Pulling The Dragon's Tail (34 page)

At that moment a doctor rushed into the room.
“How are you today, Es 7.1?” He held up his hand and said, “Hold
on, I’ve got to take this call.” And there in the middle of the
room the doctor took not one but several calls consecutively,
speaking at a nearly manic pace the whole time.

He wore a headset with extra thick glasses,
which made him look comical. Campbell noticed the neural implants
in the back of his head and realized that he also was transhuman.
As he barked orders to those he was conversing with, she also
realized that he was viewing a surgery remotely and giving advice
about it.

With his hands behind his back, he paced up and
down beside Es’s bed, eyes glued to the floor. “No, I said
thirty-seven point five milligrams at HS. Call me if there are any
side effects. No, I said he’s to have total bed rest. Please
reschedule the conference with Jakarta; it won’t work out on
Thursday, after all.”

He clicked off the phone control imbedded in his
wrist and looked up once again at the patient. Only then did he
notice the others. “Who are these people?” he asked with a
frown.

“My friends.”

“Well, they need to leave. The chance of
infection is still too high at this stage of Version 7.1. Have they
even been debriefed?” Without waiting for an answer, he called in a
nurse. He paced up and down again in the room, nearly trampling on
Dugan, who jumped out of the way.

They got up to leave. “I’m sorry,” apologized
Es, “but it’s my doctor who has lost his head.” She snickered at
her own joke.

With a smile on her face, Es said, “Good-bye.
We’ll talk again soon. Have you taken in the park yet?”

The doctor’s steely glare chased them out. They
heard him say, just before he closed the door, “I see your emotions
are still not in check yet.”

“Well,” said Thatcher, rolling his eyes once
they were outside the doctor’s view, “that was illuminating. Is
that the future of medicine?”

“He’s not much in bedside manners, but I
wouldn’t hesitate to trust his medical judgment,” answered
Campbell. ”Between his computer implants, connections to the Net,
and ability to multi-task, he’s a thoroughly competent
physician.”

“If you can stand the manic, robotic part,”
noted Thatcher as the group walked away from Es’s room.

They turned down the hallway. Campbell glanced
at Nate, who was shuffling slowly, hands in pockets. “Penny for
your thoughts?” she asked.

Nate smiled slightly and looked up. “Oh, I was
just thinking what Herschel was cooking up next. I’ve got to call
Kalpana.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, I was also thinking how valuable Es is to
me.”

They entered the hospital cafeteria for a bite
of lunch before going their separate ways.

“I for one can’t wait to see Park Extropia!”
said a wide-eyed Thatcher. “The fastest coasters, most innovative
technology and special optical effects! It’s a shame you’re going
to miss out on all that.”

“Such a shame,” said Nate, feigning
disappointment. “Just send me your downloads. Stuff like that is
best lived vicariously.”

As they munched on their meal in silence,
Campbell reflected on her experiences with the Alpha Group and her
musings that there seemed to be no middle ground.
Chad and
Herschel stroke their own gigantic egos and agendas at others’
expense. With the same incredible opportunities as the others, why
did they turn to the darker side of human potential?
She patted
the RVT hidden below her waist belt.
I’ve used this far too
often since running into Nate.
Her eyes fell onto Nate, who was
munching on a hamburger.

One second he chewed contently. He wiped his
mouth with a napkin. The next moment he sipped his soda. He stopped
suddenly. His eyes opened wide and he quickly set the cup down.

“My Lord! He’s found me! I don’t know how? But
he’s found me!”

Campbell’s pulse raced. “Who found you?” Her
thoughts ran wild
. How can anything go wrong surrounded by
transhuman soldiers?
She tried to turn around, but a piercing
screech filled her ears. Putting her hands on her ears didn’t stop
it. She gasped in pain and fell over on top of an already
unconscious group of people including Thatcher, along with nearly
everyone else in the cavernous cafeteria. Transhuman soldiers ran
through the cafeteria examining bodies.

Through Dugan’s protective shield, Nate had been
protected from the piercing blast. He slouched over the table,
trying to remain hidden. “Dugan, who are they?”

There was no answer from the CCR. Before he even
glanced at Dugan, Nate already knew the answer; the CCR lay
lifeless beside him.

Grabbing Dugan, he slid under the table. He saw
the dozen or so soldiers, all attired in green army fatigues,
approaching the few people left conscious. A weapon of some type
was pointed at their heads. He froze in horror at the weapon was
discharged and each slumped to the floor. Then he saw the soldiers
scanning those unconscious.

Father Abraham, guide me
, he prayed.

One soldier still had a hook on his back.
Parachutes?
wondered Nate. Their camouflage clothing began
altering their appearance. He recalled the same thing about Es.
Genetically altered ability to change skin tone; hi-tech clothing
can do the same thing.

Frozen in fear, he tried to sort out his
options.
Run! No! My friends are here. Hide! How?

Soldiers converged from all sides. He snuggled
next to Campbell and Thatcher. Tucking Dugan in tightly, he buried
his face into Campbell’s back…and waited.

The thump-thump-thump of his heart pounded into
his ears. Then he heard Campbell’s heartbeat also, felt her
breathing slowly against his ears.

“Group 124?” said a nearby transhuman (TH)
soldier.

“No. They’re 298,” replied another.

“What about those over there? Quickly!” ordered
the first one.

Nate felt a presence loom over him.

“Here. Group 124, these three and the CCR.”

He felt a strong hand pull him up off the
floor.

“This one is conscious. Kip! Come and get the
other two.”

Nate held onto Dugan tightly.

The muscular transhuman named Quade approached
and grabbed Dugan.

“No! Let me have him!” Nate pleaded.

Kip, a tall soldier with large muscles and
freckles, bent over to pick up Thatcher and Campbell. He scolded
Quade. “Remember, pacify when you can. Be pragmatic. Remember the
overall objective. CCR owners are fiercely loyal. Let the man hold
onto the CCR.”

Quade let go. “You can hold it as long as you
cooperate and come peacefully. Over here! Come quickly!” he
barked.

Kip easily picked up Thatcher and Campbell,
carrying them on each shoulder. With a gun at his back, Nate joined
the other soldiers, the group picking their way carefully over the
unconscious bodies strewn over the floor.

There was no movement outside.
Is the whole
of Extropia shut down? he wondered. Herschel couldn’t pull this
off. Herschel worked alone. This is the work of
—

A hail of automatic gunfire sprayed from the
soldiers’ guns in front of him.

“This way!” barked Quade.

Nate ran, trying to shield himself.
Father
Abraham, do not let me die here!

Gunfire was returned from behind a wall.

One soldier was hit, falling in front of him.
Nate tripped over the prone body, sending Dugan flying.

“Move!”

He was helped up and pushed along. Nate grabbed
desperately for Dugan and barely caught his tail.

Fifty meters more of a frantic sprint in the
open air-each second, expecting to get shot. He made it to a wall.
More gunfire came from the accompanying soldiers.

Closing his eyes, Nate expected any minute to
take his last breath.

Instead, he was forced down a service tunnel.
More running in pitch blackness. He crashed into a door. Up a
stairway, around and around, two flights, three flights.

Then excruciatingly bright sunlight blinded
him.

More gunfire. A helicopter motor and blades
whirring. Nate was literally picked up and tossed aboard.

He sat up, back against a wall, still clutching
Dugan. Campbell and Thatcher lay next to him. The door slammed
shut, three TH soldiers joining at the last second.

Immediately they lifted off.

Staring at the TH soldiers, Nate recalled the
conversation from the soldiers a few moments ago. “Be pragmatic.”
This operation has all the markings of a terrorist organization.
And only one of those could pull off such a brazen operation as
breaking into Extropia
.

He sought for proof of his contention
. I hope
I’m wrong,
he prayed.

He stared at the soldier sitting cross-legged in
front of him; holding the butt of the gun just half a meter from
Nate’s face.

The soldier caught his stare and smiled.

Transhumans don’t smile. Why did this one do
so?

“You looking for this?” The soldier pulled down
on his black collar which stretched half-way up his neck. “See?
Satisfied?”

The smile was neither pleasant nor inviting.
Nate shuddered inside. The soldier raised the butt of a gun. The
last thing he saw was a very distinctive tattoo on the left side of
the soldier’s neck. Then Nate was knocked unconscious.

Nate awoke and immediately sensed that his hands
and feet were firmly bound. But even more confining was the pitch
blackness, as well as a pungent, dank odor.
Another cave! Father
Abraham, give me the strength to endure. I am your most humble
servant.

Gently, he laid his head against a cold,
unforgiving rock. Then he groaned in agony as the jagged rock tore
at the welt on the side of his head.

Straining his eyes to see something, anything,
he fought back a nauseous, panic-stricken feeling welling up in his
belly.

What was that?
He wriggled his body over
to the left
. A body! It’s breathing!
His legs touched
someone.

“Thatcher. Campbell. Is that you?” he said with
a hoarse whisper.

Moments later they both stirred.

“Dugan! Can you hear me?”

Silence.

“God!” groaned Thatcher. “Where are we?”

“In a cave,” answered Campbell, her voice coming
from beyond Thatcher.

“Duh. Where’s the cave?”

Campbell couldn’t resist. “Underground.”

“Great,” groaned Thatcher. “Pile on the shit and
you guys turn into comedians. Don’t they call that denial?”

“Gallows humor,” replied a stoic Nate, peering
into the darkness. “I hate talking to disembodied voices.” After a
brief pause, “Seriously though, I
do
know that Herschel
didn’t kidnap us.”

“How can you be sure?” exclaimed Campbell. Her
voice seemed to be muted by the darkness.

“Two reasons,” replied Nate. “He works alone;
second, if it was Herschel, we’d be dead already. Too complicated
to kidnap us and put us in a cave.”

“Then who?” demanded Thatcher.

“It’s far worse,” replied Nate ominously.

“Worse?” moaned Thatcher. “How can it be
worse?”

“Dugan!” Nate called out again. “Damn! I still
get nothing. It’s like my dataport connection is just, well, dead.
Where’s Es when we need her? I’m sure that I hate transhumans all
over again, with the possible exception of Es.” Nate related how
transhuman soldiers captured them after the sonic wave knocked them
unconscious.

After a moment, Thatcher could no longer stand
the foreboding silence. “Anybody got any good news?” Then in a more
hopeful tone, “Well, someone’s gotta come sooner or later.
Right?”

“Let’s talk options,” said Campbell.

“Options!” Thatcher was incredulous. “Here’s my
option.” Then he yelled, “Hellooo! Anyone theeeeere?” A dull echo
filled the chamber.

“Stop your damn yelling!” hissed Nate. “You’ll
get us all into bigger trouble!”

Sighing, Thatcher challenged him. “Define
bigger.”

Fatigue and hopelessness swirled over them once
again. They passed the next hour or so in silence. Thatcher fell
back asleep.

“You awake, Nate?” It was Campbell’s voice in
the darkness.

“Yeah. How’re you doing?”

“Okay for being shackled and apparently left for
dead. I have a confession to make.”

“I’m not a priest,” dead-panned Nate.

“I’m serious. I’ve done more soul searching, if
you will, than what you might guess an atheist would do.”

“Oh?”

“Having never been raised in the church or
around any religion, I became a bit curious in my late 20s. It was
early in my marriage, after one child. I wondered if maybe I was
missing a vital link in life. So I studied a lot of religious
ideologies, spoke to religious leaders. I read, I mean a lot; both
apologetics and critical analyses. My one constant, however, is
that I filtered everything through the lens of science.” Campbell
stopped. “Am I boring or offending you?”

“Neither. Except I’m waiting for your
onslaught.”

She sighed heavily, groping for the right words.
“I’m going to do my best to be empathic and honest. Religious faith
brings tremendous comfort to believers. Did I need that comfort? I
concluded that while it was nice, I had a different need. It’s not
that I don’t
want
to believe in a spiritual reality to
comfort me and welcome my soul into eternal rest; I very much want
to. But there’s no hard scientific evidence.”

“So why are you telling me this?”

“So you know that I’m not always a hard ass on
religion. Thatcher kinda told me to tone it down. I guess I can be
pretty obnoxious about atheism. And you can stop me anytime.”

“I have to say Thatcher’s a pretty fair judge,”
he replied flatly.