Coils Read online

  My fingers could move under my control with perfect ease. Why not? And yet, to a part of my mind, this seemed an oddity. Later, later… Think about that later. I watched the empty can crumple in my fingers like a flower.

  The use of muscles seemed to clear the way for the use of other things. Intelligence, I hoped, was one of them. But not the only one…

  Staring at the computer screen, I tried to see or not-see Cora's fingers on the keyboard, typing that message. The timing of the arrival of the bits of data at the CPU…

  Intellectually, I had no clear idea of what I was doing. But at some deeper level I knew that I was seeing into the computer, probing its electrical life. It was a feeling akin to the half-dazed empathy I had in recent days felt for the Radio Shack navigator on the houseboat

  The shock of the discovery, or re-discovery, of this power in myself was deadened by my greater need. I could not find Cora's fingers. Those of a stranger had been there…

  I had to switch to thinking now, to get any further. Adrenalin wasn't much help for that, and even my new-found ability stopped here. I cursed my quarrel with Cora, my leaving her alone to be attacked, kidnapped. I had only come back to Key West because it felt like my home ground, the place to make a last stand—not, as I thought she might have believed, because my money was due to come in today at the bank…

  The bank.

  In a flash, I saw again the old-fashioned door of frosted glass, swinging shut, as I had seen it in my reverie. COIL DEPARTMENT wasn't quite right, though; it was dream-language, the language of my unconscious, for something I had named in secret years ago, for my thoughts only.

  The bank.

  I went out of the condo and got into my car. I drove to the bank, pulled into the lot there. I parked in a spot shaded by a coconut palm.

  I looked at my watch. The money was due to arrive at mid-morning—in the form of electrical impulses, flowing through the slender fiberoptic cables that brought information into and out of the Keys, cables slung under the same long bridges the cars and trucks traversed.

  It had grown hot, humid. I left the motor and air conditioner running (nobody looked at you for that anymore, as they might have before solar power came on so fast—solar power and Angra Energy) and I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.

  The computer inside the bank was a whole city, as compared to the small electronic outpost I had at home. But it was a city logically laid-out, with well-marked thoroughfares.

  Hour by hour, minute by minute perhaps, I was remembering more. My mind reached for the bank's computer. The Coil Effect began.

  Chapter 4

  Ticketderick, and outward, into the magic city of light and darkness… Rivers of cold electronic fire flowing about geometric islands, passing under bridges, halting at dams, trickling here, surging there . . . Lights blinking like pinball displays … A roar, a whine…

  I made my way through to a still place where I could survey the entire prospect, dipping a finger here, touching a pylon there, to sense the echoes of the data pulsing by. Gates opened and closed, neutral transactions flashed past like freight cars… No, no, no… Time was suspended. And even if it were not, it was so pleasant to be back… I could wait. If my body died right now, I almost felt as if I would continue to exist within the great machine which surrounded us. Ticketderick…

  Stop. Slow. Freeze. Enlarge. Expand.

  Yes.

  I had hold of it. There, the symbol-chain bearing my monthly stipend: 1111101000000, with my name on it. I shepherded it into my account. Immediately, a verification of receipt bearing the same coding sprang phoenix-like from that crackling nest, took flight along the line of power my credit had come in on…

  I tagged it, hooked onto it, followed my name. Along the chain of cabled highways, I knew at another level, built upon piers, island to island, through copper and fiberoptic connectors snaking in conduits at their sides, to the Miami clearing-house, passing through another, larger city of lights, murmurs all about me, then racing on, up, down, around, through, terminal to terminal, Atlanta, New York, New Jersey, and then…

  Angra Energy, home office, New Jersey.

  Yes. Of course. But I had had to know for certain.

  I dove. I surfaced at the Stock Exchange, wheat futures beating all about me in soothing pulses. Something was coming back…

  I was seven years old. I was sitting on the floor in the sales and service center Dad and Mom ran in El Paso. As other kids did with other toys, I was talking to an old computer, a 1975 model, which was off-line for repair but active for diagnosis. "What's wrong?" I said to it. "Why are you glitching?" There followed something like a burst of static in the center of my head and I twisted into its city of lights, only some of them were not burning. There, there, there—and there! I saw the pattern exactly as I had seen it that day. That had been the first time I had coiled into one. I—

  The other world—the slower, less vivid one—intruded. I became dimly aware that someone was standing beside my car in the bank's parking lot, looking in at me. I did not want to go back to that place yet, but I knew that I must. Shrugging off commodities, I coiled back into my head and regarded the person who stared.

  She was small, dark-haired, rather pretty, partly Oriental. She had on a white pants suit. She was staring.

  She was someone I knew I should know.

  I rolled down the window.

  "Don, are you all right? You do not look well."

  For a moment, I wondered whether she was some extrasensory leftover. But no, she had a name and substance to go with it. Ann. Ann Strong, I recalled. Nothing else, but I could use that much.

  "Better than I've been in some time," I said. "What are you doing here, Ann?"

  She smiled again.

  "I see that you remember me, at least," she said. "I was not sure that you would."

  I smiled.

  "I'm not a total wreck," I said, and something else came to me, "How do you like the flowers?"

  "So many and so lovely," she replied. "So pure their—colors."

  Something special about her… "Colors" was not the word she had been about to use. I could just feel it. Something else. She had a special liking for something about flowers, but that was not it…

  "Have you been in town long?"

  "No." She shook her head slightly. "I'm barely arrived. You like this place?"

  "I've grown fond of it."

  "I can see how you would. But surely there must be more diverting things to do than to sit in the parking lot of a bank?"

  "Unless one is waiting for Angra's conscience-money to come in," I said casually, partly just to try it out and partly because I had begun to suspect a connection.

  She frowned. She puckered her lips.

  "Tsk, tsk," she went, shaking her head slowly. "Hand and bite. Old saying."

  "If I have to bite," I said, "it will be more than a hand."

  "Why this rancor, Don?"

  "Why are you here?"

  "I had just gone to the bank to cash a check when I noticed a familiar face."

  "All right," I said, "and perhaps well-met. May I drive you anywhere?"

  "I was going to have something to eat next."

  "I know a good place. Come on."

  She got in. I drove out onto the road and turned left.

  "Vacationing, then," I said.

  "Sort of."

  Something about her, something about her… Warning bells were ringing in the back of my head. It was as if I had already known whatever was the matter, but that something was holding the knowledge back from me. Not important, I decided. Not ultimately important, anyway. Somehow, Angra had to do with the gap in my life and with Cora's disappearance because of her connection with me. It just seemed that it had to be so. I was going to go up to New Jersey very soon and make a lot of noises. I was going to look up people who were only dark outlines now, walking through the mists of my memory. The names would come, the faces would come. I would find them. I would make them
talk. They would give Cora back to me or I would do… something. Something violent or revelatory. Or both. I no longer really had a choice.

  I pulled into the parking lot of a small diner I sometimes frequented. It was an off-hour. Probably wouldn't be crowded.

  We got out. I almost took Ann's hand, fluttering near my own, as we moved toward the door. I didn't know why. I caught a sudden aroma of hyacinths.

  We found a small table in a corner and I suddenly realized I was famished. Conch soup, salad, lots of beef, iced tea, Key Lime pie—I ordered them all. She took a salad and a tea. Watching her, I became certain that I had known her during my employment at Angra. But in what capacity? I simply could not recall.

  It is good that you are happy here," she said, after a time.

  "I've been happier."

  "Really?" Her eyes had widened, and I thought I detected a momentary flush in her cheeks. But that was only for an instant. Her face hardened then. "But you will certainly have your joys returned. Things come back."

  I seemed to smell roses.

  "One can never be certain," I said.

  She glanced down at her plate, speared a bit of lettuce.

  "Some things can be relied upon," she stated.

  "Such as?"

  "Cooperation with those in power produces predictable results."

  "These days one does not even know how to begin."

  "You are troubled."

  "Yes."

  "You say you like it here."

  "Yes. But I'll be leaving soon."

  She met my eyes.

  "That is not how to begin," she said.

  "You know a better way?"

  "Any way that avoids rash actions is better."

  Several mouthfuls later, I said, "I wish I could show you around some later, but I have to catch a plane in awhile. New Jersey."

  I watched her face as I said it. I wanted her reaction. There was an odor of jasmine in the air.

  Her expression did not change as she said, "Don't be silly, Don. That comes under the heading of rash actions."

  "What would you have me do, then?" I asked her.

  "Go home. Stay there," she replied. "Sooner or later, someone will get in touch—"

  "All right!" I said. "Let's level! You know more than I do. Where is she?"

  She shook her head.

  "I do not know."

  "You know what is going on."

  "I know that you are remembering things better forgotten."

  "It's too late to do anything about that. And I am not going to sit at home and wait for the phone to ring."

  She placed her fork upon her plate, raised her napkin and patted her lips.

  "I would not like to see you harmed."

  "Me neither," I said.

  "Then do not go to New Jersey. Something bad will happen to you if you do."

  "What?"

  "I do not know."

  I growled and she rose quickly and turned away.

  "Excuse me," she said.

  I was on my feet and moving after her. But several steps took her to the Ladies' Room and on into it. I hesitated.

  Our waitress was passing just then with a carafe of coffee. I halted her.

  "Is there another exit to the Ladies' Room?"

  "No," she said.

  "Any windows?"

  She shook her head.

  "Just four green walls."

  "Thanks."

  I went back to the table and finished my pie. I got a cup of coffee after the iced tea was gone.

  A gray-haired woman went into the Ladies' Room. A little later, when she emerged, I approached her.

  "Excuse me," I said. "Was there a small Oriental lady in there, in a white pants suit?"

  She looked at me and shook her head.

  "No. Nobody else."

  I returned to my table and left a tip. While I was paying my bill at the register, I seemed to hear Ann's voice:

  "Do not go," it said. "You think you have troubles now. At least you are still alive. Stay home. Bait not the tiger."

  I looked all around, but she was nowhere in sight. I could almost feel her presence, though.

  "Unfortunate," I said, under my breath. "What did you do—cloud my mind?"

  I seemed to hear her laughter, mingled with the odors of a flower garden.

  Chapter 5

  I returned to the condo to change my clothes and toss the shaving kit and a few other things into a flight bag. I saw that there were no new messages in my unit when I approached it to broach the matter of a shuttle flight and a Miami to Philadelphia connection. There were no hitches, and the shuttle was due to depart in forty-five minutes. I locked the place up, got back in my car and headed for the airport. Ann's ghostly voice did not haunt me again, though I kept expecting to see her every time I turned a corner.

  The long flight, I decided, would be just what I needed for sorting out a lot of new thoughts.

  I parked, went in and verified my arrival at the desk. I was given a boarding pass, and since I had a little time I bought myself a cup of coffee and took it with me to the waiting area. For the first time since I had awakened, nothing was pressing upon me. I had a few minutes before boarding in which to relax. I settled back into a chair and took a hot gulp.

  Ticketderick…?

  Relaxing…

  Ticketderick.

  I closed my eyes and I could feel the pulsing network of electronic activity around me. I guess it is almost omnipresent these days, bat especially concentrated in certain places, airports among them, with data-processing gear all over the place.

  "Hello," I said. "You are soothing" and my mind was massaged by the passing pulses. I thought of nothing. I coiled not, nor did I read…

  After several minutes, I withdrew from the flow. I drank more coffee, and I stared out the windows at a taxiing plane upon the runway. I felt better. Between Jack's medicine chest and a good lunch, all traces of the hangover had fled. My mind was beginning to work as it had not worked in ages. Despite Ann's warning, I began feeling a small confidence in the success of my mission.

  I did not want anything that they had, save for Cora. The only reason that I could see for their having taken her was that they were somehow irritated at my getting my memory back. They wanted some hold over me in case I remembered something damaging to them. I would be glad to promise to keep my mouth shut about anything I remembered, if they would just let her go.

  How did they know that I had remembered anything I shouldn't have?

  Baghdad was the first thing to come to mind. Perhaps I had been under surveillance. Or perhaps a big red light went on on a board somewhere if I bought a ticket for Michigan. Or if a psychiatrist ever ran a profile on me through a major medical bank. Or perhaps the Hash Clash and my condo were bugged. Or—Any number of possibilities came to mind. It did not really matter which had served to send the alarm. The fact was that they had suspected I recalled something they'd rather have forgotten.

  What?

  I strained. There were all sorts of images of me doing things with computers, but they were still too vague. They had wanted Cora for leverage, and now I wanted that memory for counterpressure—just in case my word wasn't good enough. I hoped the memory would return to me on the way up. If it did not, I would just have to try to bluff it. They were frightened or they would not have acted. That might be in my favor.

  Even then, I was not overly concerned for my physical safety. After all, they could have killed me a long time ago had they so desired. Yet they had gone to extreme lengths to provide an alternative, damaging only my ability to recall some things.

  The plane came to a stop outside and the passengers disembarked. A few minutes more passed, during which some luggage and freight was unloaded. Then the plane's interior was being cleaned and the tanks filled.

  Shortly thereafter, an attendant entered the area and announced that passengers could begin boarding.

  I rubbed my eyes. There was something wrong about the attendant.
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br />   I looked again. The man had visible, protruding fangs, and there was a greenish cast to his complexion. Was it some sort of gag? The other passengers took no heed of it and were beginning to move in that direction. I raised my bag and did the same. If it didn't bother them—

  I must have been staring, though, as I passed, for he grinned at me as he inspected my boarding pass—a truly ghastly sight. I went on past, shaking my head. My times were definitely out of joint.

  I froze as soon as I stepped out of the building. The plane had vanished. In its place stood a giant, old-fashioned hearse, with dark wooden coachwork and black curtains. It was hitched to a team of huge black horses adorned with sable plumes. I uttered some incoherent noise.

  People elbowed past me and proceeded on to board. The horses snorted and tapped at the runway with their hoofs. I turned away. I couldn't board that thing. I knew that I would die—

  Ticketderick?

  I closed my eyes, blocking out the sight. I opened my mind. Sanity and consistency prevailed within the electric city of lights which surrounded me. These were defenses against evil visions.

  A moment, another pulsebeat or two for it to restore me…

  I lowered my head and opened my eyes again. Good, solid concrete, yellow lines painted upon it…

  Follow the yellow concrete path…

  I began walking.

  I bumped into a lady and apologized. I had to look up as I did it.

  We were at the foot of the ramp, but the vision had remained constant.

  The vehicle was unchanged. I was about to board a glossy death-wagon. I had begun to discover the truth about myself, and now I was being warned against continuing.

  I think that I turned away again, ready to examine alternatives to this trip. But then I thought of Cora, the reason I had to make it, the reason I had to board here, no matter what the thing looked like.

  I reached out and put my hand on the rail, my eyes clenched shut. One step at a time, I mounted.

  When I reached the top, I heard a surprised female voice say, "Is something the matter?"

  "Yes," I replied. "I have a terrible fear of flying. Would you please help me to a seat?"