From: rauser@fraser.sfu.ca (Richard John Rauser)
Subject: Contact 3  (REPOST)
Organization: Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, B.C., Canada
Date: Mon, 27 Jul 1992 00:59:11 GMT





                      Contact 3 

                     






a story by Rick J. Rauser
(c) 1992 by RJ Rauser and WNI        

a Who Needs Isabella publication




(author's note: read the first two, else this won't make much sense!)   


"Oh Lord, I pray you'd give me strength to carry on,
 Because I know what it means
 To walk along the lonely street of dreams."
                        -Whitesnake


"Here I go again..."
                        -Whitesnake





    "Get this garbage out of here...wait...that's right."
    (Close your eyes and I'll kiss you...) 
    "Careful...chopper's coming."
    "Is the mask on? The mask?"
    "Got it, here."
     (Tomorrow I'll miss you...)
    "Help me get this door off, no, wait, use the torch. Right."
    (Remember I'll always be true...)
    "I have a caucasian male, approximately thirty years of age..."
    (And when while I'm away...)
    "A caucasian female, approximately twenty-five years of age..."
    (I'll write home every day...)
    "Get the stretcher in place...good. Secure...lock...okay, are you
guys ready up there?"
    "Ready, go."
    "All right, lift."
     (And I'll send all my loving to you.)   
    "Okay, they're secure. Good job. Let's get them out of here."

    Amidst the constantly swaying images and fragements that tumbled through
my tired mind there was a strange, steady beeping. I saw Carly, I saw the
factory, I saw a little girl I didn't recognize, I saw a towering skyscraper,
I saw a green rabbit studying a watch, I saw a beach, I saw Bugs Bunny.
Just random images, nothing making any sense, everything meshed together
and flowing like the tide. Carly was sitting beside me, then I was talking
to Bugs Bunny and trying to figure out why the skyscraper was falling down,
then I was walking on the beach...through it all I heard a steady beeping...
     ...I opened my eyes and felt pain in my entire body. There were heavy
bandages on my arm and around my forehead. A machine beside me was beeping 
steadily. 
     The room was white and had that sterile scent one associates with
hospitals. My lips were dry and parched, and weakly I licked them.
     "Hello there," a kind voice said. I turned and saw a nurse with the
typical false maternal smile. She rubbed a damp swab of cotton on my arm
and produced a needle. "I'm going to inject you. It will sting for a second
or two." She inserted the needle with a gentle poke. I watched the fluid
seep into my veins.
     "What's...that?" I croaked.
     "Pain killer. You were pretty smashed up. You'll be all right now,
though." She smiled.
     "Carly?" I said her name more to myself than the nurse. 
     "Oh, your friend? She's fine. I don't know where they took her, though."
     I knew. At least, I thought I did. "Where am I?"
     The nurse seemed pleased at the chance for conversation. "You're in 
the City Hospital of Seattle."  
     "Seattle?" That made no sense to me. "What about...the desert?"
     "The desert?" she seemed momentarily confused, then smiled that
maddening smile. "Yes, they found you crashed out there. Good thing you
went over in a military ATV." She chuckled as if reminiscing about her 
grandchildren. "Hardly dented it. You, on the other hand, took some damage."
     "Where's Carly?" I repeated the question. My head, which had been\
swimming with pain and confusion, was starting to feel better after the
painkiller she had injected me with. 
     She hesitated, then said, "I really don't know that much about your
situation. There is a gentleman here to see you who will answer  
all your questions. Are you up for it?" 
     I sighed. This had to be some kind of nightmare. All I wanted was to
be alone with Carly. 
     But what choice did I have? "Send him in."   

     The guy was wearing one of those cheap suits with the tie slightly
loose. If anyone looked more like a rat than a human, it was that guy.
His hair was slicked back and his teeth were yellow from cigarette tar.
I could barely make out the bulge of a gun in his jacket. 
     "Special Agent Michael Hatcher," he said smoothly. "Are you feeling
better?"
     "Sure," I said absently. "How are you?"
     He grinned. "Oh, I'm fine, thanks." He took a seat and gave the
nurse a look that said "Leave the room, now." She did.
     "Where's Carly?" I asked.
     "Do you know where you are?" he said, ignoring me.
     "Seattle."
     He nodded. "Yes, Seattle. Do you know why? After all, your failed
suicide attempt was out in Arizona. Why would we fly you all the way
up to Seattle?"
     I shrugged. All I cared about was Carly.
     "I'll tell you, then. CIA headquarters is in Seattle."
     "I thought it was Langley."
     He looked confused, then shook his head and chuckled. "I keep forgetting,
you're fifty years out of date. You're thinking pre-war, Michael. CIA moved
after the big, big one."
     "Oh," I said. "I want Carly."
     He nodded and tried to look as if he cared about me. "Michael, there's
a few things I have to tell you about Carly. First of all, she's an android."
     "And a beautiful one at that. I love her for it."
     He was a professional, I'll give him that. He tried not to show his
surprise at the fact that I already knew about Carly. He hesitated, but
only for a second. "She's also an assassin."
      "I had inferred that much," I said truthfully.
      He ran a grubby hand through his oily hair and said, "We have a 
problem. You see, after the war, CIA lost almost all of our information
and projects regarding android technology, which, you  may recall, was
fairly new when you were still an FBI agent."
       I nodded. Androids were nothing unusual in my old life, but they
were rare and the technology was new.
       "Carly," he continued, "is a valuble commodity to us. She-"
       I grabbed his tie and jerked him towards me. This completely shocked
him. My body ached with the effort but I didn't care. He reached for his 
gun but I grabbed the wrist and squeezed the pressure points that even
an FBI agent knows about. He yelped. "Don't you ever call her that," I said
angrily. "I love Carly. She's not a commodity." I let go of his tie and
sank back to the pillow with exhaustion. I was half-hoping he'd shoot
me.
       He re-adjusted his tie and grinned. Bastard. "Sorry. As I was
saying, Carly is...valuble to us. You see, most of the androids we
developed before the war were disfunctional. Some worked, of course, 
but those that did have slipped through our fingers or been destroyed.
The war, of course, wiped out what we had left of the technology and
we've had to start from scratch, running around for the past fifty 
years. The world, by the way, is in a real mess, Michael. The United States
as we knew it doesn't exist anymore. It's now divided into five separate
spheres of influence. The CIA controls just about-"
       "Listen," I said, cutting him off. "I don't give a damn about the
CIA or what the world has become since I spent the last fifty years in
deep sleep in a CIA butcher shop. All I care about, is Carly. Where is
she?" I hesitated, then added, "Please."
       He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Carly was injured in the
ATV crash, but not badly. Her shoulders and right leg were damaged, but
we patched her up, good as new. She WAS in our analysis center, here in
Seattle. We had to run tests, study her brain pattern, memory, you know,
see what she's made of." He paused, licked his lips nervously, then
continued. "The bad news is, she escaped two hours ago."
        I couldn't help but grin. "That's my girl."    
        For the first time, he lost his cool. He glared at me. "You think
this is a joke? Well, let me tell you something. She killed three agents
during her escape."
        I leaned forward and spoke quietly and seriously. "I hope it hurt."
        He snorted. "FBI. You dickheads never change. You're all so
self-righteous." He cracked his knuckles and paused, then said, "I want
you to do us a favour. When Carly comes to you...and she will...you let
us know."
        "I suppose you've got men in the hospital waiting for her."
        He laughed. "Hell, no. Carly isn't that stupid. She's not going
to come in here, knowing the risk. She's a machine, Michael. She doesn't
gamble. She's a brilliant computer."
        "My Carly isn't a machine," I said evenly.  
        He shrugged. "Frankly, I don't care what you think you have with
her. All I'm saying is, you let us know if she finds you."
        "Sure I will," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
        He grinned wickedly. "Fine. Do whatever you want. Let me tell you
something, Hatcher. You aren't in Kansas anymore. You are in Seattle,
2083 A.D. You have no identity, no money, nothing but the clothes in that
closet," he said gesturing. "So you rot in hell. And after you've roamed
the streets for a few days, look us up. We'll not only feed you, we'll 
give you some clean clothes. And if you help us get Carly, we might even
give you a job."
        I stared at him. The impact of his words slowly sunk in. He was
right. Where did I have to go? How would I eat? What would I do?
        "Good-bye, Special Agent Hatcher." He got up and walked to the
door.
        It occured to me that I didn't even know his name. "What's your
name?"
        He turned back and grinned. "Fansworth. Agent Fansworth of the CIA."
        He seemed to like saying "CIA".
        He walked out.
        I sunk back in bed, cursing GM for building such a strong, sturdy,
shock-proof ATV.

        My next visitor was the nurse. She injected me with more drugs. 
I didn't really mind. I slept. 

        The sea was an endless blur before me, it stretched out as far as
the eye could see. The angry waves pounded on the jagged rocks below, 
roaring in steady cadence. The scent of the salty water hung beautifully
in the air and the gentle mist from a barely perceptable rain gently 
cascaded around me.
         Such a perfect, perfect place. 
         "Nice, isn't it?" said a beautiful, familiar voice.
         I turned and smiled warmly at her. She was wearing a heavy
white sweater and her beautiful hair was hanging freely around her 
shoulders.
         "I don't ever want to leave here," I said as she came and stood
beside me.
         "We won't," she promised me.
         Peacefully I opened my eyes and was so horribly disappointed to
see the dismal hospital room. I felt like crying out in frustration. 
         THe bandages were gone. I was stiff and sore, but felt much
better. I wondered how much time had passed. I felt my face and hair...
barely any facial hair, and my hair didn't feel any longer. Must only
have been a day or two.
          Then I looked up and saw Carly.
          She was wearing a nurse's uniform, her beautiful hair tied back
and tucked into the small hat. She was holding a tray with a glass of water
on it.
          She smiled. "Would you like a drink of water, Mr. Hatcher?"
          I stared at her in amazement. "What are you doing here?"
          She put down the tray and handed me the water, leaning close to me
as she did. She whispered, "Meet me at Feodor's in an hour. We can't talk
here. Too many ears."
          She gently kissed my ear then stood up and said, "There's something
under the bed for you."
          She walked to the door. I couldn't believe it. She was incredible.
          "I love you," I said.
          She turned back and smiled warmly at me. "I love you, too."
          Then she was gone.
          I climbed out of bed slowly, ignoring my aching bones. I reached
under the bed and pulled out a shoebox. Inside the shoebox was a Jazebro
Lexicon automatic handgun, a heavy, powerful weapon. I opened the clip 
and examined it. Hollow-tip bullets, twenty per clip. I snapped it shut.
          I moved to the closet and got dressed, then stuffed the gun
in my jacket. 
          In spite of the danger, I was whistling when I left the room.

          As I left the hospital I walked past a Catholic Cathedral. It was 
a massive, two-hundred year old structure that towered over me, reaching 
with its ancient spires into a grey, dismal sky. I stopped and stared up
at it. I felt drawn inside.
          It was dimy lit inside, with only burning candles providing
any light, placed along the sides of the pews and up at the altar. I walked
down the aisle slowly and carefully, feeling terribly conspicuous. There were
two nuns at the front of the church, talking quietly, and I saw a priest 
near the back, speaking with an ordinary looking man in a suit. No one 
noticed me.
          My footsteps echoed throughout the ancient building.
          I sat in a pew near the front and looked up at the huge crucifix
in wonder.
          "I did the wrong thing, hitting the accelerator," I said quietly.
          The church was silent around me, yet vibrant with a life and
energy I had never experienced.
          "Give me the strength to get out of here," I said. I sat there
for awhile longer without speaking. 
          I heard footsteps behind me and someone sat down in the pew
behind me. 
          I turned around and saw Fansworth. He grinned and bowed his
head mockingly.
          "Special Agent Hatcher."
          "Agent Fansworth."
          "Have you spoken with Carly yet?"
          "If I say no you'll think I'm lying no matter what the truth is."
          He snickered. "You're both going to die."
          "We're all going to die," I said. "The question is, how do you
want to go?"        
          He stared at me.
          "When I die, I'm going to die on my feet," I said calmly. "Someone
like you, Fansworth, will die on your knees. On your knees."
          I stood up and left the church. I crossed myself before the 
crucifix, and that surprised me because I didn't even remember what the
gesture was until I did it.
          Fansworth was still sitting there when I stepped outside.

          Feodor's was one of those clubs that's so noisy you're amazed
that anyone actually goes there to have fun. Cigarette smoke hung in the
air, half-naked women paraded around in a pathetic display, searching 
for tricks, and the loud, steady pounding of rock and roll smashed into
your ears from the live band, dressed in leather and chains on the
grimy stage.
          I walked up to the bar and glanced around in disgust. 
          "What you have?" the bartender asked me.
          "I don't drink."
          "Two drink minimum," he said tiredly.
          "Two coffees, then."
          He snorted. "Big spender, huh?"     
          "Add a club soda to that," said my girl's beautiful voice.
          I turned and saw her seated beside me. She was stunning, wearing
a bright red leather jacket and tight-fitting jeans with black leather
boots. Her hair was hanging freely around her shoulders and her lips
were a bright, enticing red.
           I felt so happy to see her. The memory of the ATV and the despair
we had both felt seemed like a distant nightmare.
          "How's my girl?" I said quietly. 
          "Much better now, thank you," she said, beaming at me, giving
me that electrifying smile. "How are you?"
          "Not bad," I said. "Not bad at all." 
          She leaned over and kissed me and we savoured each other's 
tongues for a few brief, beautiful moments. Then I said, seriously, "I let
you down."
          "What do you mean?" She looked at me, confused.
          "I drove us over that cliff. I gave up."
          "We both gave up," she said quietly. "We saw no other choice.
Besides, if we hadn't driven over the cliff, it might have been a lot worse
for us. I only managed to escape because the security at analysis was so
poor. If I had come out with my hands up they might have stuck me in
someplace more heavily guarded, with more agents and fewer doctors. And
instead of being content to send you to a hospital, they might have l ocked
you up."
          "As always, you're probably right," I said thoughtfully. "But
the fact remains, I wanted for us to die, Carly. We can't do that anymore.
Life is too important."
          "Didn't you say you'd rather die on  your feet than hide on
your knees?" she said gently.
      "Yeah. But suicide isn't dying on your feet." My coffee arrived
and so did her club soda. I picked up my cup and sipped. "What do we do
now?"
      "Now," she said thoughtfully, "it gets tricky. CIA will be looking
for us everywhere."
      "I know," I agreed. "But they aren't going to stop us now."
      "No, they aren't." She paused, then with a mischievious smile said,
"I've got transportation waiting outside."
      "I assume you aquired it in the same way you got those clothes?"
      She laughed. "And the guns."
      "Don't you realize you're talking to an FBI Special Agent? I might have
to arrest you for robbery."    
      "The FBI was disbanded years ago. Now, you're just an outlaw, like me."
      "Then let's get the hell out of here, fellow outlaw."
      "I thought you'd never ask."
      She put money on the table for the drinks.
      I paused, then said, "That ATV sure was tough, wasn't it?"
      She looked at me for a second, then we both laughed.

      We stepped outside into the grimy, crowded street and I saw the
hovercar Carly had stolen parked at the curb.
      I walked over to the passenger's side and swung the door up.
      Suddenly I heard someone across the street yell, "CIA! FREEZE!"
      I spun around and saw Fansworth running towards us from the corner
on the other side of the street, followed by another CIA agent, a woman.
They both had guns drawn, and Fansworth was aiming his at me.
      "I got him," I heard Carly say. I turned back and saw her carefully
aiming her gun at Fansworth.     
      I realized that I had pulled mine out, on pure instinct. I knocked
hers aside. "No," I said. "Let's go, let's go!" I didn't want to get into
a shooting match with these CIA thugs in the middle of a crowded street.
I climbed into the hovercar and Carly did the same, slamming down her
door.
      I heard gunfire.
      My window shattered and I ducked my head down.
      Carly hit the throttle and we were slowly lifting off. 
      "FREEZE!" Fansworth yelled again, as if we actually would. 
      We passed the yellow altitude markers on the buildings around us
and Carly pushed the hovercar into drive, racing forward. She quickly
punched in a safe route and steered around a looming skyscraper.
      I turned back through the shattered window and saw another hovercar
lifting off in pursuit, Fansworth driving, the woman in the passenger's
seat.
      "I don't believe this," I said in disgust.
      "Hang on," Carly said. She jacked hard on the wheel and we nearly did
a barrel roll. I wasn't sure how these things were meant to be driven but
I hoped she wouldn't crack it up (hovercars, like androids, were not in
wide use fifty years ago). 
       Fansworth knew how to fly. His craft greedily clung to our tail.
       I turned back and pointed the Lexicon out the window and squeezed
off three shots. The first two went wild from the wind, and the third
shattered a Pepsi-Cola electric billboard behind Fansworth's craft. I saw
him swerve to avoid the fire.
       "Turn!" Carly yelled, again spinning our craft wildly to a sharp
angle. I hung on and looked out the window again.
       "Take us up, up!" I said to her, noting that we were still at only
half the height of most of the huge buildings around us.  
       "Where is he?" she said, trying to look back and drive at the
same time.
       "He's still behind us," I yelled as the wind from the shattered
window blasted in my face. I aimed the gun with both hands and fired three
more times. One of the bullets hit their windshield and Fansworth jerked
wildly on the wheel to regain control.
       Carly increased our speed and took us down about twenty feet, then
banked hard to the right, flying between a narrow gap between two concrete
towers. ILLEGAL FLIGHT PATH said a bright yellow sign.
       "Traffic violation!" I said, laughing at the irony.
       Carly half-smiled and banked to the left. Boy, could she drive.
       I peered out the window again and saw that Fansworth had manouvered
between the buildings and was just above us, about twenty feet back. I began
to get really angry.
       "Slow us down, just a bit," I said. Carly did so and Fansworth's craft
grew closer. I fired three shots, all three of them connected with his
craft, poking small holes in the hovercar's metal belly.
       "Damn him!" I said, realizing that the underside was too heavily
armoured. "Faster, take us up! We have to get above him!" I yelled over
the wind.
     I had eleven bullets left in the clip. I wanted to bring down Fansworth
without having to use Carly's gun. Call it ego. 
     Carly hit our throttle again and we surged forward and banked hard 
to the right as an ancient hotel loomed before us. I caught a brief glimpse
of the sign, SEATTLE WESTON PACIFIC HOTEL. 
     I heard the crack of gunfire and saw two of the windows in the hotel
explode, then realized that the woman agent was firing at us as Fansworth
flew them in behind us.
     Carly adjusted our flight pattern on the nav computer then jacked us
up. We sailed over the roof of the Weston and I turned back and fired at
Fansworth, who was now beneath and behind us. Four shots, two went wild,
and two connected. The first shattered his front headlamp, and the second
exploded his windsheild.
      He hit the airbrakes and his craft careened wildly.
      "Slow down," I yelled.
      Carly did so.
      I leaned out and fired three more shots. One of them missed, and the
next two hit Fansworth square in the chest. I saw two quick spots of 
dark blood on his suit before his craft swerved wildly out of control.
I saw the female agent frantically reaching for the wheel but it was 
too late.
      The CIA hovercar smashed down into the roof of the Seattle Weston
Pacific, then exploded. The flaming wreckage teetered for an instant
on the edge of the roof, then fell down fifty stories to the street, 
trailing black smoke.
      Carly took us up into the clouds and opened up the throttle.
      "I got you," I said quietly, leaning back in the seat as the
adrenalin pumped through me. "I got you."
      I was glad I hadn't seen the burning craft land on the crowded street.
      "Nice flying," I said to Carly. I gently touched her cheek.
      "Nice shooting," she said as she kissed my hand.
      We said no more about the skychase or the CIA.
     
      Two hours later we were in the Seattle International Airport. Carly
was at the information desk trying to find out which flights would be
leaving soon. I sat there and thought about what was going on. The events
of the past few days suddenly hit me like a freight train, swimming through
my head in a pounding rush.
      A few days? Is that all it had been? A few days in my new life?
      I looked over at the counter where Carly was standing, talking to
the weasel-faced information clerk. Was Carly really an android? She
had to be, I told myself. I had found the cloth in the factory she had
wrapped her hand with, the one soaked with some sort of fluid, not blood.
      Android blood. Besides, she herself had said she was an android.
That factory's sole purpose was to make androids. And of course, there
was Fansworth. He had confirmed my suspicions. He was a CIA thug and
a greasy killer, but I knew he hadn't been lying.
      That's when I asked myself, for the first time, that single, all
important question: did it bother me?
      I looked at Carly and asked myself if it bothered me, deep down
inside that she was an android, and a trained CIA assassin at that. 
      I was frustrated to find that I really didn't know.
      She *may* be human, I told myself. Wouldn't the CIA have a vested
interest in her believing herself to be an android? Perhaps to keep her
focused on her duties, or to...
      I shook my head. Too much thinking. I remembered something from
my FBI training courses when I was just a blueflame rookie: Always relax
before a raid. Seemed like strange advice, but it worked. Always relax,
and don't think too much. You'll get shot if you do.
      I wondered if the FBI ever used androids...
      Was I in that factory for a reason?
      I was interupted by Carly. She sat down beside me and said
playfully, "You seem to have a lot on your mind."
      "Too much," I agreed. 
      "Want to talk?"
      "Later."
      "Okay." She produced two tickets. "How does Canada sound?"
      "I'll give anything a try," I said with a weak smile. "Carly, 
everything we've been through...it's never going to end, is it?"
      "What do you mean?" her smile faded.
      "You're too valuble to the CIA for them to just forget and give up.
They'll follow us wherever we go."
      She edged closer to me until our faces were only inches apart.
"You're right, Michael. They will. And maybe one day they'll catch us.
The question is, do we want to die on our feet, or hide on our knees?"
      I couldn't help but smile. "Neither. I want to live on my feet."
      She laughed. "Then let's do it. Remember the one crucial piece of
information the CIA tells all its agents: If they catch you, you'll be
stabbed, shot, tortured, imprisoned, hung, incinerated, brainwashed,
and a million things you can't imagine."
      I raised an eyebrow at this half-serious list.
      "But first," she continued, "they have to catch you."
      And there, I realized, was the rub. They'd never catch us. They
could send a thousand Fansworths after us, and we'd shoot down every one.
      "How'd you get so smart?" I asked her.
      She smiled. "I'm an android. We're much smarter than you."
      Maybe we both are, I thought to myself. But I didn't say it.
Instead, I squeezed her hand and kissed her. "Let's get out there. 
Canada's waiting."
      I walked out with Carly, hand in hand. I loved that woman, and 
as each day passes I love her even more.
      Our plane was boarding outside and we walked down the ramp amidst
the throng of people. I looked down at my flesh and then up at the vast,
endless sky. I knew I had a soul. And I had realized how important it
was, how priceless. No more driving off cliffs for me. I smiled at 
the thought.
      "I love you," Carly said teasingly.
      "Love you more," I said back. I hugged her as we stepped aboard
the plane and put our tickets in the slot.
        I knew that things would never end, that no matter where we went
or what we did, there would always be a Fansworth to come after us.
        Let him come.
        Let them all come.
        We sat down in our comfortable seats. I glanced out the window
and saw that much to surprise the thick grey clouds were actually
breaking apart, and over on the west side of the city a few rays    
of sunlight were becoming visible through the fog.





--
Richard J. Rauser          Holli Would If She Could
rauser@sfu.ca
WNI                              Cool World