Dreams in the Tower Part 3 (6 page)

“It hasn’t been easy, reverse engineering OpenLife’s antiviral drug,” Diane said, confirming what Mike had guessed. “They’ve been at it for as long as I’ve been coming here.”

“Antiviral? You mean like a cure?”

“Yes.” She slowed her pace and let Mike move up beside her. The hospital—every hospital under Silte control—received a very limited batch for testing and training. If we could only figure out how to make the drug ourselves, we could preempt their next move.”

“What’s the next move?”

She looked over at him somberly but didn’t answer. Then she turned away and said, “These days, the idea of a monopoly is almost absurd. If one corporation controls a market, there will always be two or three other multinational conglomerates with the money and resources to move in and steal market shares. With that simple fact, monopolizing an entire economy is nothing more than a fool’s dream.” They finally reached the end of the hallway and took another right into a similar but much shorter, narrower one. “That is,” she said, “unless you can give up on controlling the market and instead control the buyer.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.” She
was
bringing up one of his biggest problems with Project Unify, but Mike couldn’t see where ‘control the buyer’ came in as a viable solution.

“Here we are.” Diane stopped.

They had come to another long row of windows, only this time the room beyond was well-lit and occupied. There were hospital beds lining the far wall inside the room. Each bed was separated from the next by a curtain, and each had a patient in a pale blue hospital gown lying on it. There were eight in all, seven of whom were wearing some type of modified smart glasses with black lenses, bulky frames, and built-in headphones. They were apparently asleep, but the one without the beefed-up glasses, a pudgy, gray man who looked to be in his sixties, was sitting up and talking with a younger woman, apparently a doctor.

“What’s going on here?” Mike asked.

“Cognitive reprogramming,” Diane said quietly. “Brainwashing. That’s Silte’s next step.”

“
Brain
washing? What…?”

“Yes, Mike, brainwashing. What better way to obtain total control of the economy?” She folded her arms against her breasts and turned to look at him. “But brainwashing is only efficient if the victim is weak-minded or has some prior mental trauma. It just wouldn’t be feasible on a massive scale. Introduce a virus that temporarily shuts down parts of the brain that control conscious thought, though, and what you get is a programmable human.” She turned back to the cold glass. “All of those people were afflicted with Silvan’s virus. Those devices on their heads are the prototypes of something currently being mass-produced and shipped out. They are what reprogram the brains. When the cure is announced, hospitals will request patients stay for three nights; the first two are for reprogramming and the third is for the antivirus to work its magic.”

“Brainwashing,” Mike repeated like a blubbering fool, staring at one of the women lying limp with the device over her eyes; now and then an arm or leg twitched. “For what? To make them more docile or subservient?”

“To make them loyal customers. Forever.”

“Fucking Christ.” Mike turned away from the glass, not sure if he should believe this. “And those people in there…”

“Guinea pigs. Nonconsensual volunteers, if you will.” Her voice was low and she didn’t look at him. “They took them from one of the hospital shelters where they put the victims without families. We needed to test the reprogramming on real people, find out how it works. It’s the only way we can figure out how to undo it. Because we’re running out of time to stop it.”

“No,” Mike said, grinning nervously. “This is crazy. Fucking
insane
. I don’t believe it.”

Diane’s sigh was long and laced with defeat. “You will,” she said and went to the door.

Following along after a brief moment, Mike entered the room behind her and went over to join her and the doctor beside the bed of the man who was awake. The man looked at Mike blurrily. His hair was silver and his face was well-lined and rough with sparse stubble. He squinted and stared at Mike with hard black eyes until Mike became uncomfortable and looked instead at the doctor, who was young and might have been very beautiful if she didn’t look so utterly exhausted and frazzled. She held a large-screened tablet loosely clutched at her side.

“Dr. Watanabe,” the doctor said, offering her hand which Mike shook. “I don’t need to know your name. Since you are here with Diane, I know where you are from and that is already too much, I think.”

“Uh, right,” Mike said.

“How long has he been awake?” Diane asked, gesturing toward the man in the bed.

“Not long,” Dr. Watanabe said. She stifled a yawn. “Excuse me. I have gone through the preliminary questions. I assume you are here for a demonstration?” Her dark eyes flitted briefly to Mike.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Diane said. “This one’s important.”

“Very well,” the doctor said. “I trust you can handle things yourself. I have other patients to attend to.”

“Thank you doctor,” Diane said. “And get some sleep.”

Dr. Watanabe turned and started for the next bed, muttering what sounded like, “Then who will do my work?”

When they were alone with the man in the bed (who was still staring squinty-eyed at Mike), Diane walked over to stand beside him. He finally looked away from Mike and fixed his gaze on Diane’s grave face, from which he shrank back slightly. Mike realized now that the man wasn’t being rude intentionally; he seemed to be confused and more than a little frightened.

“Hello,” Diane said. “What’s your name?”

“Liam,” the old man said. “Are you another doctor? You don’t look like one. Neither of you do.”

“We’re sort of specialists,” she said. “Are you feeling alright Liam? Can you talk to us for just a few more minutes?”

“Sure,” he said. “But I’m really tired. Can you make it quick?”

“Of course. I just wanted to ask you a few things. First, what do you think about Silte Corporation?”

The man sat up straight. “What kind of a question is that? I
love
Silte Corporation! And all their subsidiaries. I mean, they’re the greatest company in the history of the earth! Every one of their products and services are unbeatable. How could I not love them?”

Looking ponderously at Liam, Mike wasn’t sure if he should feel pity or disgust. He settled for a mix of both. This sixty-something man looked like the type you saw sitting off alone in the gloomy corner of a bar, drinking down the pain of a world that never cared about his happiness. And yet here he was spewing out a cheesy ad for Silte Corp with the enthusiasm of a coked-up high school cheerleader. It was a scene that bordered on the grotesque.

“Wonderful,” Diane said. She opened a drawer in the table beside the bed. “Your things?” Liam looked in the drawer and then nodded slowly, as if not completely sure. She proceeded to rummage around inside it, digging for something in the clutter. “Ah,” she said after a while. “I found your tab.” She pulled a very old, bulky tablet out and sat it on the bed by Liam’s legs.

“My tablet,” he said, picking it up slowly.

“I see you have an Egoto Flatbook,” she said.

“Egoto?” The old man looked from the tablet to Diane and back again, his face reverting back to the squinty-eyed expression he had shown Mike before, though this time Mike was certain it was a dirty look.

“Yes,” Diane said. “Egoto was not a subsidiary of Silte when they made tablets. Nor, if nothing has changed in the last day or two, are they now. Silte Corp has no connection to Egoto or their products.”

“Piece of
shit
,” Liam said, slamming the tab down on the bed. Mike flinched and took a step back, but the man seemed calm enough, just sad.

“I’ll get a new one,” Liam said. Then he perked up again, grinning stupidly. “That’s it! I’ll get a new one right now.” He picked up the tab, rested it on his plump belly and began tapping on it merrily. “Plenty of Silte companies make tablets better than this junk.”

Looking at Mike with raised eyebrows, Diane said, “Believe it now, Mike?”

He watched the man eagerly tapping his tablet screen for a while before answering her. “Yes,” Mike said. “I don’t need to see any more of this.” He turned his back on the disturbing sight and started for the door.

Behind him Diane said, “Thank you for your time, Liam.” The man said nothing.

The walk back through the hospital basement was long and silent. Mike couldn’t say anything, and Diane didn’t need to say anything; she probably knew as well as him that he had no choice now but to join them. She had probably known that the moment he stumbled drunkenly up to her apartment door and fell sweetly, complacently into the trap.

25

When Dellia had finally gone as far as she could with her limited styling skills, she set the rusty scissors on the bathroom counter, ran one hand through what was left of her hair and judged her amateur effort. It felt strange and looked stranger. She almost wanted to cry a little: she hadn’t seen her hair this short since her first year in college. But it didn’t look terrible—or at least it wouldn’t make her too conspicuous. It would give her a little more of a disguise, in any case, and that was really all that mattered.

With a sigh, she squatted and used her hand and a towel to scoop up the dark clumps that had missed the trashcan. She didn’t bother getting every little hair; the bathroom had not been that clean to begin with. When she was done, she squeezed the little trashcan back into its nook beside the toilet and stood up to give one last halfhearted appraisal of her new hair. It still looked weird, like her head itself had changed shape. She sighed again and reached for her tablet sitting on the bathroom counter, swiping it on to see the time: it was nearing midnight.
No wonder I’m so hungry.
She dusted a few stray strands of off her bare shoulders and chest and put her shirt back on. She should have no trouble getting food in the cafeteria this late; this was about the time the members of the crew who weren’t on the late shift hung out in there and used up their alcohol rations. She might even find the captain there, since he was going to have to be awake to start taking them into port in a couple of hours.

She went through the bathroom door and found the cabin empty. That was strange; Jason had seemed to have been settled in for the night when she went to take a shower and cut her hair, and he almost never left the cabin in the evening aside from dinner. She knew he had already eaten because he had gone on alone earlier to the cafeteria while she had used the moment of privacy to pack everything she intended to take with her off the ship into her old backpack. She looked at his bed and saw his own pack zipped up and ready to go, and she felt a lump of guilt form in her throat. Next to the pack, Jason’s tablet was lying there on the ruffled blanket, so wherever he was he wouldn’t be gone long: he never went far without his tablet. Maybe she would find him in the cafeteria getting food…or in the liquor closet. She slipped her shoes on before going through the door.

The walk down the long hallway that ran nearly the length of the ship was calm and eerie. At night the lights in the ship were dimmed to conserve power, and all of the sailors were either asleep, on duty, or in the cafeteria. The only sound was the distant hum of the engines. She quickened her pace just to get away from the emptiness, the unnerving silence.

There was plenty of noise coming from the cafeteria, though. As she entered, she heard conversations in English, Mandarin and something that was probably spoken in one of the Central African countries. All around the room there were shouts and laughs and glasses clunking on tables. The air was heavy, littered with a few different kinds of smoke. Dellia didn’t have to scan the tables to know Jason wasn’t here; she knew him well enough by now to know he wouldn’t hang around a place like this or these types of people.

As she walked to the other side of the room, she caught the eye of Avery, the cook, who quickly got up from the table he was sitting at to follow her to the kitchen.

“You’re up late, Miss,” he said, when they were in the much quieter kitchen area. “I barely recognized you without the hair. I guess it had to be done though, right? So you need something to help you sleep or something? I got a bottle of some decent merlot in the bar.”

“No thank you,” she said. “Some food would be great, though.”

“Cod stew tonight.” He nodded at a huge silver pot on the stove. “Kept some warm cause some of the guys like to eat again after they’ve had a few. Want some?” He lifted the lid off the pot, releasing a burst of steam and giving her a savory waft of what was inside. She felt her stomach gurgle at the smell.

“I’ll take a bowl,” she said.

Avery nodded and opened a nearby cover, producing a bowl and a spoon. He ladled a generous helping of cod stew into the bowl, handed it over to Dellia with a grin and said, “You know where all the fixings are, so just help yourself.”

“Thank you.” She took the bowl graciously, wincing a little at the heat on her fingers. “Do you mind if I eat in here?” She gestured towards the small table at the back of the kitchen with bolted-in stools around it.

“No problem,” Avery said. “Probably better a nice girl like you doesn’t hear the table talk anyway.”

“What, you don’t want me to hear about all the filthy whores you’ve fucked?” She couldn’t get through the sentence without smiling broadly. He gave her a sly grin and then turned to begin serving the sailors who were now queuing up in front of the pot; apparently, Dellia had started a trend.

Leaving the cook to his duties, she went to the table, sat down, and then dug into her bowl of stew with great enthusiasm; she was hungry and the food was good. In fact, it was delicious, as she had come to expect from Avery’s cooking. As she lapped it up in a manner that probably drew the eyes of a few drunk sailors, she had the less-than-pleasant thought that this may be the last good meal she would have for a while—maybe a very
long
while. After she left the ship in the morning it would be vending machines and the occasional run-down, off-the-grid diner, just like before when she had been skulking through the streets of Dallas. With that thought in her mind, she slowed down her eating to savor the tasty meal, gratefully nibbling every carrot and slice of okra and letting each morsel of fish melt in her mouth so that she could wring every bit of spicy flavor out of each mouthful of broth. And yet the meal still ended all too soon, the empty bowl staring back up at her afterward, forcing her to recall the barren life she would soon return to.

That life was only a few brief hours away now.

Getting up reluctantly, she dropped her bowl and spoon into the pile of dishes soaking in the soapy water in one of the deep metal sinks. She then approached Avery, who had finished serving the tipsy sailors and was tidying up, preparing the kitchen for breakfast just a short while later.

When he noticed her, he said, “Sure you don’t want that bottle of wine?”

“I’m sure.” She watched him clear away the stove for a moment, then she thought of something that had been bugging her for a while. “Hey, have you seen Jason lately?”

“Yeah.” He turned to look at her, his heavy eyebrows turned down in what might have been concern. “He came in about a half hour ago,” Avery said. “Not long before you did. Asked for liquor, so I offered him some nice Irish whiskey I just opened. He took the whole bottle. Said something about drinking in the moonlight. He seemed a little upset. Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know.” It sounded, though, like something was wrong. She didn’t let her concern show on her face. “I hope not. I should go, though. Thank you, Avery. For all the great food.”

“You’re welcome,” he said bemusedly, blinking at her as she walked past him and out of the kitchen. She ignored the last dregs of drunken mirth in the cafeteria as she quickly crossed it and went to the nearest staircase leading up to the main deck.

She found Jason almost immediately; he was leaning back against the tall stack of shipping containers, holding a bottle in one hand and staring broodingly out at the endless black water. A glance at the bottle in his hand told her he had barely drunk any of it yet, to her relief. He didn’t move or even seem to notice her as she walked up to him slowly.

“I think I can see the coast,” he said without turning his head to look up at her. “The lights. When I squint.”

“It’s an illusion,” she said. “We’re still too far away.” She dropped down to sit next to him. “What are you doing here, Jason?” She said it kindly, sweetly.

“I got a message,” he said. “From my friend Seito.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“No.”

Now she was confused. When they had first met he had been upset about this friend Seito sending him a message saying he would no longer be in contact. If Jason had regained that connection, why should he be upset enough to drink alone in the dark?

“It was a regular message,” Jason elaborated. “Not secured. Not on our special com app. A regular message that any idiot with a tablet and a basic spying app can easily trace.” He took a swig from the bottle, wincing as he swallowed. “Steph was with him. They’re both wanted. I just wonder who will find them first.”

“Steph?”

“Another good friend. The one who was sick. Her and Seito were sort of together.” He eyed the bottle but apparently decided against taking another drink. “The three of us met in college. We started non-E together.”

“That hacking group you told me about?” He nodded. “Jason, I’m sure it will be fine,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “It sounds like your friends can keep themselves safe.”

There was no mirth in the grin on his face when he said, “That’s not it. They would probably be better off getting caught now.” She waited patiently for him to elaborate. “Steph,” he said tentatively. “Steph was one of the first to get sick, that first night. Last time I heard anything she was full-on zombie. Seito…Seito must have caught it from her. The message he sent was a video message. He was feverish and sweating and covered in filth. And he was babbling like some kind of deranged person. Talking mostly in Japanese, to people who weren’t even there. I don’t think he even
knew
he was talking to me.” His voice broke slightly towards the end.

There was a long silence between them as they both stared out into the void that was the sea. Jason took another swig of whiskey and offered the bottle to Dellia, who took a small sip and set the bottle on the other side of herself, away from Jason.

“If it makes you feel better,” she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “I really don’t think Silvan wants these people to die. There’s some solution to this. I don’t know where it will come from, but I’m doing all I can to help find it.”

He turned his head around and looked at her, his eyes went wide for a fleeting second. “Your hair,” he said. “It’s gone.”

“Don’t you like it?” she said playfully. “I need to blend in when I’m back in the real world. I won’t have as many people watching out for me now.”

Silently, he kept his gaze on her and she stared back at him. Somewhere in that moment, peering deep into his blue-green eyes, she saw his fear and pain and vulnerability—and she accepted it. And suddenly they were kissing. His mouth tasted like whiskey and his stubbly face scratched at her skin, but just then she didn’t care. She didn’t care that what she was about to do would make the morning that much harder. Just then, she didn’t want to care about anything.

Grasping his hand, she pulled him up and led him along the deck to the door beneath the wheelhouse tower, down the stairs, and all the way back to the corridor their room was in. She didn’t need to pull him along; he matched her rapid pace and stayed right beside her, looking over at her face from time to time. After far too long they made it to their door. The room was lit by nothing more than the sliver of light stretching in from the half-open bathroom door.

As soon as the door was shut, the lock slid hastily into place, their mouths joined once again. Dellia moved backwards blindly, enmeshed in Jason’s lean frame, until she felt the edge of his bed nudging the backs of her thighs and dropped down on it. In less than half a beat of her racing heart he was on top of her and the warmth of his body as he pressed into her made her dig her hands into his back and pull him closer. They somehow got all of their clothes off while hardly separating their lips. He pulled away, looking into her eyes, and softly ran his fingers across one of her nipples then down along her soft belly and to the heat between her thighs, sending an electric quivering through her body.

But then he stopped, pushed away, his burning erection pressing into her hip, and said, “Is this all right, what we’re doing?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “How does it feel?”

Before he could answer she rolled him over, straddling his hips, and kissed him. She reached her hand down between his legs and held him steady until he was inside her. She began thrusting rhythmically; after a moment he got the idea and followed her movements and did not stop until they both were shuddering in their sweet release.

*  *  *

By 3 a.m. Jason was safely, soundly asleep and Dellia was able to silently finish the last of the packing she had started earlier, before cutting her hair. She had very little in the lone backpack: a handful of toiletries, a first aid kit, a few changes of clothes (the same ones she had been wearing and seldom washing since leaving her apartment), some packaged food from the cook’s commissary, and her tablet. That was the sum total of her material life now.

But she didn’t quite have everything she needed yet.

Going into the bathroom, she slowly pulled the door shut behind her, reached up to grab the circular ceiling vent and dug in her nails, pulling until the cover popped off. She lowered it carefully and set it on the counter. There, sitting perfectly in the center of the white plastic cover on the counter, was her most invaluable possession—the one and only thing that had to leave the boat with her. She opened the little self-refrigerating container and pulled out two little vials of her precious vaccine. Closing the container back immediately to protect its delicate cargo, she stuffed one vial into her pocket and clenched the other in her hand. Now that these two were out of their cold hibernation, they would only remain viable for about two days; she expected they would both be used before their time was up. She grabbed the vaccine container and left the bathroom as quietly as she had entered.