though not by Bay Area standards. Dodd was able to make a quick transfer without attracting much attention, though in the station someone he was standing next to looked at him sourly and muttered, “Drunken slob.” On the south coastal train he ended up sitting near a pleasantly babbling white-haired lady who didn’t notice his breath, or at least didn’t comment. She rambled on, talking aimlessly and without pause, and Dodd realized she was talking to herself, not him. The motion of the train and the white noise of the woman’s voice lulled him to sleep, and he dreamed briefly of swimming through a bright sky filled with soft cotton clouds.
There were angels around, happy and playful, but devoid of any substance – they were not real. Dodd found that he didn’t care, they were pretty, and they flew with such grace … When he awoke, the woman was still talking happily; the train was motionless, and through the windows he could see a few shabby people milling around the station. It took him a while to realize this was his stop, and he made it out of the car with only seconds to spare. The doors shut and the train hissed away, leaving Dodd to look around. A sign read “Beach: 500 meters” with an arrow pointing west.
Taking a determined breath, Dodd trudged forward, box under one arm and bottle-bag in hand. Under his feet sand was scratching against the pavement; the path led through hauntingly familiar park land, all deep green windswept trees and tangled shrubs. The scent of eucalyptus filled him with peace, bringing back childhood memories, but then he caught sight of the massive buildings and they angered him. Avilla Beach wasn’t supposed to have those damn buildings. It was supposed to be a run down little beach next to an abandon oil refinery.
The oil refinery was gone now, replaced by a park. All the little buildings save the few standing along the shore were gone.
The pier was still standing, reinforced with plastic struts, but that was it. Everything else had changed – it was another place altogether. I didn’t grow up here, he thought sadly. The place where I grew up is gone.
Dodd avoided the town, heading toward the park. He stumbled through the woods and then out along the sand dunes. He paused at the crest of one dune to take a sip from the bottle, and, looking down, saw a sign that read: BEACH TEMPORARILY CLOSED. Beyond the sign, down on the beach, some sort of crew was at a special truck full of instruments, and a man sat in a chair that seemed to be floating in the air. The chair was creeping along, following something on the sand. Dodd put the cork back in the bottle and retreated into the bushes to unwrap and load the antique deer rifle.
#
Saul sat brooding in his chair by the crew truck, relaxing a short moment because he felt dizzy. He’d been up all night, and now he’d come out to personally supervise the training of their new creative engineer. He had the kid saturated with Mataphin and floating about in the chair; the kid was doing a good job but the AHL was sagging. He was going to have to take over himself. He needed more intensity. MORE. He couldn’t push this kid any further this morning – pushing wasn’t going to help – but he needed at least 10 hours of intense raw image for the AIs to process.
Saul started to get up, but he still felt dizzy and sick so he sat back down. In a minute, he thought. Maybe I should barrow a few more AWAKE! tabs from the crew …he hoped he could stand it, he was running entirely on stimulants as it was.
He finally got to his feet and staggered over to a monitor on the truck. Staring at the image, he realized the kid was doing something wrong; the AHL potential was falling hard. “Hey!” he yelled. “Random! You’re going random! Goddamn you, get back on track!”
The trainee cringed. “Sorry,” he called back, “I was distracted–-”
“I don’t give a shit what caused it – get yourself back on track!” I’m going to have to feed him more mataphin, Saul thought.
But he’s whining about how much I made him take already. I’m just going to have to take over. I’m going to have to do it myself. He pulled a Cerebral Image Relay Transmitter unit off of the truck and indicated it’s channel to the crew people at the monitor controls. He felt at the back of his head for the little round cover and slid it aside, and inserted the cable by touch. He was strapping the unit to his belt when something interrupted him.
There was a jarring clap of thunder.
Saul jumped, startled, catching his breath. What was that? he thought. My God, it must be happening. It’s happening now. I couldn’t raise the AHL in time, it’s too late … Saul looked out across the beach, saw that his crew had stopped what they were doing and were all looking at each other to see if anyone knew what was going on. There was another loud boom! and Saul saw the Travels sphere jump as if something had kicked it. He stared, barely breathing. The clap of thunder sounded again, and this time the sphere leaped into the air, spinning rapidly.
What in the hell is doing that? he wondered, fascinated. He peered up into the hazy blue sky, searching. There were no clouds.
God? he thought. Is that You? The thunder sounded again, and sand puffed into the air a few feet away from the sphere, spraying out.
The sphere hadn’t jerked this time; it was several feet from the water, smoking and traveling in circles.
Saul’s crew had all dived for cover, and some of them were pointing, shouting things to each other. He took a few dizzy steps away from the crew truck, staring in the direction they were pointing, and saw a man crouched up on the crest of the dune. It looked like he was aiming some sort of weapon. Saul took several unsteady steps toward the man, fighting the waves of dizziness, and stopped abruptly when the gun went off again. A voice drifted down the dune after the thunder died away; it was slurred, but seemed familiar. “Damn,” the voice muttered. “Missed again.” Saul watched as the man raised a bottle of liquor to his lips and took a hearty swig. The man’s face was very familiar. Saul concentrated on it as he resumed his unsteady climb, the warm sand sliding over his feet and filling his shoes.
After taking another swig from the bottle, Dodd blinked and tried to focus his eyes on the sphere below. His vision was sharp, but it was hard to distinguish one thing from the other. He had to keep reminding himself what he was shooting at. Carefully, for he’d lost a lot of coordination, he brought the old optical scope up to where he could see through it, placed the bead on the spot where the ball was just about to pass, and squeezed the trigger.
The gun went click. “Oh shit,” he muttered. It was a misfire. He fumbled clumsily with the bolt, discarded the shell and rammed in a new one. Then he aimed and pulled the trigger. The rifle roared and kicked him in the shoulder. Down below on the sand, he saw the sphere shatter, the pieces scattering across the beach.
Saul had stumbled when the gun went off, falling face down in the sand. His ears were ringing. The man, not more than 10 meters away, was now laughing low and wretchedly, muttering “Gotcha!
Killed you! Killed you, you fucking ball …” Saul pushed himself to his feet, staring at the man with anger. The man was gazing to the left, down at the remains of the sphere. Something down there was still moving, a big piece of the internal engine; the man threw a lever on the gun, pulling it back and pushing forward with a sharp click-clack, then raised the muzzle and aimed once more. “You have to die all the way,” he muttered. But then he lowered the rifle, looking down at the beach in confusion. The flopping, smoking piece of machinery had marched into the ocean and was swept away.
“Hey!” Saul yelled, scrambling up the dune toward him. The man lowered the rifle, looking down at Saul in surprise. Staring into the man’s eyes, Saul recognized him. A feeling of shock and immediate panic tightened his chest, and he shouted: “You! You’re the bastard from the Politico channel!” He took a few more steps forward, studying the face to make sure. “Aren’t you!?”
“Yes,” Dodd admitted, his voice a slurred monotone.
Enraged, Saul lunged at the man.
Dodd, startled, took a few steps backward and stumbled, feeling weightless for a moment, then landing in a sitting position just on the other side of the crest. The gun jarred, jumping in his hands, the butt end kicking him in the ribs.