Quill’s building without Quill present was definitely against the rules, except for an emergency.  In Urian’s mind, Quill had broken a rule, so he was entitled to do likewise… even if an emergency hadn’t been reached…yet.

The titanium door slid up into the ceiling and Urian entered the hallway.  Quill was not due back for another day, so Urian took his time walking the glass-floored hall, looking and listening closely for any sign of surveillance activity.  Quill was too sophisticated to expose cameras.  The real question was: does he have any at all in this building?  Below his feet, the “star walk,” as Quill called it, revealed the Milky Way, reminding him once again how seductive and invigorating Quill’s imagination could be. 

Proceeding down the hallway to the right wing of the building, he reached Room Two.  Standing before the window separating him from the enclosure, he viewed the hub where Quill’s most private work took place.  In the center of the huge space was A2, housed in her sub-zero glass environment.  The typical orbiting images around the igloo shaped dome were void.  Strange, thought Urian.  Sleep has never been a part of A2.

Atop Quill’s desk stood the clone cube, euphemistically referred to by Quill as ManBot 1—a label of distinction he had bestowed on Urian.  It had been six months since Urian consented to have his neuro-landscape and pathology cloned.  “A preventative measure to insure we’re not caught short of your presence… just in case,” Quill had confided.  The just in case was the fear of the unknown both felt when Urian visited Station 3 for such a long duration.  Even with the mega dose of anti-viral nanobots injected into Urian’s blood stream, there was always the fear that an unknown digital mutancy might raise havoc at the station.  Technology and science had made quantum leaps forward in digital and biological compatibility, but there were still unanswered questions of safety and security.  Hacking, in previous years, had become the most feared terrorism and it was still a fear. 

Back then, Urian’s walking into the football field sized icy enclosure containing thousands of ManBots was the first human exposure to the experiment.  The workload had already burned out A1, rendering his dome idle in the middle of the landscape.  Replacing A1’s motherboard and operating system was but one task his trip had required.  He remained at the polar outpost, constructed two hundred feet beneath the ice cap, for two months.  His job was daily monitoring of A1’s “neuro-transfusion”—a much needed repair and upgrade by A2’s more advanced programming system—plus the carrying out of maintenance and implementation of certain “life-sustaining” digital updating to the thousands of ManBots.

The two months passed fast, but the remote study by A2 of Station 3’s cloned specimens, as well as the repair of A1, was still being closely monitored.   The continued watch, together with Urian’s weekly MRI scan, left Quill unsettled as to what long-term effect the exposure of Station 3’s nuclear enhanced magnetic field might have on Urian’s remaining biological organs.  Up until Urian’s trip, Quill had used robots exclusively to monitor the progress of the ManBots.  

Urian stepped up to A2.  “What was that little bit of me seeing me, A2?  Are you experimenting with my clone?”

A2 remained lifeless, save for the small red power LED flashing atop the dome.  After a few moments, “You’re not supposed to be here, Urian,” came the Orson Wells cloned voice.

“In emergencies, I have more than a right to be here.  His words, not mine.  You and I have the same boss, you know.”

After another pause, “Do you wish to talk about it, Urian?”

“You inviting me in?”

The door to Room Two slid up into the ceiling and Urian entered.  He immediately approached his clone atop Quill’s desk. 

“Mr. Quill wouldn’t want that touched, Urian,” cautioned A2.

Urian paused at the desk and peered at the innocuous looking two-inch square cube beneath its glass enclosed platform.  LED lights created a steady, flowing pattern around the base.  “Could we start this little conversation with an answer?”

“I’ve not been experimenting, Urian.  I’ve been working ManBot1 following programmed protocol, knowing the expectant probability of positive results.”

“Double talk, A2.  Plain English.”

“Your clone made love to your wife for precisely two hours and thirty-eight minutes.”

Urian paused.  “How long?”

“Two hours thirty-eight minutes.”

“Why?”

“Why, Urian?  Pleasures are usually not challenged.”

Urian sat down on Quill’s chair and rolled it over closer to A2.  Leaning over on his elbows, he dropped his head.  “You did have a specific reason.  You don’t do anything without a well calculated purpose in mind.”

“Science isn’t always kind, Urian, nor of finite resolve.  Moreover, some of us have to sacrifice a part of ourselves for advancement… like the sharing of certain innate elements of my own system with A1 in order for him to survive.  You understand?”

“I’m listening.”

“You might want a cup of coffee.  This is going to take a while.”  Urian lifted his head and peered at A2 as a gradual array of images started orbiting the dome.  “I anticipated your coming, Urian.  There’s a new pot ready for pouring.”

Urian turned back toward the corner of the room.  On the wall beside the small bed, which Quill used for napping, was a serving window.  The door slid up into the wall, followed by a tray sliding out with a steaming hot cup of coffee.  Urian rose and walked to the corner.  “Why do I feel I’m not going to like this little talk?”

“Because you’re not yet fully equipped with the necessary understanding of digital pleasures,” said A2 in a hushed tone—a tone that was more maternal than explanatory.

                                                                  ---

Richard’s hands moved feverishly through his collection of girlie magazines, flipping page after page with an intensity that even surprised him, given his usual reserved nature.  She has to be here.  I’ve never seen a body like that except in a magazine… has to be here.

                                                      ---

The main monitoring screen filled with turning pages.  Krauslin glanced at his watch.  Three in the morning.  He glanced over at Ramon and Wyatt, both studying different screens and taking notes.  “You workaholic’s are missing some good stuff here.”

Ramon looked up at the main screen.  “Same-ol’, same-ol’.”

“Looks pretty good to me,” said Krauslin.

Wyatt tilted his head at the main screen.  “Actually, Ramon’s right.  You must have been on breaks before.  Richard’s been through those mags dozens of times in the past few weeks.  Horniest guy in the building, I swear.”

Richard slammed the magazines down on the table and quickly stepped to the bookshelves, thumbing through the USB collection of memory sticks occasionally pulling out one to look at the picture imbedded on the front.  Maybe here… yeah, I could have seen her here before.  C’mon.  C’mon.  He nervously continued to scout through the sticks, coming up empty handed.  After a moment’s pause, he grabbed his coat and exited the apartment.

                                                      ---

Liz sipped coffee and stared out her kitchen window.  Clouds were moving in from the west, breaking the sun’s light into fast moving shadows across the high-rise buildings.  She moved away from the window as Robert turned off the whistling teakettle. 

“You were up early,” said Robert.

She took another sip of her coffee.  “Sleeping is becoming less and less appealing.”

He poured the hot water into the French press.  “You still like tossing and turning, though.”

“Did I keep you up?”

He smiled.  “Not the tossing, but you sure must have been having a good time in your dreams.”

Liz stepped to the sink and poured her coffee down the drain.  “Hate cold coffee.  What makes you say that?”

Robert smiled again.  “Haven’t heard those kinds of whimpers for a long time.”

“Whimpers?”

“You know… the having fun kind of whimpers.”

“Shit.  Sorry.”  She reached over for the French press and pushed the plunger down.    “Is this Columbian?”

“Yeah.  We’re out of that Turkish stuff you like.”

She filled her cup and returned to the window.  “Trust me.  It was not a fun whimper.”

Robert poured himself a cup and moved to the window seat next to her.  “Sounds like you want to talk about it.”

“Not really.”

“But you will, if I listen, right?”

She maintained her gaze out the window.  “Probably.”  The sun broke through the clouds and reflected off the glass exterior of a building, throwing a blinding shard of light straight at her.  She turned away and found Robert peering at her with hurt in his eyes.  “Do I know him?”

She felt trapped and betrayed by her own weakness.  She’d always been successful in keeping the dissatisfaction of Robert’s love making from him.  Now she feared the dream last night might have breached her secret.  “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged and dropped his eyes as he sipped the coffee.  “Haven’t seen you have that good a time for a… long time.”

Liz reached across and touched his face.  “You mustn’t think too much of a woman’s fantasies, you know.  We all have them.”

He slowly looked up, his eyes searching hers for a different answer. 

“That’s the truth, Robert.  There is no one else.”  She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek.  Suddenly, her eyes welled up. 

He lifted his hand and wiped the tear, still gazing into her eyes.  “I want to believe that.”  He stood up and walked to the teakettle.  “I tried to make this stronger for you… you know, like the Turkish stuff, but… damn, I’m just a wuss.”  He poured some hot water into his cup as Liz stepped up to him.

“You’re not a wuss.  I love you and… well, you’re just going to have to believe me.”  She put her arms around him and gave him a tight hug. 

“I said I’d listen.  I love you too, you know.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and looked away.  “You’re going to think me mad.”

“I’ve had my own share of madness over the years.  Think I can take it.”

She lifted her head.  “I hope so.  Let’s sit in the living room.”

                                                      ---

Lenny, a pocked-face “Magazines R-Us” clerk looked up from his bagel and hot chocolate.  “You’re early today, Bruce.”

The day-shift man stepped up and hoisted a roped bundle of magazines onto the counter.  “Fuckin’ garbage trucks were out with the fuckin’ roosters, I swear.  Rolled around for two hours tryin’ to get back to sleep.  Fuck it.  Here are your latest ‘Bang’ mags.  I’m gonna take a long dump, then you can take off.”

“Whatever turns you on,” said Lenny, smiling.

“Funny,” said Bruce sarcastically.  He strolled toward the back of the magazine store, passing the “adult mags only – you must be 18” sign hanging above entrance into the small room.  He paused and stared at the slumped man sleeping in the corner with a stack of girlie magazines surrounding him.  “Oh, shit.”  He looked back toward Lenny.  “Got a ‘sleeper’ back here, dummy.  Better hope those mags aren’t fucked up.  He’s holding his crotch pretty good.”  He laughed and continued back to the rest room.

Lenny charged out from behind the counter and into the small room.  “Shit.  Hey, mister, get the fuck up.  This ain’t no fuckin’ hotel.”

Richard lifted his head, his eyes rolling around, disoriented and surprised to find himself sleeping.  “Oh… damn… I’m…”   He quickly stood up.  “I was… I was just trying to find something…”

Lenny reached over and took him by the arm.  “I bet you were.  Get the fuck outta here.  How come I didn’t see you… oh, fuck it.  Just get the hell out.”  

As Richard sauntered toward the entrance, he passed the counter and spotted the new edition of Bang.  “Hey, this is the new one.  Mind if I…”

Lenny pulled the bundle off the counter.  “Out!”

Outside the door, Richard blinked several times, trying to orient his eyes to the morning sun.  He looked back at the magazine store, then around at the faces passing on the sidewalk.  Several women caught his eye, one saying, “What you lookin’ at creepo?”

“I’m not a…” shouted Richard as he glared back at the unwanted looks he was getting.  He turned and slowly walked away, mumbling to himself.  “I’m gonna find you… I know you.  Gonna find you.”