Dream Drive Ch. 06

Rachel remembered the informant - the flat-faced dickweed with too many muscles. She would have assumed that he was a steroid-infused musclehead, but there weren't any gymnasiums on the prairie. She wondered how he worked out.

Maybe she was making a false assumption. You had to be careful when you were a programmer. Bad initial assumptions corrupted the thinking, changed your paradigm, made you do things the hard way when you could have copy and pasted that block of code one more time.

So maybe there were in fact gyms on the prairie. But where? And then she knew - underground. Mole people maintained them, an entire race of them, hidden beneath the loamy soil. They were in league with the Indians.

"It's a trap!" Rachel shouted. "We have to go back!"

Commander Tell'ad glanced over from his horse. He was now her official babysitter, a job that he seemed to find somewhat annoying. His old, weary face was made wearier by her outburst. His voice was correspondingly flat. "What's a trap, Lady Ransfeld?"

"The mole people."

"...the what?"

"The mole people! Giant, humanoid moles. They run the underground gyms. They're in an alliance with the Indians! This is basic stuff, Tell'ad."

Tell'ad's face went through a few expressions as he sorted through her statements. "Why do you keep calling the plains people Indians?"

"Because they pretty much are. A farcical fantasy of freakish flight...um, I can't think of another f-word." Rachel snorted to herself. "F-word, heh. Anyway, I bet they don't even have peace pipes. What happened to Emil Mohammed's imagination? He had to go for the real world cultural expy?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"If you don't want to know the answer to a question, don't fucking ask," Rachel said. She petted Juniper's mane. "God, I hate stupid people. Do you hate stupid Commander Tell'ad, horsey? I bet you do. Yes, you do. My lovely little juniper bush hates all the same things I do, doesn't he?"

Juniper snorted and shook its head slightly. It was a smart animal - probably smarter than Tell'ad. She rubbed behind his ears again.

"You're always so combative," Tell'ad said.

"So?"

"Have I done something offensive?"

"Nope."

Tell'ad gave her an exasperated look.

"I just like to screw with people," Rachel said. "Throw them off. Out of the comfort zone, over a cliff and into a lake of fire. It's fun to see how people dance when they're burning alive in the lava of...awkwardness. Something like that."

"I see. You're one of those people, then."

Rachel turned on her horse until she was fully facing Tell'ad. "What the fuck does that mean? Who are those people?"

Tell'ad raised an eyebrow. "I can't say."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Tell meee," Rachel said. "Come on."

"No."

"Tellme tellme tellme tellme. Tell me! Tell me? Please tell me, pretty please with sugar lemon gumdrops on top? Sugar lemon is the best kind of gumdrop, in case you didn't know."

"What's a gumdrop?" Tell'ad asked.

"Candy."

"Ah."

"Tell me."

Tell'ad sighed, smiled. "You can't take much of your own medicine. I just meant that you're the sort that enjoys pushing other people's buttons. Like you said."

"Well, that was stupid."

"And there you are," Tell'ad said. "What are you going to do, now that you know?"

"Dunno. My life's work is now complete." Rachel tilted her head toward him and lowered her voice. "Listen," she said, "we need to talk. Seriously."

Tell'ad frowned. He glanced away; his personal guard was riding a short distance back, but otherwise, they were alone behind the stretched out line of soldiers. He looked back. "What about?"

"The mole people are coming," Rachel said. "Lord Hale has no idea. We'll be caught totally by -"

"The absurdities are starting to grate on me, Lady Ransfeld."

"Holy shitting oysters, just call me Rachel already."

"You never gave me permission to use your first name before," Tell'ad said. "I don't know why you'd be frustrated."

"Take a hint and just not be so - " Rachel sat up straight in her saddle and poised her back. "Stiff and formal and all that."

"Alright." Tell'ad mimicked into Rachel's permanent computer-typing slump. "Better?"

Rachel snorted, and then laughed. "I think that's the first joke you've made."

"I was joking when I wouldn't tell you what I meant, earlier."

"Clarification. The first joke you've made that was funny."

Tell'ad sighed, and the conversation sort of ended there, for the moment.

Rachel's thoughts flickered to that asshole informant, and then to the mole people, and then to rattok, because they basically were mole people when you really thought about it - but they didn't dig. Surely digging was a prerequisite to be considered a mole person. Or maybe they did dig, and she just hadn't seen it because at the time they had been more concerned with sucking her bone marrow out than hollowing new tunnels.

Inevitably, thinking of rattok made her think of Jackson. Jackson. She put her fingers on her temples and rubbed in tight circles.

He might be with the Indians. He'd been dressed like one. He had a spear. All he needed to do was dance around a fire. Wait - did Indians do that, or was that more like African tribes? Eh, maybe both.

She had cut out on him. Did he hate her? He had to hate her. He came back for her, and then she took the treasure and gave him the finger. He hated her.

Rachel's fear turned back on Lord Hale and twisted into loathing. It was all his damn fault. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to choke him out, then bring him back to life just so she could strangle him a second time.

"Something's on your mind," Tell'ad said.

"Yeah," Rachel said. She took a breath. "Do you think mole people have to be able to dig to be called mole people?"

"This again?"

"It was on my mind. You started the conversation. Now we're back to stupid people that start talking without wanting to know where the talking goes."

Tell'ad made a noise in his mouth, sighed.

"Hey, I got a question."

"What?"

"Don't soldiers usually march in a column?" Rachel asked. "Why are we all spread out across the prairie like this? That kinda makes us a lot more visible."

"Normally, you'd be correct," Tell'ad said. "But if I arranged the troops that way, in a single line, we'd kick up much more dust, because all those feet in the same place would destroy the grass. It would rise higher into the sky, and that would make us much more visible over large distances."

"Yeah, but what if someone comes up to us?" Rachel asked.

"My scouts will prevent that."

"What if they don't?"

"Then it doesn't matter if I'm marching lengthwise or longwise," Tell'ad said. "Ultimately, there's nowhere to hide on the plains. The best thing to do is to force any passerby to come as close as possible before spotting the main body of the army. We do that by reducing dust."

"...thanks for explaining," Rachel said. "That makes a lot of sense."

"It's what I do," Tell'ad said. "I enjoy discussing the theory."

"Theory?"

"Of war."

"Oh," Rachel said. "I've played a ton of strategy games, but I don't think it's really the same thing."

"Strategy games?"

"Sort of like war simulation games."

"I would never have imagined you to have such an interest," Tell'ad said. "If you'd like, I keep a few books on the subject with me."

"That would be really fucking awesome," Rachel said, "because I'm bored out of my fucking skull. At least when Hale isn't pushing it into the dirt with both hands."

"Lord Hale can be...direct," Tell'ad said.

Rachel considered asking him exactly how many times he'd sucked Lord Hale's cock, but that might make him a little frisky, so she turned the conversation back to what he liked to talk about. "Hey, what about using magic to hide ourselves? That could do the trick."

"In a shorter timeframe, yes," Tell'ad said. "But all day, out in the open, where we'd have to be concealed from all angles? The mages would burn out. Better to keep them ready for offensive or defensive actions."

"You've really thought this through."

"Someone has to," Tell'ad said.

"Hale wouldn't explain himself," Rachel said. "He'd just look at me. And then he'd walk away."

"He has high expectations."

"Sometimes he hurts me for no reason," Rachel said. "Or he makes up some bullshit, like I wasn't standing correctly or he thought I wasn't paying attention. You think that's because he had high expectations? It's because the fucking bastard enjoys it."

Tell'ad didn't meet her gaze. They rode quietly for a time. Eventually, he looked at her. "You mentioned you had a grandfather."

"Yeah, you remind me of him."

"Any other family?"

"Twin brother," Rachel said. "He's older by twelve minutes. And my dad."

"Mother?"

"Divorced. I don't see her. They split when I was like, two or three. I dunno."

"...divorce?"

Rachel heaved a mighty sigh. Explaining Earth stuff to these people wasn't the most boring thing ever, but it was close. "It's when two people get their marriage called off because they start to hate each other's faces when they wake up in the morning."

"Marriage isn't something that can be called off, Rachel."

"It is back in my..." Rachel hesitated. "Back in, um, my home."

"You don't have to worry about accidental details," Tell'ad said. "Lord Hale asked that I not discuss your homeland with you."

Rachel made face. "Hold the phone just a second there. Hasn't this line of conversation all been about my homeland?"

Tell'ad smiled. "I asked about your family, not about what trees grow where."

"Clever," Rachel said. "You've been upgraded to two neurons. Same category as Jackson, actually. You should be proud."

"Who's he?"

"Some guy I know from my homeland," Rachel said. "So what about you? You got a hot babe waiting back home?"

"No."

"...what, that's it?"

"I don't have any family."

"Well that's fucking depressing. Everyone has some family. You never had any at all, ever?"

Tell'ad didn't respond. He looked out over the marching army. Rachel shrugged and started to turn her frontal lobe back to the various half-cocked escape plans she'd come up with.

"I had a sister," Tell'ad said. "A younger sister."

"Lo and behold," Rachel said, "he does have a family! Then you did indeed not spring forth from the ground spontaneously! Gods be praised that you have once more reclaimed your humanity!"

Tell'ad stared at her.

Rachel shrugged. "I didn't think it was funny, really, it just sort of spilled out of my mouth like that."

"You are a free spirit," Tell'ad said.

"So..." Rachel waited for a moment. "You had a sister. Did she pass away?"

"She did."

"When was that?"

"A long time ago."

Rachel decided to prod him one more time. "...anyone else?"

Tell'ad seemed to consider answering for a moment, then sighed. "She was the only member of my family I much cared about. I had three older brothers, and my mother and father."

"Are you from near where Lord Hale lives?"

"No," Tell'ad said. "Another country. It has since been absorbed into the empire."

"What did you do? Were you a farmer?"

"I was a knight."

"Was a knight?" Rachel asked. "I thought that was kinda permanent."

"Not exactly."

"Why not?" Rachel asked. "Did the knight watch come around and take your damsel-saving license?" She grinned. "Get it? Knight watch?"

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," Tell'ad said, "but I serve as Lord Hale's commander, now."

"So how are you not still a knight?"

"My country doesn't exist anymore, Rachel," Tell'ad said. "Noble titles dispensed thereof are just as vacuous as the old king's throne."

"Once a knight, always a knight."

"There is no law written that proclaims such a thing."

"They're called unwritten rules, Telly," Rachel said. "I make them, the rest of the world gets on their knees and begs that I don't enforce 'em. This one is enforced. You're a knight, I said so, end of story, sentences end with a period. Period."

"You seem rather insistent on the matter."

"You're better if you're a knight," Rachel said. "What the hell kind of position is commander? That's just, like, chief stabby guy. A knight has duty! Honor! Valor! All that jazz. Way cooler. Serious upgrade, and upgrades release major packets of endorphins inside my brain. You know what I mean?"

"...I'm catching the gist of it," Tell'ad said.

"I'm glad you see things my way," Rachel said. "More people should do that."

"I didn't say you were right."

"By the power vested in me as Lady Ransfeld," Rachel said, "I dub thee Sir Teletubby. Hey, you ever smoke weed?"

"I've smoked many times, but I sincerely doubt I've burned the substance to which you're referencing."

"You smoke some good quality synth stuff and then watch the Teletubbies," Rachel said. "It's this freaky millennial-era psychedelic magic show with multicolored gremlins. Shit's for real. I can't do it anymore, though. Charles has been really serious about security lately." Rachel groaned. "Shit, he's going to be so freaked out when I finally get home."

"Lady Ransfeld, you're starting to branch into the totally incomprehensible."

"What's so incomprehensible?" Lord Hale's voice asked. Both Rachel and Tell'ad stiffened. Hale trotted his horse up between them, then slowed, matching the pace of their mounts. His black hair was perfectly arranged; his neck had the few red marks of a recent shave. He looked from one side to the other. "Did I interrupt?"

"Not at all."

"You totally did."

Rachel and Tell'ad spoke at the same time. They glanced at each other, then looked away.

Rachel whistled off-key, very loudly. She was fully expecting serious discomfort from her wooden collar any second now.

Hale, for once, decided to ignore the situation. "Anything I need to be made aware of?" he asked.

"No, my lord," Tell'ad said. "I had a report about twenty minutes ago. We're falling behind the natives at a steady rate."

"Good. Keep the easy pace; we'll arrive after they settle in at their mountain. Slow, but inevitable. I expect the height advantage will give them a significantly better view."

"Indeed," Tell'ad said. "We'll want to make the final approach after nightfall. An attack at dawn, it seems."

Hale nodded, and squinted. "From this direction, the sun will be almost at our backs. Things are aligning quite nicely." He glanced at Rachel. "Are you enjoying Juniper?"

Rachel nodded exactly one time. He'd fucked her up for nodding too much the other night. "Yes, Lord Hale. Thank you again for the gift."

"Of course," Hale said. His fingers touched her Rachel's hair.

Rachel's brain exploded. Hair. Touching. Fingers. Dirt. Ugly. On my hair. Get it away, get it away, get it AWAY.

It took every fiber of her being plus one to not react as he slid a finger down a long golden curl. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. I'm not here. I'm back at the hospital, in my room. It's not Hale's hands. It's Jackson -

No, bad thoughts. Stay away from Jackson. I don't wish he would come and save me again. I can save myself.

When is this fucking massive cock sucker going to STOP TOUCHING MY HAIR.

Rachel did not realize she had said the words out loud until she noticed the quiet. She opened her eyes and saw Hale and Tell'ad looking at her. She started to shake. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I tried. I was trying. Please don't." Her hands reached toward her collar, as if trying to fend away incoming pain - and then she remembered it would hurt if her hands got to close to it, and she stopped.

She fumbled for Juniper's reigns. The horse sensed her discomfort; it shifted under her, taking an odd step in its trot. Her whole body felt tense. It was bracing itself. Learning to expect it.

"It's fine," Hale said, withdrawing his hand. "We'll just extend tonight's lessons a bit longer."

Rachel felt as though cotton balls had been stuffed down her throat. She nodded, once. "Yes, Lord Hale."

"Don't worry, Lady Ransfeld," Hale said. "Rachel. We'll take this flaw of yours and squeeze it out of your psyche. I've had plenty of successes before. Isn't that right, Commander?"

"Yes, Lord Hale," Tell'ad said. "Any number of them."

Hale nodded to himself. "I shall return in time." He pulled his horse's reigns and turned it back through the guards behind them. He trotted down along the line of soldiers, making for one of the robed mages.

Rachel shivered, rubbed her eyes, and sniffed. Tell'ad said nothing more.

****

Jackson dumped his duffle bag on the ground. It was somewhat of a challenge to wear it over his shoulder and lay down with the Dream Drive over his head; he wasn't even sure if that would count. But it had come right along with him.

His current hypothesis was that anything which contributed to his Carry Weight would move with him when he shifted back and forward between Isis and Earth. The rule had held true so far; he'd have to test it later. He unzipped the bright blue canvas and started ruffling through the mess of junk.

"Jackson," Vuntha said, "what under the sun is all this?"

Jackson glanced up at his friend. In the dim of late evening, he really did resemble Hanta. Short, stocky. Not that anything else stood out much; almost all the people under the mountain had the same tanned skin and various shades of brown hair.

"This," Jackson said, raising a solar panel with several electrical sockets, "is some Earth magic."

"What does it do?"

Jackson got to his foldout. He strapped the wristband to his arm, and then drew a screen out as if drawing a scroll straight. When he released it, the flexible screen stayed where it was, stiff and flat, protruding from his left arm. He turned it on. The pale glow of the monitor shone on his face.

The isolation of the prairie caused the computer to freak out. Dozens of windows flashed up, layering over themselves one after another alongside panicked alarm bleeping. Cannot connect to home network. Cannot connect to public network. Cannot validate personal certificate. Cannot detect RSS feeds. Buffering. This website cannot be displayed. Check your internet connection.

Vuntha's tone was now less curious, and more reverent. "Jackson. What is that?"

"Hang on." Jackson dismissed the warnings and alert boxes until it was back on the desktop. He drew the screen out an extra click, then released. It recoiled into the wristband like measuring tape. He rolled it open again, then set it to detect incoming hardware signals. It seemed like everything was working right - no damage from the trip over.

"It's called a foldout," Jackson said. "Flexible computing."

"What's computing?"

"It's a machine. It can copy information and perform math extremely quickly."

Vuntha's eyebrows seemed unsure of whether to go up in wonder or down in a confused frown. He rubbed his chin. "...is that helpful?"

"Extremely." Jackson bent, extracted his custom spiderbot from the duffle bag, and set it on the ground. The device was roughly the size of a tarantula, though made of metal and wires rather than flesh. He'd attached a few strips of black fuzz on the limbs to give it a little camo. He flicked it on.

His foldout registered the connection immediately. Jackson brought up the control window. He had a view of the bot's frontal and rear cameras on his screen, as well as a few movement options. He made it run a few circles, then turned it in a somersault. It landed neatly on all six legs. "All systems go."

"Are you making that spider move?" Vuntha asked. "This is incredible!"

"Pet project on those slow afternoons."

"But..." Vuntha tore his eyes off the mechanical arachnid. "How will this help us?"

"Boonta and Katran are going to cheat," Jackson said. "They won't be expecting anything like this."