Cyberdrome Read online

  CYBERDROME

  A science fiction thriller

  by

  Joseph Rhea and David Rhea

  CYBERDROME

  Copyright © 2008 by Joseph Rhea and David Rhea.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this ebook, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission from the authors. They can be contacted by email at: [email protected] or [email protected]

  This ebook is a work of fiction. All names, characters, organizations, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Cyberdrome does not exist…yet!

  Cyberdrome was written by Joseph Rhea

  Imagery and world-building by David Rhea

  Kindle Edition

  ASIN: B0012Q6G5Y

  Also available in print from Amazon.com and its foreign counterparts

  Official Websites:

  www.Cyberdrome.org

  www.JosephRhea.com

  This story is about everyday heroes, not “chosen ones” or people “following their destiny,” but ordinary people who rise to the call when needed and somehow overcome their fears and accomplish heroic feats.

  The everyday heroes in our lives include our mother, Lylah DeFord, our father, Bill Rhea, who passed away in 2000, and our stepfather Roy Capen, who passed away in 2008. We dedicate this book to them.

  Contents

  Part 1: Earth

  Part 2: Metal

  Part 3: Fire

  Part 4: Water

  Image Gallery

  Acknowledgements

  About the Authors

  PART ONE

  EARTH

  ONE

  Maya ran up the sloping jungle floor as fast as her tired legs could carry her. The warm, humid air made her struggle to breathe and her heart threatened to explode, but she couldn’t stop—no telling how far back her pursuers were. Speed, and luck, were her only assets.

  When an arrow zipped past her right ear, thudding into a large Mahogany directly ahead, she knew her luck had just run out. She ducked behind the tree, then spotted a better hiding place and dove headfirst into a thick tangle of liana vines and ferns. She tried to roll but her foot caught on a vine, dropping her hard on her left shoulder and knocking the wind out of her.

  Spikes of pain shot through her arm almost making her cry out; instead, she rolled to the side and breathed a single word: “Hide.” Her skimpy animal-skin outfit began to stretch and flow like liquid, rapidly covering her from head to toe in a thin material.

  Peering through a series of eye slits in the fabric, she saw a large, half-naked man standing in the ferns looking down at her. Behind him were two others, a male and a female, both stretching their wooden bows tight and taking aim.

  Maya froze, not even daring to breathe. Her clothing’s ability to mimic the color and texture of whatever was behind her—much like the skin of an octopus—could save her, but the slightest movement at this range would give her away.

  After a few tense seconds, the woman—girl actually, since she looked much younger than Maya—stepped through the vines and surveyed the clearing. A moment later, she turned and whispered something to the others. Maya heard the translation in her ear: “You missed her! Get moving!”

  The men disappeared into the trees and after one more glance around the area, the girl bolted after them. You people are fast, Maya thought. No wonder you caught up to me so quickly.

  “Rivero!”

  Maya gasped when she heard the voice in her ear, but then realized that it was just Dobson calling on her earphone. She tried to sit up but her arm and shoulder pain forced her to lie flat on her back. Staring up at the dense rainforest canopy she whispered, “I’m here.”

  “What the hell did you do down there?” came the response she expected. “My scanner shows multiple locals in your area and they’re all coming up the hill right toward us. Didn’t you say this was going to be a simple recon op?”

  “Just shut up and get me out of here,” she replied. She didn’t need a grunt like Dobson chewing her out over the mess she had just created. Her boss would be doing enough of that later.

  Dobson was right though. This should’ve been a simple scouting mission. Since the villagers in this valley were genetically identical to the aboriginal people of South America, Maya had assumed being born in Argentina to a mother of native blood, her black hair and light brown skin would help her blend in with the locals. So much for blending!

  “Did you at least get the intel you wanted?” Dobson asked.

  “I’m finished here,” she said. True, but for the wrong reasons.

  “Good thing. In addition to the hundred or so locals streaming right towards us, you’ve got a secure call coming in from the Yakama.”

  Maya cautiously sat up. “From whom?”

  “Your boss.”

  Oh great, she thought. Someone’s already told him. After checking her own scanner to make sure the villagers really were heading away from her, she took a deep breath and then pulled a thumb-sized image transmitter from her pocket and placed it on the ground in front of her. Mathew Grey’s face appeared in the space above it a moment later, his silver tousled hair and goatee looking almost pure white in the hologram.

  “Where are you, Maya?” he asked, his dark eyes scanning left and right.

  “Rainforest on the southern continent of—” she started to say, but then realized what he meant. “Sorry—just a second.” She reset her Omnisuit back to its default configuration of a dark gray bodysuit—no need for the villager disguise now. Besides, a face-to-face with her boss required something a bit less revealing than animal skins. When her Omnisuit completed its transformation she asked, “So, what’s up, Dr. Grey? I thought you were on the Snohomish this week.”

  “I transferred over a few minutes ago,” he said, looking a little impatient. “I’m running a diagnostics program on all Survey Vessels and the Yakama’s the last one.”

  “You’re personally running diagnostics on all one hundred Survey Vessels—in addition to your own research? Are you just trying to make the rest of us look lazy?”

  “I need you to handle an investors’ tour for me this morning,” he said flatly.

  “This morning?” she asked looking up at the dark jungle canopy. “What time is it back there? What day is it?”

  “If you leave right now you will get back just in time.”

  “Now? I just got here and—”

  “I need you to do this, Maya,” he interrupted, “and I need you to leave right now.” His face suddenly looked older and darker as his virtual head leaned toward her and whispered; “You were almost my daughter-in-law once, and I still care what happens to you.”

  “What does that have to do with—?”

  “Just go,” he said, and then his image abruptly vanished.

  Well, that was weird. In the six months she had worked for Mathew Grey, not once had he brought up her past engagement to his son. Even now—three years later—she didn’t want to think about Alek, let alone discuss their breakup. She shook it off, then grabbed the transmitter, and switched back to the non-secure channel on her earphone. “So, are you guys ready to get out of here?”

  “The pod’s back on the Rover and a Dragon’s on the way to pick us up,” Dobson replied. “Should be here any minute. Where do you want to meet us?”

  “Since all of the villagers seem to be between us, I’ll just double back down the hill. There’s a small clearing north of the village—you can pick me up there.”

  “Got it. We’ll be there in ten.”

  Her shoulder still hurt like hell and her legs felt like they were made of rubber.
“Give me thirty,” she groaned then shut off the connection before Dobson could ask why.

  A half hour later, Maya stood at the edge of the clearing. When she felt a blast of hot air from above, she looked up to see the Dragon descending vertically through the narrow opening in the tree canopy. When it touched down in the center of the clearing and dropped its large rear door, she ran toward it.

  The all-terrain Rover with its huge wheels and attached Research Pod took up all of the Dragon’s interior cargo space. As she ran up the ramp, the rear hatch of the pod opened for her and she climbed in. Dobson stood there, leaning against the inner wall, smiling.

  “Glad I’m not you,” he said.

  “Shut up,” she said. She emptied her pockets into a bin and then headed through the pod’s forward hatch. This one took her into the Rover’s large cockpit where she settled into one of the back row seats. A moment later, she felt the Dragon lift off the ground.

  As they slowly gained elevation, she glanced over to a side window showing an outside view of the aircraft. She saw someone standing at the edge of the clearing, staring in her direction. When she increased the magnification, she saw that it was a young girl—one of the villagers—and her eyes were wide with fear. Maya tapped the shoulder of the Rover’s driver, a man named Wilson. “Is the Blacklight working?” she asked.

  Wilson checked his dashboard before answering. “Perfectly,” he said. “Both ours and the Dragon’s. Is there a problem?”

  She pointed to her window display at the child clinging to a tree, looking straight at them. “She looks terrified.”

  “Probably just the exhaust from the thrusters. The Blacklight generator only affects optic nerves. It can keep her from seeing us, but it can’t do anything about the wind we’re creating.” He turned back to his dashboard and muttered, “Besides, she’s not real anyway.”

  As the aircraft swiftly gained altitude, leaving both the child and the planet behind, Maya leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and whispered under her breath, “Neither are you, pal. Neither are you.”

  o o o

  Alek took a sip from his fifth cup of black coffee, and stared out the window of the “All Day” coffee shop. On cold, rainy mornings like this, it felt comforting to see the sun shining over the Seattle skyline, even if it was just a synthetic projection. “Reality’s over-rated,” was the slogan du jour, and in the past few years, he had come to believe it himself.

  He glanced up at the TV in the far corner of the room, which showed a holographic map of the quarantined section of Utah. It would otherwise be old news, but since today was the one-year anniversary of the worst man-made plague in U.S. history, nearly every network had devoted 24-hour coverage to it.

  When he looked back down, he saw an attractive woman with purple-tinted glasses and a long blonde ponytail standing right in front of his table. She wore a metallic blue miniskirt and a thin, almost transparent tank top with nothing on underneath.

  “Are you Alek?”

  “Do I know you?” he asked, trying not to stare at her breasts. Her perfume threatened to overpower his nose—vanilla mixed with something he couldn’t identify.

  “I’m Stacy,” the woman said. “Cheryl’s running late this morning and asked me to fill in for her. She gave me a description of all of her regular customers.”

  He frowned. “So, how’d she describe me?” He could guess, of course. The geek who always sits alone at the back corner table drinking gallons of the world’s most expensive coffee and staring at his empty table for no apparent reason.

  “She said you were late twenties, muscular upper body, blue eyes, short brown hair, and full, luscious lips.”

  “She said ‘luscious?’”

  Stacy leaned in close. “I added that part,” she whispered, her hot, moist breath in his ear sending a chill down his spine. She stood back up and added, “So, can I get you off?”

  His mouth dropped. “Can you what?”

  “Top you off,” she repeated straight-faced. “You know, refill your coffee? You’re drinking the French roast Kona Peaberry, right?”

  “Right,” he said, feeling his face turning six shades of red.

  “You have incredibly good taste,” she added with a wink, then turned and headed back across the room, hips swaying seductively. Alek took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. He wasn’t the kind of guy that beautiful women hit on any more—not since the accident.

  He took another sip of coffee and looked back down at the small, robotic creature standing in the middle of his table. Instead of drilling into the surface, as it should, the holographic image of his newest “Cyberphage” program stood there motionless.

  He put down his cup and signaled a status query on his wrist computer. A moment later, his contacts displayed a message above his table. “Reason for activity suspension: Unidentified program scanning this sector.”

  He quickly sent an encoded signal to recall his program. This was an illegal test of his Cyberphage anyway, and getting caught was not an option. He made a decent living as a Software Plumber, locating and repairing data leaks in big corporate databases—problems that the big A.I. systems either couldn’t fix or maybe even created. It was a skill few humans possessed, and he didn’t want to screw things up by having one of his best designs used for something illegal. It wasn’t as if he could go back to playing ball.

  He was about to reach for his coffee cup when another message appeared. “Unable to comply. Program recall is being blocked.”

  What the hell? He ordered his contacts to block out the coffee shop and display the Phage’s sensor feed in full mode. The room suddenly went black and he saw the intruder as a 3D construct. It looked like a simple Beta-class program less than a Gigabyte in size—probably some sort of new sentry patrol which his program could handle all by itself. Then again, it could be something else. He took a gamble and transmitted a wave towards the intruder.

  “Is that you, Doyen?” a voice spoke into his ear bud.

  “Doyen” was the title given to him by his fellow programmers during the past year. It signified the most knowledgeable, or eldest member of a group. Considering that before the accident three years ago, he had never written even a single byte of computer code, the title was a little absurd. However, since nobody knew his real name or anything about him, he saw no problem using the false reputation to get the best jobs.

  Raising his wrist computer to his mouth, he whispered, “This is Doyen. Who’s this?”

  “Your fellow Plumber, Klaxon,” the voice replied. “Long time, no talk, good sir. You’ve been luxuriating in the Big Blue Room for too long.”

  Klaxon was a topnotch Plumber he had met online about six months ago. A bit of a flake and a showoff, but he knew how to write code.

  “Klaxon. What brings you online, good man?” he replied, mimicking Klaxon’s trademark, 20th century surfer/hacker lingo. “Seeking winnitude over yours truly?”

  “Exactamundo, Doyen. Heard from the Big Grape that you were going after the WDB today. Glad to see you’re still in the programmification game, my man. Though you are a poet among Plumbers, I didn’t think you could pull this one off. Impressed, we are.”

  What the hell are you doing here? Alek plotted the trajectory of Klaxon’s program and saw that it was now on a direct course to his Cyberphage.

  “You know the rules, Klaxon. Go be impressed somewhere else,” he warned, all humor gone from his voice. “This isn’t a spectator sport.”

  Klaxon’s program suddenly doubled its speed, confirming Alek’s suspicion that his former ally wasn’t there to watch. “Don’t touch it, Klax. My baby’s armor-plated. She’ll knock you into the next dimension.”

  “You’ve got the only working Cyberphage in existence, Doyen. I have a client who has already paid me serious mojo for your baby, and he needs it right now. Just consider this a compliment, man. You’ve created a work of true elegance. Theft is the sincerest form of flattery, and all that.”

  “Klaxo
n, my program’s far beyond elegance, it is perfection, and it will defend itself. Violently!”

  Klaxon didn’t respond. Alek tried to relax, reminding himself that his Cyberphage could easily handle whatever Klaxon’s little program threw at it. He switched his contacts back to the remote camera view so that he could watch Klaxon get slaughtered up close.

  Unfortunately, the remote view was offline. He tried to reset the connection several times but nothing worked. A moment later, the image came back up, but there was nothing to see—the Cyberphage had vanished.

  “You son of a bitch!” he yelled. He was about to log off when he noticed a small communications node nearby. After scanning it for viruses and Trojans, he opened it and found a six-word message from Klaxon. “Nice to finally meet you, Alek.”

  Wait a minute, he thought. When did Klaxon meet me? How the hell does he know my real name?

  He blinked rapidly, switching his contact lenses back to transparent mode, and looked around the room. There she was—the new waitress—standing by the exit and staring right at him. She winked once, then turned and walked out the door.

  “Stop her,” he yelled as he stood to run after her. He got halfway up, then fell forward, tumbling over his table and hitting the wood floor hard.

  A woman appeared over him, looking alarmed. “Are you hurt, Alek? Let me help you back into your wheelchair.”

  “Damn it,” he yelled. Then he remembered where he was and looked up at the waitress. “I’m sorry Cheryl, but I can do it myself.”

  As she picked up his coffee cup and began cleaning up the mess, he pressed the help button on his wrist computer. His powerchair partly deflated the big smart-rubber ball it used for locomotion and extended several balancing booms while it lowered itself down to the floor. He pulled himself in and with a whirl of gyroscopes; the chair reinflated the ball and righted itself.