PROTOTYPE 12
By Heck



Comments to heck@beadyeye.me.uk

CHAPTER TWELVE

We managed to keep moving for three weeks.

In a small, neat, suburban town, I found a cash machine and withdrew all my
funds. Rob did the same, so we had about eight thousand dollars between us,
and no risk of them tracing our movements through credit card transactions.

Our appearance had changed considerably. Lucy had dyed her hair brunette and
cut it into a short, shaggy, sexy bob. I had grown a beard, which was coming
in thick and itched like hell, and Rob had cut his long and lank, greasy hair
into a neat style that suited him far better. We couldn't do anything about
his acne though.

We had bought clothes, but restricted ourselves to forgettable jeans, denim
jackets, and plain tee-shirts to appear as unobtrusive as possible. We never
ventured out in public as a trio, and always wore sunglasses during all our
infrequent interactions with other people.

From time to time, when fatigue drove us or, due to lack of washing
facilities, we became too funky to bear our own company, we spent a night in a
motel and made use of their laundry and showers, but most nights we slept in
the truck. It was roomy and comfortable, and three people could sleep without
ending up with their feet in each other's mouths too often.

The truck had changed, too. We looked after it well; in fact, we cared for it
like a baby. It was our lifeline and our only sanctuary, so we kept the motor
clean and the inside habitable, but we let the dust of the road build up on
the outside. The red metallic paint job and all that retro chrome were just
too conspicuous, so we avoided washing it and it ended up looking like a
million other trucks on the road.

In honour of its previous owner, we christened it 'Sherm'.

Of course three people in close proximity, forced to share each other's
company twenty-four/seven, can get on one another's nerves. Naturally, it
happened to us. On one occasion it got so bad that Rob and I nearly came to
blows. You know the type of thing. Standing nose-to-nose, shouting in each
other's faces. Typical male behaviour. But Lucy simply got between us and
pushed us apart, telling us if we didn't behave, we'd have to answer to her.

We got the message.

On the whole, though, we got along very well. We settled into a routine of
travelling by day and parking Sherm the truck well away from the highway to
sleep at night.

It was like an extended vacation. A road trip. Not.

Of us all, Lucy had made the most personal growth since our escape. She had
become used to her enhanced capabilities and was comfortable with her newfound
strength. As a result she exuded confidence and carried herself with grace and
style, yet had such a sunny, engaging personality that I defy anyone to
dislike her.

We men were used to it as well. No longer did we insist on helping with any
tasks that required muscle. Why bother? Lucy could do it more quickly and with
less effort.

She had come to terms with being sixty-four years out of synch, too. Well,
almost. Many gadgets still fascinated her, and she still couldn't believe how
expensive things had become over the years. When, at Wal-Mart, in exchange for
three pairs of boots, jeans, jackets, shades, tee-shirts and underwear for us
all I parted with the thick end of eighteen hundred dollars, she nearly
fainted. Twenty-six ninety-five for a BigMac and fries nearly flattened her.

Some things about Lucy still startled us, too. About three days after we left
Sherman Garvey's place she began to complain of itching in her back. It
gradually got worse, until at last we had to stop. She had, she said, to get
her halter off and cool her back with some water [this was before we bought
the tee-shirts]. I was driving, and I eased the truck into the shade of a few
sparse trees at the roadside. We got out and Lucy stripped off her halter,
cunningly hiding her breasts with her hands before we could get a glimpse, and
asked me to examine her back.

Dozens of tiny shards of metal were embedded in her flesh, shrapnel remnants
of Ronny's twelve-gauge. None was more than a centimetre long, and each was
surrounded by a little pink pucker where it pierced her tough skin. There was
no sign of any infection, and Lucy had not complained of any pain.

I told her what I could see. A fleeting look of worry crossed her face, and
was gone. Although we had previous evidence of her recuperative powers in the
lab, I was amazed that there was no pus, no yellow discolouration, and no
angry redness.

"Can you pull them out?" she asked calmly.

"I think so". I pulled a first aid box, that we had only bought the previous
day, from the glove compartment and found a pair of forceps. Gingerly, I laid
hold of the biggest fragment and tugged gently.

It was difficult. The skin had closed up tight around the shard, and didn't
want to let go. Wincing empathically and sucking air through my teeth, I
marvelled at her resilience, reflecting that anyone else would have been
killed, riddled through with shrapnel. I said so.

"Yeah, thanks, that's really what I want to hear, right now", she replied.
"How're you getting on?"

"Not so good. This one doesn't seem to want to come out".

"Then pull harder. You're not hurting me. I'll tell you, if you do".

I pulled harder. The skin rose in a little cone around it, then let go. The
splinter came free and, as I watched, the skin healed right before my eyes!
Just like that. No puckering, no bleeding, no puncture wound, no scarring.
Nothing. Just perfect, flawless skin.

It took over an hour to remove all the shards from Lucy's back. She gave a
tiny grunt occasionally, when one of the more recalcitrant pieces came free,
but made no mention of any pain at all. I would have been begging for
anaesthetic, had it been me. And at the end all that was left was clear skin,
smooth and unblemished, as if she'd never been injured at all. I had actually
watched her body heal itself, in a matter of seconds in each case.

That was two and a half weeks ago. Now, we even had a plan.

We had spent many hours on the road, discussing what we were going to do. It
helped pass the time. We had talked about fleeing into Mexico, down to Brazil,
and living a life of exile. We had even plotted, jokingly, to murder Bouvier
and Santana, and found some interesting, if a little ghoulish, ways to
accomplish it. In the end, we had what we thought would be a foolproof plan.

The idea was to travel north, avoiding freeways and major highways where
possible, and head for New York. Once there, we would seek out the
headquarters of CNN itself, and surrender ourselves on the condition that we
were allowed to broadcast our story first. Once Lucy had been seen by the
public and had told her tale to the world, we reckoned that the FBI, the
military, and whomever Bouvier worked for would have to back off and leave us,
and Lucy in particular, in peace.

That was the master plan. So here we were, bowling along, expecting to be in
New York day after tomorrow. Lucy was driving with the same easy competence
with which she seemed to do everything. Rob was riding shotgun, and I was
stretched out on the back seat, dozing.

Lucy and Rob were chatting companionably.

"So how are you finding things in the, like, second half of the twenty- first
century?"

"Getting used to it. I love the technology, but a lot of it seems familiar
somehow. Basic concepts haven't changed much".

"Like, how?"

"Well, we always used to think that TV, for example? Would be more advanced,
three-D or something? And people would be riding around in flying cars? Stuff
like that. But apart from the fact that everything's more energy efficient
which, FYI, is a good thing, and mostly work by voice recognition, which was
already on its way back then when I was a girl, it's very much the same".

"Oh, we totally got three-D TV, man. And flying cars. Aircars, we call them.
But it's only the, like, super-rich that can afford them. Three-D TV is cool,
but it can cause a, like, schizoid reaction, you know? So people usually stick
to regular TV, unless there's something sorta special they want to watch. Most
sets have the capability, with a box of tricks that plugs into the back. But
watching three-vee all the time can, like, blow your mind, you know? Like,
literally."

"What about space travel? That was what I was all about".

"We been to most planets in the system. Mostly by robotic craft. No point
sending a man to a place where he can't, like, set foot". He covered his mouth
with a hand and made noises like a crackling radio. "Uh, like, Houston? We
have a problem. Trying to land on Jupiter - sinking into the gasses - ugh!
Arf! Yarrgh!" Lucy giggled at his pantomime. "But we have been to Mars", he
continued. "They're, like, terraforming it. Giving it a breathable atmosphere,
liquid water, like that, you know? They reckon we should have a permanent
colony there by they start of the next century. There's two orbiting space
stations and a, like, permanent base on the Moon".

"Sounds exciting. I wonder if I'll ever get a chance to see them".

"Could be, man. Space tourism is totally the coming thing".

"I remember them talking about that when I was at college. A couple people had
already taken vacations aboard Space Shuttles".

"We don't have Space Shuttles any more. Leastways, not the way you remember
them. Sub-orbital jets have the capability to reach the space stations.
They're cool. As well as getting to the stations, they're used for long haul
commercial flights. You can totally get from, like, New York to, like, Sydney
Australia in less than an hour, man".

"Wow. That is cool".

"Yeah. Way cool. And all the ships for, like, trips to Mars, are built in
space, you know? There's an orbiting shipyard, see?"

"These all sound great, but they still feel familiar".

"They should be, man. Most of the ideas originated in your time. Did you know
a dude called Gene Roddenberry?"

"No. He was even before my time. But I certainly heard of him".

"Right. I'm not surprised. He was totally the founding father of a lot of our
stuff. I don't know if it was him or, like, the dudes that worked for him.
History is not my strong point, you know? But he had, like, a shitload of
ideas that've nearly all been used, man, or are being experimented with".

"What sort of ideas?"

"Propulsion systems, matter transference, scanners, like that. There's even,
like, a Roddenberry Institute in San Francisco, where all these dudes hang
and, like, you know, build all this bitchin' stuff and try it out".

"But Roddenberry wasn't a scientist. He was a TV producer. He made a science
fiction show called 'Star Trek'? I don't know if you've heard of it?"

"Oh, yeah, man. Star Trek is cool. It airs on the Golden Classics channel.
Kirk. Spock. Picard. Way cool".

"God! You're still watching Star Trek?"

"Uh, hello? It's only, like, the coolest thing ever? Anyway, I knew
Roddenberry was a TV dude, but the ideas, man! So they, like, set up the
Institute, and now there's a practical application for lots of it".

"Like what?"

"Like, uh, matter transportation. They can take an object, scramble its
molecules and, like, put 'em back together someplace else".

"They can do that?"

"Oh, yeah, totally. Only inanimate stuff so far, mind you. They can take a
centimetre cube of polycarbonate and totally move it. Only about six
centimetres, not much so far. It's early days, you know? But they're working
on it. Phasers, too".

"Ah. I could have guessed they'd have made a weapon".

"No, man. Strictly for industrial use. Or so they say. Phased light emitters
are totally more powerful than a laser, so they use them for cutting stuff.
Metal and such, you know? Goes through steel like cheese".

"But it would make one hell of a weapon".

"Yeah, I guess. I suppose it's only a matter of time before the army gets hold
of it. But the Roddenberry Institute has this, like, creed. Peaceful
Applications Only. That's what they stand for, man".

"Very good. I hope they keep it like that".

"Oh, yeah, me too. I don't want to see another war".

"Another war? There's been a war?"

"Yeah, 'fraid so. The lid blew off in the Middle East. We totally kicked their
asses, but nearly every country majorly suffered. All the big powers got
involved. Russia. China. The USE".

"USE?"

"United States of Europe, man. Although they weren't that before the war. Just
a bunch of countries with a free trade area, you know? But they totally got
into it. Millions died, man".

"God. That was all brewing up just before I took off in Europa. There'd been
some pretty serious fighting, but most people thought it'd all blow over".

"It didn't".

"God. I'm glad I missed it. Did they use weapons of mass destruction?"

"Nukes?"

"Yes. Or biological or chemical weapons".

"No, they didn't. But we did. Dropped a nuke right on the gulf, man. It's
still nearly uninhabitable today. President thought they were totally getting
ready to use bio stuff, so he blew 'em to hell".

"Jesus".

"Absolutely. Funny thing is, after all this time, turns out nobody knows for
sure if they were about to use it. All the proof, if there was any, went up
with the nuke".

"And was that the end of the war?"

"Hell, no. End of the war in the Middle East, but fighting went on for years,
most everywhere else. Some counties thought, like, the US and our allies were
way wrong to drop a nuke, and there was a load of threatening and posturing.
Some Asian countries went as far as targeting USA and USE cities. But it
eventually fizzled out. Took years to get back to something close to normal.
Some places haven't gotten there yet, you know?"

"God, that's depressing. A third world war".

"You said it, man. They didn't call it that, of course, but that was what it
was right enough".

"How long did it go on?"

"The war itself lasted nearly six years. The after effects are still being
felt. That's totally why this truck has an electric motor, man. Oil from the
Middle East has either dried up or is, like, you know, contaminated from the
nuke. Not enough elsewhere to supply everybody, so the car companies had to
come up with an alternative, like, quick".

"I had hoped it was due to an enlightened way of thinking, but it's one good
thing to come out of it, I suppose".

"That's about all, man".

"There were those who said World War Two never really ended. That there had
been no single time of global peace since".

"That may be so. But the last war sure put an end to it".

"People finally woke up?"

"Hell, no. People are, like, totally too full of their own shit to wake up to
that. It's that nobody can afford to go to war. We're in a deep economic
depression and have been since the war ended, man. But if it was affordable,
there are some countries that'd be only too ready to kick it all off again,
you know?"

"Was nowhere unaffected?"

"Australia. They were totally never attacked, but they did send troops to help
out and lost a helluva lot, man. And Antarctica and the Arctic, I suppose, but
even they aren't the places they used to be".

"Why not?"

"Global warming, man. It got speeded up by the war, and oil fires, and like
that. About a quarter of the polar icecaps have melted. The coastline isn't
what it was"

"Hell. Nobody woke up to that, then?"

"Oh, yeah, we woke up. But by then it was too late. The process had already
started. Florida's gone. Most of the low-lying coastal areas, around the Gulf
of Mexico and California, are flooded. Most of New York is built on what used
to be old New York, because once the sea level started rising the only way
they could go was, like, up. Same for a lot of cities".

"The future didn't turn out to be a Utopia, after all".

"Not by a long way, man".

"It seems a lot of what I missed.listen! What's that?"

I sat up, straining my ears. Soon, I heard a familiar 'chupachupachup'.

"Helicopter", I said. "See if you can get off the road, Lucy. Find some
cover".

It was probably nothing. Probably a civilian chopper just passing by, but it
didn't do to be complacent.