NightSide

+++++

Lakwan passed through the red light at East 92nd street doing well over 80 miles per hour, and he drifted to the right lane as he approached West Century... He shot across traffic and made a left on Century, but he saw there were now three cop cars behind them now, and they were getting closer. Central Avenue ahead now, the power station on the left, Will Rogers Park on the right... Maybe he could duck into the park, hide in the parking lot somehow, but he saw a cop car was waiting there already. He sped past, thinking he had nowhere to go now...

+++++

Douglas was peering into the smog when...

"Okay, got 'em. Dead ahead, less than a mile..."

Richardson looked at her altitude readout: 1600 AGL, rate of descent 300FPM. "I don't like this," she said to herself...

+++++

BigTop was leaning out the window again, and he fired at the closest cop car; PeeWee was leaning out the window in back, shooting at the helicopters...

+++++

Will Butner was piloting the KLAX News chopper, and he had the JetRanger crabbed to the right so the camera operator could get an unobstructed angle on the unfolding chase below when bullets slammed into his right leg and hand, and then into the cockpit glass. Instinct kicked in, he pulled up on the collective and added power.

He didn't see the looming jetliner overhead...or the right engine nacelle that swallowed the helicopter milliseconds later...

+++++

"What the..." Richardson heard Douglas say, then lights were going off all over the panel. It felt like something had reached up from below and grabbed the right wing...the aircraft was banking right so she turned the wheel, countered the roll while she corrected their course with left rudder...

"What happened," she said calmly.

"Helicopter, I think," Douglas said. "It got the wing." She was flipping breakers, switching electrical buses, deploying the RAT. "LA Approach, Two-two heavy, one of those helicopter got our right wing, unknown structural damage, hydraulics failing."

"Two-two heavy, state your intentions."

"We've lost two," Richardson said, but the roll to the right was accelerating. "Help me on the rudder."

"On it."

Richardson was looking ahead, out the windshield, and she saw grass ahead, maybe a playing field? If she could just get the wing up...

"See the field?" Douglas said.

"Yup, she's not responding..."

"You're losing it," Douglas added.

"Kids all over that field. No way are we going down there."

"Right a little, right rudder, vacant field..."

"Got it," Richardson said...

"Well, damn," she heard Douglas say, but she was following the caped lady...into the lamplight at the top of the stairway...

+++++

Ralph and Dana were home watching TV when the news broke, when images of the disaster flashed around the world. Laura's sister called a half hour later, devastated, barely able to breathe. She asked them to fly out as soon as they could, and he called her back a half hour later, told her they would get in at noon the next day.

When the first investigators at the scene of the crash interviewed people from the playground, they all said much the same thing. The 777 was almost inverted as it passed just overhead, yet it appeared to change course at the last moment. The right wingtip just missed the soccer field before it ripped through traffic on Century, before the massive airliner cartwheeled into the power substation on Central.

The data recorders were located within a few hours, but fires burned through the night. The manhunt for the three bank-robbers was still underway as night fell, breathless news crews reported, but their stolen car had been found, abandoned...behind a church.

+++++

Deputy Sumner Bacon sat looking at his pancakes, completely bored and wishing he was back in his apartment working on his screenplay. Instead, he was sitting in a Denny's at two in the morning, listening to an academy trainee drone on and on about all he'd learned about the penal code the past two weeks. He'd been on the streets for twenty three years, however, and trainee enthusiasm had gotten tiresome and stale – fifteen years ago. Not it was all he could do not to tell the kid to shut the fuck up.

The biggest thing yesterday had been the crash up in South Central, near LAX, and even though that was mildly more interesting than the inner workings of the California penal code, he'd not even wanted to talk about that. He'd been to several such crashes in LA over the years, and the smell of kerosene-soaked roasting flesh still got to him, now probably more than ever before. As much as the kid wanted to talk about the crash and all the carnage he'd seen on TV, he'd just begged off the topic, asked to talk about something, anything else.

He'd finished a few bites of the rancid, grease-soaked pancakes then pushed the plate aside. "You finished," he asked the ur-rookie.

"Sure, ready when you are."

He nodded, took the bill and went up to the counter where the night manager waited, smiling. Bacon handed the girl the bill and she tore it up, tossed it in the trash. "Thanks for coming in tonight, Sum."

"You bet, darlin'."

"Looks like you've had a rough one," she said.

"Oh, not too bad so far, but the night is young..."

She smiled. "I'm off at eight if you want to drop by."

He smiled, nodded his head. "Might just do that, Baba. Have to see how the night goes."

"Okay. Seeya later."

They walked out into the night, the docks and refineries down the hill in San Pedro casting an eerie glow over the harbor, and now fog was drifting in, a strange, deep gray fog...

"Did you call her Baba?" the ur-rookie asked. "What gives?"

"Baba O'Riley," Bacon said with a tired grin. "You know, 'it's only teenage wasteland'?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Not a goddamn thing, Rook."

"Oh. Okay."

He got behind the wheel, checked into service, then he drove to 110 and made for the southbound onramp. When the light turned green he turned and went to the shoulder of the onramp and turned off the engine, rolled down the window.

"What gives?" the trainee said.

"Listening for drunks."

"What?"

"Shut up and listen, Rook. Who knows, you might learn something."

He leaned back, shut his eyes, but a minute later he opened them, turned on the engine and waited...until a white Lexus coupe drove by, straddling the lane dividers, causing a whining rumble as the tires pounded against the raised 'bots-dots'. He watched the Lexus for a moment then slipped the car into gear and took off down the onramp. He hung back a moment, watched the Lexus as it swung from lane to lane, then, as it took the ramp onto the Vincent Thomas Bridge.

He decided against stopping the Lexus on the bridge so pulled in behind it, though still a hundred yards back, but then, as they approached the apex of the bridge the Lexus slowed, then stopped.

"Not good," he said, almost to himself. "Nope, not good at all..." He turned on the strobes as his unit rolled to a stop, and he called in to dispatch, checked out on a welfare concern atop the bridge, possible DUI. He knew back-up would start his way...

He was getting ready to get out of his Dodge when the Lexus' front door opened and a woman stepped out. She walked around to the front of her car and over to the anti-suicide fencing, then she started climbing the fence...

"What the fuck!" Bacon yelled, and he scrambled out of his squad car, sprinted past the woman's car. She must be stronger than hell, he thought as he jumped up onto the fence and began climbing after her.

She was already at the top, struggling to get a leg over the... "Fuck!" he yelled. "Lady, that's razor wire, stop where you are or you're gonna get shredded!"

Blood was raining down on his face moments later, just before he got to her, and he felt the rookie climbing up behind him. Moments later he was on her, and he had her leg in one hand, his other holding on tightly to the fence.

"Come on, lady, give me a break, would you?"

She was struggling, still trying to get over the wire and now she was really bleeding. He heard another car approaching, turned to see it was another patrol car coming to back him up, and he relaxed, knew paramedics and firemen would get here soon and help get her free of this wire...

But then she relaxed, started back down the fence, and he kept pace beside her...until she was back down on the roadway...

Maybe he expected her to fight, or to run, but instead she came to him, her eyes awash in tears – and she put her arms around him and held on tight as shock set in.

Two other officers were on him within moments and he held up his hand, told them to back off.

"My sister," she gasped, "my sister..."

"Your sister? What about your sister?"

"Pilot," she whispered, "she...captain of the jet, the crash..."

"Oh my God," he heard himself whispering. "It's okay now, you can let go. I've got you. Just let it go..."

And she did.

She was beyond help after that, lost in grief only a cop could understand. He could relate. Oh God, how he could relate...

She slipped down to the ground, her arms around his thighs, her face turned to rest on his groin, and then he felt infinite sorrow in her wailing words...

"Oh God, they're here!" she screamed. "Please forgive me. Take me, I'm ready, take me now!"

He knelt beside her, held her close, tried to get her to look at him, to get her to come back to the living, but when he looked at her face he almost recoiled from the horror he saw reflected in her eyes. Still he held her, still he looked into the abyss, until he saw a faint amber glow within her eyes...then...

...he felt the gray mist encircle them as they knelt in the cold, as he fell into the depths of her soul, until he too felt himself adrift. She fell deeper into his grasp, but he felt like he was falling, falling off a stairway, falling into darkness...

...he closed his eyes, afraid of the things he'd seen in her eyes, afraid of the truth he'd found in the amber, and in his fear he opened his eyes as vertigo clawed out from his gut, screaming for release...

...and then, an infinite warmth. The sound of surf breaking on a distant shore, a warm breeze carrying sweet scents of gardenia and hibiscus. He was afraid now, but he felt her arms around his, and he opened his eyes...

...he cried out at the sight, as the implications washed over him...

...for everywhere he looked, in every conceivable direction, they were surrounded by vast fields of stars...



III

San Francisco

December, 2028

He walked through Portsmouth Square, up staggered steps into the warm evening, feeling very anxious, indeed, really very excited. Better than he had felt in ages, as a matter of fact. The decision made, now all he wanted was to experience all the evening had to offer. He was tired of his loneliness, the suffocating sense of 'alone' that had defined his life for the past fifteen years. He'd wanted his life to change somehow, but he'd always found that to be an impossible dream. Reality, he'd learned, has a way of fucking with your dreams.

Mark Stuart was by any measure one of the most gifted computer scientists of his generation, and he'd started three companies in quick succession that had redefined how so-called autonomous, self driving cars navigated and operated in heavily congested, chaotic urban environments. His patents alone would have made him a billionaire many times over, but he put his ideas into action, and his actions drew investors. When his first company, PraXionGroup, released it's first hardware plug-in for Apple's second-generation car in 2023, the world changed. Their car could now drive in zero visibility on snow or icy surfaces as well as any driver could on a clear, dry street, and it's sensor array applied predictive analysis routines to monitor pedestrians on crowded city streets – and all the early, and disastrous, fatality incidents quickly became a thing of the past.

And that mattered to Mark Stuart because he'd been one of the earliest victims of the technology. He'd been run over by one of the first driverless vehicles on a test track, his pelvis crushed, his face and arms hideously disfigured. It had taken three years of painful reconstructive surgery to resurrect his ability to walk unaided, but plastic surgeons had simply been unable to salvage his appearance. As a result, he remained reclusive, worked out of sight from all but his closest friends and associates.

And as such he'd been alone, completely and utterly alone ever since. He saw the looks in their eyes...the revulsion, the urge to flee...

Then an old friend of his, a friend named Toby Tyler, a friend he'd made while in the hospital when recovering from his injuries, told him about a place he'd heard about recently, a new place over in China Town that had the most outrageously gorgeous women Toby'd ever seen in his life, and while it was apparently open to one and all, the women seemed to cater to men like Mark; indeed, they seemed to exist to take care of men like Mark.

"What kind of women, Toby?" he asked.

"You know, bro, the kind that take care of business."

"Oh, you mean..."

Stuart had laughed away the idea. At first, anyway. Then the thought of being with someone, anyone – even a hooker – took on a momentum of it's own. The idea, repulsive at first, became so attractive he could hardly think of anything else...so he'd called his friend, gotten the particulars, and now he found himself walking up Washington Street, looking for an address...

He came to an alley and looked down at the old brick pavement, then up at the festive lighting dangling from the trees and the backs of buildings that lined the passage. He saw neon lighting down the way, an open courtyard with a large group of people partying. He walked down the alley, looked up at little red jalapeño pepper lights splashed throughout the trees overhead, at neon reflections in the windows on either side of the passage, the pinks and purples creating an almost otherworldly sensation as he walked slowly towards a door at the end of the alley.

The door was a dark, matte teal color, and there was a weathered bronze X on the door at eye level, and in smaller letters just below – the words 'Marks the Spot'. He smiled at the irony as he reached for the door, but he jumped back when he looked at the door knob. The knob was a small, coiled up rattlesnake, of bronze as it turned out, but excruciatingly well detailed, and he hesitated again even as he reached for it.

The walls inside were the same deep, matte teal color, the heavy trim on the floors and ceiling a darker grey green. The black slate floors and the deep gray ceiling seemed unnecessarily elegant to him, the bronze framed Klimt's that lined the walls were a bit over the top, yet now his eyes were drawn to a single Chippendale chair at the far end of the narrow room, it's ornate wood stained a deep bronze, it's rich fabric a pattern of deep French blues and somber ochers.

And there was a glass window across from the chair, recessed in the wall and almost invisible, a mottled glass window much like he would have expected to find in a doctor's office. He walked to the window and looked around...he couldn't see a buzzer or any means of...

And the window slid open, quietly, slowly, revealing a touchscreen.

A woman's voice began speaking, soothingly, almost seductively...

"How may we help you this evening, Mark?"

"Excuse me?" He seemed taken aback, shocked that they knew who he was.

"I'm sorry for the informality, Mr Stuart. What can we do for you this evening?"

"I, uh, well..."

"Perhaps you wanted to visit with one of our associates tonight?"

"Yes. Perhaps."

"Could you tell me what sort of woman interests you?"

"Excuse me...I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"

"Okay. Shall we start with looks? Which one of these women interests you most?" The screen showed six faces, each impossibly attractive, each one taking his breath away. "It's a touchscreen, Mr Stuart. Just indicate your choice by..."

He touched the face of a women with deep reddish gold hair, and deep green eyes.

"Thank you, Mr Stuart..."

"Mark, please. Call me Mark."

"Certainly, Mark. Now, which of these images do you find most stimulating?" Six more images filled the screen, the red-headed woman dressed – or in various states of undress, he saw – in six different types of exotic lingerie. He chose one with the woman in bustier, corset and stockings in deep gray with emerald inserts, and deep maroon pumps. "Thank you, Mark. Now, can you tell me, in general terms, what you'd like to do with Eve tonight?"

"Is that her name? Eve?"

"Yes, Mark. As this is your first evening with us, she'll need to know a little about your expectations for the evening."

He looked around for a moment, unsure of himself, unsure how honest he should be...

"Mark?"

"Yes?"

"Are you lonely, Mark?"

He looked down at the slate, shrugged his shoulders. "I think so, yes."

"How long has it been, Mark? Since you were with a woman?"

"A long time. Fifteen, no, I guess maybe sixteen years."

"Perhaps you'd just like a relaxing evening? Dinner and some dancing? An evening with no pressure, no expectations?"

"Yes, that's it," he said. "That sounds perfect!"

"And just one more question, Mark?"

"Yes?"

"How long would you like to stay with Eve?"

"I don't know. How long would you recommend?"

"Perhaps you should stay with her all evening. What time would you like her to wake you in the morning?"

"I don't have any appointments tomorrow. Perhaps noon?"

"Certainly, Mark. If you'd take a seat, Eve will be with you in just a few minutes." The screen went dark and the window closed as quietly as it'd opened, and he sat, crossed his arms on his lap and closed his eyes.

He saw her in his mind's eye as he drifted along the far shores of sleep, carried along by the soft currents of his desire. Her alabaster skin, soft freckles over her nose, those hauntingly green eyes of hers lovingly fixed on his...

...and he felt her fingers running through his hair, her lips almost touching the side of his face, her breath in his ear as she whispered his name...

He opened his eyes, saw her standing there by the side of the chair, leaning by his side. Her deep maroon cape was hanging open, revealing her oh so perfect body underneath, and he leaned back in the chair and looked up into her eyes...

...and if her image had taken his breath away, the reality of this woman was simply overwhelming...

She looked into his eyes and smiled when she saw his reaction, then she leaned closer and kissed him on the forehead, the soft warmth of the simple gesture overwhelming him completely. He wanted to take her and hold her, and almost as if she anticipated him she stepped back, took his hand and helped him stand. Then the back wall simply slid open, he saw, revealing another ornate passageway beyond; now he followed her to a room down the hall and walked in behind her. The door closed on it's own, the lighting in the room brightened some, revealing what looked like a small living room in an English cottage. Beyond the windows he saw an impossibly verdant forest – hi-res monitors, he guessed, but the illusion fit the décor, and even the air was scented in fragrant undertones of piney forests, and something slightly erotic, too...

"Could I fix you a drink?" she asked. "Or perhaps I could get you something to eat?"

"Perhaps," he said as he hovered over the edge of her vast precipice. "I don't know."

"Are you uncertain, perhaps afraid?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice.

"Yes, both, I think."

She held out her hand again and led him to a bedroom off the small living room, the same countryside out the two large windows that framed the bed. She was looking in his eyes when she started unbuttoning his shirt, and all the time she held his eyes in hers. She bent and unbuckled his belt, helped him out of his shoes and socks, then she asked him to lay on the bed, on his stomach, she said. He did what she asked, but when he heard the cape slip from her shoulders he turned and looked at her.