Day Nineteen ∞ Tuesday after midnight

LORA PAUSED INSIDE THE GLASS DOOR as had become her habit, and scanned the interior with all senses. She was not 'on the job' to use her skills this time. She was just supposed to get some edibles for the trip.

"Filling up on three and four," TJ said and put a few bills on the counter. "Keep the change."

The attendant glanced through the window and put the money in the cash register. "Sure. Thanks."

TJ passed Lora as he returned outside, and Lora grabbed a basket and headed for the shelf housing a small selection of pastries first, then picked chips, fruits, and other snacks. She emptied the basket at the counter.

"You guys on a long trip, huh?" said the attendant as he started adding up the items.

Lora barely gave him a nod before going to the cooler to collect a variety of drinks and four cans of beer. She put the last selection in the basket when Pace entered, spotted her and came over.

"Did you get some of those?" He pointed to a shelf next to the cooler as she stepped toward the counter.

"No."

"Okay, I'll get it."

Lora placed the basket on the counter and waited for the drinks to be cashed, studying the displays on the wall behind the attendant. Cigarettes, air fresheners, and various small items. Nothing that interested her. She put a fifty dollar bill next to the cash register as her gaze slid over posters advertising brake fluid, drinks, and personal items until it stalled on a familiar sketch.

"Don't you have something smaller than this?" the attendant said, his voice irritated.

"No," she said, her eyes glued to the drawing of herself in her original hairstyle. It was the same sketch that the police had left at the house in Albany with contact numbers for the Albany Police and the FBI. But the wording puzzled her. Why would it declare her "KIDNAPPED"?

"It's okay, I've got a few things more to add," Pace said, dumping three packages on the counter and took a few packs of Pop Rocks, Twix Bars, and M&Ms from a display box. "I'm gonna need oil too." He followed Lora's gaze and grabbed her arm. "Come check this."

He pulled her to the opposite end of the counter next to the window where a display of sunglasses stood. "Didn't you say you needed a new pair of shades?"

No, she did not, but she played along, plucking one to try on, and looked at herself in the small mirror on top of the rack. "I like this one."

"Cool. Why don't you check if the others need anything else? I'll take care of this," he said with exaggerated eye movements toward the exit and took the sunshades from her.

"Sure." Lora could take a hint. She left, still pondering.

"Hey," Sleek said as he spotted her. "You gonna ride now? I've topped it up." He handed TJ the gas pump and screwed the tank cap back on her bike. "Where's our snacks? I thought you were gonna—"

"Pace has them."

She mounted the bike, frowning as she stared into the interior of the van now housing TJ's and Sleek's bikes instead of hers and Jagg's. Jagg gave the mounts that kept them locked into place one last check before backing out.

"What's wrong?" Sleek asked.

Jagg swiveled his head to check on her, then watched Pace push the glass door open with his shoulder, carrying two paper bags and a bottle of oil. Jagg shut the back doors and took the bags from Pace to place on the passenger seat. TJ remained silent as he finished tanking Jagg's bike and replaced the pump.

"Man," Pace said and waved Jagg and TJ to come closer to Sleek and Lora. He lowered his voice, "Would you believe that she's in there on a 'kidnapped' poster? Would someone explain to me why they have her as kidnapped?"

"What?" Sleek exclaimed. "That doesn't make fucking sense."

Jagg threw a watchful eye at the station shop. "Did somebody recognize her?"

"I... don't think so."

"Lora, did you hypnotize the cashier?"

She met Jagg's gaze. "It was not necessary."

"Okay. I'd thought we'd put enough distance behind us but... we're gonna have to be more careful from now on. We don't know how far they might have sent out that flyer."

"But why kidnapped?" Pace asked. "It should be just... 'Wanted for questioning' or something, like they had at the station. We're no kidnappers."

"Bet they're trying to confuse us," TJ said thoughtfully. "Make us slip up. And still get the word out."

"You're probably right." Jagg's gaze jumped to track a car just driving into the service station, and he mounted his bike. "Let's get outa here. We've still got twenty-four hour's drive left to get to Vegas."

∞

Queen Lepantra and her Shield were safe, albeit in different locations. A quick check in Columbus found the Shield's family and sister's friend still in custody without further harm. Reassured, Blanc Aave returned to the base in the desert, spreading her self in thin tendrils that would not noticeably affect the electrical system.

Her multi-stranded explorations took her through acres of facilities, extending several levels underground. At one end near the surface, she found what her visitor Biyoun had described, vessels of materials and technology with molecular signatures not originating from this world, a couple of them hybridized. In some of the lower levels, she found laboratories and storage areas.

Aave reached the multi-leveled tunnel station. The shuttle-ways extended from it like random spokes in several directions. Curious, she decided to continue on the northernmost branch. It would take hours before Queen Lepantra completed those tests. If her Queen needed her attention, she would immediately know.

The tunnel ran straight as an arrow to the next station before adjusting its direction. She could have covered the distance in seconds, but she paced her branches to assess vibrations of the areas she passed through, traveling alongside an occasional shuttle. Her trailing self took quick excursions along the way.

She continued on the northeastern branch. This network connected more sites across the land than she anticipated, and every one of them weighed with extreme secrecy.

She had covered nearly two thousand kilometers deep underground on the eastbound when a sudden realization brought her to a halt, her trailing electrons clustering on the spot to form her light body.

This passage she knew. Her spatial senses placed her in the logistics conduit between the City of Amaka and the Industrial Lands. But this was the United States of America of the Second Earth. She turned her focus around, sensing beyond the many layers of rock that separated her from the surface high above.

Yes. The similarities were evident. That was how old this part of the conduit was—it existed long before and had survived the Great Desolation.

The two Earths were more alike than she expected. If she studied this Earth in depth, she might learn more about her Earth's past—an opportunity she could not ignore. Perhaps this Earth already hosted multiple dimensional gateways...

Perhaps one of them could lead her to answers. Answers about what caused the disasterous singularity in her world, throwing her and her charges into this world. Answers to the question, Is there anyone or anything left? Had anyone else escaped by some other means? She knew from her first week of recovery and searching that no one else had been transported through the wormhole to end up with them in this space-time.

She needed to widen her focus and seek the answers. Perhaps her multi-dimensional visitor Biyoun could point her to specific locations.

Yes. When her assignment was fulfilled and her guardianship no longer required, she knew what she would occupy her existence with.

Satisfied with the decision, she doubled back on her trail.

∞

—Daaniel!

The wave of prickling distress struck Blanc Aave. My Queen! In an instant, Aave's entire energy body relocated to the corridor of the facility where a jumble of urgent voices leaked through from a lab.

"Get her out of there, she's seizing!" "Stop the machine!" "Hold her down." "Her BPM's approaching 170, blood pressure, 200/100, respiration rate, irregular—" "Someone, bring in the crash-cart, just in case. We don't want to lose her." "—about 70 per minute."

The door flew open and a lab coat ran down the corridor as Aave found herself inside, hovering above Dr. Kruger and three assistants holding down Mic Wamba's trembling arms and legs.

Dr. Bryant held up a syringe. "Should I give her a sedative?"

"I'll do it," Kruger said. "Hold her still. Miss Wamba, are you hearing me? We're going to help you relax."

They switched places and Kruger checked the syringe before locating a spot on Wamba's upper arm.

"Damn, I forgot that doesn't work on her. Needle broke." Kruger pocketed the syringe. "Get me the nitrous oxide. What the hell is wrong with the lights?"

Blanc Aave ignored the effect she had on the electricals as she observed her Queen's face beading with perspiration. Her eyes and jaw were clenched, her tense body trembling in the effort of holding back more than just pain.

That was when Aave spotted it—and a pulse of alarm shot through her. A faint dark cloud hovering near the floor next to the scanner machine, swirling with activity.

The Creation Protocol. It was happening again. And now she understood why. She had missed this phase when it first occurred in the throws of emergency—when she tried to regain control of the vessel after Wamba lost consciousness and Deymos enclosed her in the escape pod. Somehow, the singularity connecting two Earths with a vortex at midnight effected a singularity in the Intelligent Augmentor driving Wamba's sinnesband. And that triggered the event intended to be initiated only at the Ark Project laboratories: the individual repopulation of the Animal Kingdom.

Such exponential population growth—explosion—of Nanentities must have triggered an emerging awareness causing the I.A. to self-generate into its own Being. Aave could do nothing to change that, to reset it. That would invite its self-preservation mode, taking the problem further into uncharted territory.

She detected the micro-frequency broadcast of programming triggered by a faulty subroutine to the hive-minded Nanites. They would break down and utilize material in their surroundings to build more of themselves until there were enough to start the biological structures determined by Wamba's Ark DNA. Just like they consumed her escape module during the forced landing in the lake. Fortunately, it would take time for the Nanites to gather elements to multiply themselves and produce sufficient complex biomaterial to turn this Shadow into a viable, living creature. Twenty minutes from now, it would be visible.

—Queen Lepantra, look at me.

Her Queen did not seem to register her as she tried to bend against the hands that held her against the padded platform. Her neck, shoulders, and torso contracted spasmatically with rapid, shallow breathing.

—Mic Lepantra Wamba, open your eyes, look at me and relax.

Wamba halted her breathing and became stiff, pressing her head against the platform. After a moment, she inhaled and looked up.

"Doctor Kruger! Look at her eyes."

They were covered, completely black. Not only was the Creation Protocol in process, but emergency shielding was in effect, intended to protect her Queen from radiation. Blanc Aave had to reassess the situation.

"Miss Wamba, can you see?" Kruger bent over her as she stared at the ceiling where most of Aave hovered, invisible to normal persons. He pulled out a penlight and waved it across Wamba's eyes, muttering.

—Relax. You must stop fighting it.

Wamba blinked several times and drew a long breath, putting effort into slowing her heart rate, and gradually her body relaxed. But her jaw was still tight.

"Miss Wamba? Can you talk?" Kruger pressed his fingers against the side of her neck. "Her pulse is slowing... 150 BPM...130... What readings are you getting over there?"

One assistant rushed to the monitor console. "Everything's crazy—jumping all over the place, not pinning down anything."

"Damn. We need to keep records here. Hand me a paper towel."

Malfunctioning equipment was the least of Blanc Aave's concerns. —It seems the Alpha irradiation from this machine triggered your Protection Protocol. And the core function of the Creation Protocol is corrupted—the combined activation overstimulating your nervous system, causing your pain. We must communicate this error to the Nanentities, the Master Control. With your permission, I can assist by entering your mind. Hear you me, my Queen?

Wamba blinked once, slowly. —Aye. You may enter. Her mental voice was weary.

Aave reached into Wamba's implant interface at the base of her hippocampi and sent a compressed pulse with her request for direct communication with Master Control.

—Blanc Aave, there is no Master Control, came the response via ultrashort electromagnetic pulses. I am Supramind. Your request is acknowledged.

Surprised, Aave switched to the same method of communication. —See you what the Creation Protocol does? Is it the appropriate time and settings for it to be initiated?

The reply was immediate, —It seems a portion of me triggered the programming in response to some environmental stimulus. I am reviewing my records to locate that stimulus. I must isolate the triggering factor.

This powerful Supramind appeared to be locked in an endless loop, Aave realized, causing both Wamba and herself to suffer.

Herself? The question was echoed by Wamba. Aave did not know why she thought of the Supramind as female, but now was not the time to speculate. She needed to help her Queen.

—You need to inspect your core programming. Some where in there, there are a few lines of code which have been altered by a strong magnetic field. You need to find them and restore the correct values from your backup. Please, be quick.

She waited under the flickering fluorescent light, watching Mic Wamba and the Ark swarm for signs of reversal as she waited inside Wamba's mind—a few microseconds.

—Faulty code located and deleted. Command restored to host. Blanc Aave, thank you for your help.

That was not what she had expected. —Are you sure it is wise to delete that code?

—It is no longer required. Host can order Creation Protocol directly without relying on old programming.

Blanc Aave was not totally convinced. There was no telling whether some other protocol depended on that deleted code. But the matter was out of her hands.

Kruger patted Wamba's face and neck dry and handed the used paper towel back to his assistant. "Bag it. We might learn something from that. Miss Wamba, are you okay? We don't know what's wrong with your eyes, can you see?"

She exhaled without blinking. "Aye." Her voice was rusty, barely audible.

A sigh escaped the doctor. "Get her a glass of water. When you feel better, maybe you can explain what's happening to you here. Your eyes are completely covered with some sort of glossy black material, I can't see your irises through it. Oh, it appears to thin now, it's breaking up into branches..." He glanced up at the man inspecting his Super-8 camera. "Why aren't you filming this?"

"It stopped working when the lights went crazy. I hope whatever caused it didn't damage the film. I'll have to get it processed." The man left the room.

"Damn. John, I hope you're taking notes. It might be the only record we'll have of this. Her sclera are showing now, the black matter receding to the capillaries... Irises yellow with streaks of black and green... More green..."

The Nanite swarm thinned by two-thirds of its mass dropping 'dead' to the floor. The remainder returned to hover around the crown of Queen Lepantra's head, invisible to the human eye. Satisfied that the crisis was over, Blanc Aave withdrew most of her self from the room, leaving a branch of her presence behind.

"I'm getting readings now!" said the man at the console. "She's down to 110...90 BPM... blood pressure... 180/90..."

"I think we can safely say the crisis is over, eh, Miss Wamba? Can you sit up?"

Drawing deep breaths, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, the invisible shadow of Nanites landing on her back. She took the water from Kruger and drank.

—My Queen... Remember, this is how you can control the anomaly. I am here if you need me. At appropriate time we must meet, we have much to discuss and learn.

"Thank you, doctor," she said, returning the empty glass. —Thank you, Blanc Aave.

"I think we should let you get some rest, Miss Wamba—it's," Kruger looked at his watch, "after two in the morning, and you're worn out. In the meantime, my team and I have a lot of data to go through. Are you up to walking?" he added, removing the sensors from her.

She slid her feet to the floor and straightened herself steady. "Aye."

"Excellent. Dr. Bryant will take you to a room where you can rest in privacy, you'll just be wearing a cap with electrodes for the EEG. We'll wake you in a few hours, okay?"

Blanc Aave trailed the doctor and her Queen as she maintained her presence in the gamma laboratory.

Kruger turned to Werner to look at the notes. "Add the timestamp for that last reading—three minutes ago. Those seizures... I wonder if we missed something in her cerebral scan... any pathology... We'll have to take a closer look at those brain scans." His face furrowed in concern.

"Maybe the gamma rays triggered something in her brain," Werner said. "And we don't know what happened to the tracer fluid."

"Oh! Please get another blood sample from her before she falls asleep. We have to determine what happened here."

Werner took off, and Kruger jotted some notes on the clipboard as the telephone next to the console rang.

The assistant answered. After listening a while, his brows furrowed. "Could you repeat that?" Then he covered the mouthpiece. "Doctor Kruger. There's word from S-4 that they have a civilian in custody who's asking for you by name."

"Impossible."

"Well, that's what they're saying."

"Who?"

"Apparently he came with our subject."

— ∞ —

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