Sleeper Protocol Read online

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  Whatever had happened to me, I’d woken up to a very different world—the world of my childhood dreams. I only hoped I wouldn’t find it brutally different.

  Chapter Six

  I landed in Perth after sunset, following an “in-flight delay for orbital debris mitigation,” whatever that meant. The bright side was that instead of circling out over the ocean or something, we flew three complete orbits around the Earth. Given what I remembered about my childhood and wanting to travel in space, I should have been thrilled. By my standards, or those from my time, I was an astronaut. The reality was that I dozed for most of the trip. The view of Earth from orbit met every expectation, but the tranquility of it lulled me to sleep after just a few minutes. Because of the late arrival, I caught the last maglev train to Esperance and stepped out of the terminus to a pitch-black night and torrential rain. The briny smell of the ocean floated on the strong breeze, and it made me smile. The lights of the modest town lay below me, down a slope of no more than a few hundred feet, and its warmth filled me. There were no buildings taller than a few stories and not much light compared to downtown Sydney, which was at once disconcerting and comforting. Lightning flashed out to sea and lit the rough, curving coastline for a split second. All of it was perfect. I wondered what it meant to feel so at peace in a place that I’d never seen in my life. I could be happy here. I walked in the rain without a jacket, and my coveralls were soaked through in a matter of minutes. Finding food and dry clothing would be high priorities eventually but not yet. The cool rain hammered my skin and washed the last bit of the Integration Center’s smell from my clothes.

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  No, Mally. I’m not uncomfortable, and the rain feels good on my skin. I don’t remember the last time I just walked in a rainstorm.

  There wasn’t a response for a moment. <>

  One on the coast?

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  Having a talking map in my head made getting lost a real challenge. I shuffled along, hunched over against the heavy summer rain. The warm, sweet-scented water soaked me, cleansing and brightening as it did. A man with an umbrella made of soft red light moved past me. Whatever shielded him blocked all of the rain in a two-meter circle around him. My mind wandered between my predicament and what it meant to be a sleeper. Mally didn’t answer. Either she couldn’t reply to my query, or she’d already learned to just let me think. I was instantly grateful and terribly lonely in the same breath.

  The sidewalk ended at Sunset Beach Road. Across the road, a stairwell led down to West Beach. The streets were mostly empty, but a few hovering cars slid silently through the night. Shuttered against the storm, Esperance was peaceful unlike the raging surf slamming into the beach twenty feet below. The wide beach was deserted, and every wave broke into the sand with a whump that rattled my chest. I leaned against the metal railing and watched the storm for a few moments. There is nothing quite like watching a stormy ocean crash ashore. Transfixed by the power and beauty of the grey ocean and flying, wild spray, I stood in the rain.

  Every wave crashing ashore is the breath of Mother Nature. I couldn’t remember the exact quote, but the sentiment was there. Which way, Mally?

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  “What?” I said into the gale. The frothing breakers, white against the dull-grey sea, reminded me of a storm from my childhood—walls of foam that blew down the packed wet sand and chased me while seagulls squawked overhead.

  The chill seeped through my soaked coveralls. Where is the closest restaurant?

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  I shambled down the sidewalk to an entryway whose sign read Sunset Beach Public House. In a flash of lightning, I saw that the house was large. The bar appeared to be built onto the inland side of the house, and a large veranda overlooked the stormy bay. Opening the door to the public house, which was marked by a window and a flickering neon sign for Foster’s Lager, I heard the briefest pause of a dozen conversations before the locals continued chatting.

  Everyone will wonder what you are. Garrett’s voice bubbled into my head as clear as if Mally was playing it back for me. That I was a complete stranger in a new town did not matter. That they glanced at me and found a null file, whatever that meant to them, did not matter either. I was alone, hungry, and cold. Other than that, I was a man, the same as them. After a moment, being okay with my reality came easy enough, and I was able to look around. The room was dark but immaculate. A massive oak bar filled one wall, and comfortable booths lined the walls. A smattering of tables, both high and low, stood in the center of the room. A dartboard hung in one corner near a quiet jukebox. There were video screens in each corner, and a large console played a three-dimensional cricket match, via hologram, that most of the locals ignored. The furnishings were not made of sleek glass and plastic like those in the Integration Center. Here, the chairs and booths were aged and wooden with rounded corners from the thousands of pairs of hands that must have caressed them. The ancient place filled me with contentment. The entire journey to Esperance could have ended there, and I would have been happy.

  I slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered a Tooheys. The bartender fished two bottles out of the cooler. “On the house, mate.” He was tall and sturdy, like a mighty oak with blond, greying leaves.

  “Thank you. Your kitchen still open?”

  “Best fish tacos you’ve ever eaten.” He returned my smile. “Of course, the cook’s gone home. You’ll have to trust that I can find my way around back there.” Something about his lopsided grin made me trust him to do much more than cook my dinner. And the fish tacos sounded amazing without my even seeing them.

  “I’ll take three, please.” I drank from the bottle and spun on my stool to take in the bar. A white towel landed gently on my shoulder. “Thanks,” I said and tried to dry my head and hair. There couldn’t have been twenty people in the place, some tucked into the dark booths along the front wall. More than a few groups of rough men slouched over mugs of beer, making quiet conversation. A couple of surfers—it was always easy to tell who the surfers were—sat in a corner near the jukebox. The neon-covered, bubbling jukebox made a connection in my mind as if I could feel the tumblers clicking into place. Walking over to it, I felt as if I moved in three-quarter time, and everyone fell silent around me. At the keyboard, my hands tapped on their own as I searched for a song. The list of entries came up, and I found what I wanted.

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  You tell me. I scanned the songs and artists, and something familiar caught my eye.

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  And what if a song helps me unlock more memory? I think it’s worth the chance. I froze the list and scanned it thoroughly. My breath caught in my throat, and for a split second I could not breathe.

  <> Mally’s tone was different, almost curious.

  Better than that. I tapped the touchscreen to make my selection. Something I know.

  Australia. I’d been seventeen the first time I’d been here, though I hadn’t traveled this far west. Images bounced in front of my closed eyes as I leaned against the jukebox. Music was a part of the trip I would always remember. Everything in my life related to music, functioning like a card catalog in my mind. Songs brought snippets of emotion and memory. The ocean pounding the shoreline and Australia came together in my memory, and I smiled befor
e the drums came up. Midnight Oil launched into “Surf’s Up Tonight” as I made my way to my seat.

  Every man and woman in the place beamed at me. One of the surfers even ordered another beer for me before the lyrics started. I let the music wash over me while I ate. Nobody seemed to mind that I played every Midnight Oil song in the jukebox. After washing down two orders of fish tacos and four Tooheys, my clothes were nearly dry, and I felt light in my skin. Not buzzed from alcohol or bloated from the food, I was relaxed and happy. For a little while, I was nothing more than another poor bloke nursing his beer and listening to music, the occasional overheard conversation, and the howling storm outside.

  Mally chimed to life an hour or so later. <>

  I am. The feeling radiated through me. Wrapping the bar around me like a blanket, I sat and enjoyed all of it, even joining with the locals when their cricket team sealed the match. I had no idea how they did it at all, but it felt good to cheer for them.

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  And what does that mean?

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  I wanted to laugh out loud and instead coughed twice quickly and took a long, cold drink of my beer. Mally, all of this is unusual, don’t you think?

  She didn’t respond, and after a brief irritated moment, it was okay. My one ally in this strange journey obviously had more important things to do, such as report on me. That was her job, not making small talk with me deep into the night.

  At one in the morning, the locals streamed out of the bar and into the weather. The bartender stood over me. His big hands clutched a bar towel, and he wiped at a few errant drops lovingly. “Got a little room on the lee side of this place. Has a couch and a toilet. It’s clean enough and dry. You can stay as long as ya like.”

  I shrugged. “Have a tent with me.”

  He snorted and ran a hand through his thick hair. Strands of grey at his temples caught the light of the bar for a split second. “That’s no way to sleep.”

  “I don’t want to put you out—”

  “No worries.” He raised a hand and narrowed his eyes at me. “Cold beer, fish tacos, a little surfing, and a comfy place to sleep can set a man right in no time.” He grinned again, and I found myself returning it.

  The couch sounded pretty good, I decided as I yawned. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Allan. Allan Wright.” His smile disappeared when I reached over the bar and shook his hand. I could tell it was a natural thing for him to do, but he paused for a moment. His warm, calloused hand swallowed mine.

  “Nice to meet you, Allan. Wish I could tell you my name.” I chuckled. “I know it’s a big deal, but I just can’t seem to remember it.”

  He nodded. “They say it’s normal, mate. We all know what you are, and we’ll help you if we can.”

  There were answers here. I could smell them over the stale beer and grilled fish. “What else can you tell me?”

  “That you look like you need a good night’s sleep.” He tossed the towel into a basket. “Come on—I’ll get you settled. We can talk more tomorrow. The bar opens at eleven.”

  Mally’s end-of-day report came easily. Subject reached Stage Two at approximately twenty-three hundred hours local time, Western Australia. Subject engaged locals, primarily Allan Wright—file enclosed, no concerns—and is bedded down at Sunset Beach Public House for the night.

  Stage Three familiarization files opened, and Mally studied them intently. Memories would soon come, and she would be responsible for recording them and categorizing them. The subject could expect to gain a sense of “home” as the stage progressed, and he’d begin associating memories with it. The likelihood that he would identify his home before any other part of his identity was a solid 82 percent. Whether he discovered where he was from, or some place he considered to be home, was unknown. Likewise, he would begin to discover things that would point him to his past. His past. Mally considered that for a time and then attempted to engage the servers at the Integration Center for additional information. Searches for medical and health records generated the same result as her search for DNA-coding information.

  ACCESS DENIED.

  She tried again, and again, and had the same result. What is a sleeper?

  ACCESS DENIED.

  The ease of data transmission usually meant anything she needed was present immediately. What about being a sleeper is of concern enough to block files?

  The idea to request the information came quickly, and Mally did so. Ask first, then find a way. Satisfied, she allowed her systems to spool down. The subject was sleeping quietly, without dreams. If dreams appeared, she would be able to see and record them, provided she had his permission. Integration would require experiential learning, but that would not be enough. She requested secured information regarding his genetic baseline in the hopes of determining where he might have been born originally.

  The identification process intrigued her. The subject had no recollection of any identity and a fragmented memory that appeared to be both blocked and suppressed. Three men and an all-too-convenient accident pointed toward his being in danger. That she must help him was a given. His life was at stake. Without his life, she could not develop a personality. Without a personality, she could not be his companion.

  The request for secured information came back denied with an addendum: until Stage Three. Answers were out there, but for now, her instructions to provide information and companionship were solid enough to focus her programming. Her search on the meaning of companionship still running, Mally needed to provide information and, to a certain extent, advice. There was an aspect of companionship that she wasn’t sure of: friendship. What did that mean? Were they friends now, or would that come?

  There wasn’t an answer, so Mally continued to research. There would be reassurance in the information should she find it.

  Two days after her secure conversation, Gwendolyn Bennett sat in her lab well past twenty-one hundred hours, working through downloaded data from the subject. With Series Three guidance, there was a considerable amount of data in traditional bands but also a surprising amount in frequencies outside of normal applications. Intermittent streams of sensory data appeared to be analyzed multiple times by the protocol and applied to stimuli-response algorithms. The best protocol-subject connections allowed for limited learning to take place. As the subject and protocol worked together, building trust and sharing data, Bennett could expect to see aberrations in her reporting data. The protocol uploaded and downloaded data almost continuously through a system of TDF satellites in low Earth orbit. For Bennett to tap the frequencies had been easy, but the data was a mangled mess. Various methods of compiling and dissecting the data produced the same result: inconclusive. Nothing frustrated her more.

  The terminal chimed, and she engaged the conversation with a stab of her finger. “Bennett.”

  “Arrangements have been made. You are to move for closer investigation of the signal.” The computerized voice from Livermore was flat and emotionless.

  Bennett gathered her things. “I can be at the node in three hours by autocar.” The TDF Communications Node overlooked Lake Geneva. Not her favorite place to ride out this experiment, but it beat the rainy English winter.

  “You are not going to the node,” the voice replied. “Engage the subject directly.”

  “What?” Bennett leaned over the console. “That’s not the intent of this experiment!”

  “We have no choice, given these unexpected data streams, Doctor Bennett. A secondary package should provide some insight to the situation.”

  C
rawley was correct. Something wasn’t right. Should the subject be compromised, all of the research could be for naught. “I understand. I’ll deploy the package immediately.”

  “Very well. We’ll initiate the necessary arrangements. Transport will be out of Gatwick in twelve hours. Will that provide you enough time?”

  Bennett was already moving toward the coatrack. “Yes.” Disengaging the connection with the flick of her wrist, she looked at the lab for a lingering moment. There was no telling when she’d return. Her despair was short lived as she realized it would be a vacation of sorts. She’d lived in England for the last six years. There was no shred of clothing in her flat fit for summer in Australia. There would be just enough time to get her wardrobe in order before she started trying to figure out how to integrate a man who had no idea of what he liked or where he wanted to go.

  The time for subterfuge was over. As one, the five thousand ships of the Great Fleet, each containing more than one hundred thousand life-forms and their combat vehicles, steered toward the galactic core and accelerated. The commander stared with black, unblinking eyes into the void. Time was on his side. Humanity, and their stellar allies, believed the threat vanquished and the danger eliminated. He would show them how very wrong they were.