Plasticity Read online

  “No, she died a long time ago. Read a book.” Was her only response.

  After determining it was secure, the red haired woman led the others out of the apartment. The small dark haired guy was out first, mixing his heat signature with the plastic girl next to him. It made it hard to keep them defined, so Portland had to turn off the thermal vision. The small guy was looking around, just like he had at the gasoline kiosk, and he made way for a large black man, who was dressed the way people thought nice-dressed people dressed, and then, bringing up the rear, was Hayley. She looked a little different, wearing weird clothes, but it was definitely her.

  “What have they got her, for? What do you think they're going to do to her?” Thom was coughing out words excitedly.

  Portland set her hand out, and cocked her head. “Now, wait. That looks like a security detail, Thom. It doesn't look like they're doing anything to her. More like they're protecting her from something.”

  They watched as the group piled into the same small car the guy had left the club with. Portland sighed in relief. They would still be able to follow them. The large one sat up front, and slid the seat back as far as it would go. The short guy and the red-haired warrior queen seemed to be arguing, quietly, after which, the short guy joined Hayley in the back seat and the redhead got in the driver's seat. Portland had her left foot on the brake, heel holding the clutch pedal to the floor, with her right foot resting gently on the accelerator pedal, ready to go as soon as the other car left. A rare situation that caused Portland to regret, even if only briefly, her custom manual transmission. Still, it was a fairly small price to pay for the quality it added to the driving experience. When the group pulled out of the parking lot, Portland began to creep forward, keeping her distance, but it was soon obvious that she was going to have to go a lot faster to keep up with the woman driving that poor guy's car.

  Following at high speed, while maintaining distance and not being obvious, is an impossible chore for almost anyone to accomplish. Portland was no exception. It was soon obvious that they had been caught. Portland cursed herself for following them, instead of letting the marker do the following, but it was too late to worry about that, now. The woman raced around, doubling back through streets in a clear attempt to lose them. Portland had decreased the distance between them, though, having given up the pretense she had tried to cultivate by hanging back. After it became apparent that they were not going to lose their tail, the woman pulled over, and Portland saw her head turned talking to the people in the back, as she pulled up behind them.

  The red-haired woman was out of the car before Portland, and had crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat. She took on a fighting stance, legs apart, arms up, one fist out, one held closer to her face, but at chest level. “State your business.” She was no-nonsense, and to the point.

  Portland held her hands up in a sign of surrender. “We're just here for Hayley. Someone prodded me and stole her from my apartment this morning, and if that was you, no amount of fight training is going to protect you.” She made no move to begin combat, but she was firm in her words, and Thom knew she was not bluffing.

  The redhead made a quizzical expression. “Bullshit. She was here all night. You got the wrong girl. Get back in your car and leave.” She maintained eye contact and did not drop her fists.

  “That is exactly what I would expect some kidnapping motherfucker to say.” Portland was remaining calm and composed, despite what her vocabulary would have one believe. Portland took a second to examine her surroundings, checking for, among other things, cops and witnesses. “It looks like we're clear to settle this right now. Thom,” she called back to the car, “if you see anyone get out of that car, take off quick, especially if they have a cattle prod.” Thom got out of the passenger seat and got into the driver's seat. He had driven this car exactly one time before, and it had not been a confidence building experience. He left the car powered-on, feet hovering over pedals that he was certain he would confuse if he tried to leave in a panic.

  Portland approached the redhead, hands still in the air. She heard a door open and hoped Thom was ready to bolt. She got close enough to the redhead to begin engagement and watched for the first punch. She almost laughed out loud when the first punch turned out to be a tentative low kick. She blocked it, easily, and swatted at a fist, like a trainer in the ring with a boxer. “Not a fighter, huh?”

  At this insult, the redhead launched her assault. Left, left, right, a jab at Portland's midsection with the left, Portland dodged, and blocked, before the redhead threw an uppercut. Portland stepped back and the fist missed its mark by a mile, but another left fist connected in her gut.

  “Your eyes working, there, Ginger? I'm plastic, like you. Well, maybe not like you, like you, but you get my point.” She continued dodging and swatting the redhead's fists. It was clearly aggravating to the redhead. “You've been in a boxing ring, and maybe some form of mixed martial arts, but it doesn't look like you've ever been in a real fight. I kind of get the feeling you think you can win this fight with an arm-bar, or something.”

  “Fine, I'll bite,” the redhead said, between blows and short, testing, kicks. Neither fighter seemed to notice when the girl started to step out of the car. “What's a real fight?” She raised her right foot faster than Portland was expecting, and it landed, solidly, on the side of Portland's neck, just below her ear.

  Portland dropped to the ground, scrabbling away from another foot coming down at her face. Not that the kick had hurt, or that a foot to the face would even be noticeable. She jerked her body up enough to strike with her elbow, directly into the redhead's left knee. This sent the redhead down on one knee, dropping her long enough for Portland to get behind her, and grab a fistful of hair.

  “A real fight is without rules and to the death, at least for us plastics. And now it's over.” Portland said as she leveled something reminiscent of an awl at the juncture of the redhead's right ear, poised to strike.

  “Stop!” Hayley called out from behind her.

  It stopped Portland's hand, and she hesitated for a moment, considering plunging it into the brain case of the redhead. It wouldn't have killed her, or anything, but it would have taken her out of the equation for a good chunk of time. However, she decided to comply with Hayley's demand, and she backed away from the still-kneeling woman, but would not turn her back on her.

  “Hayley?” Portland called with the largest amount of head movement she felt she could get away with. “We're here to rescue you, or whatever. Get in the car with Thom, and get out of here. I'll take care of this.”

  “Who the hell are you? I recognized Thom, and that's why I got out of the car, but I don't know you, and I'm not going to do anything you say. Lydia, please come back over here and stop fighting with that girl.” Hayley certainly sounded different to Portland. Admittedly, she did not know Hayley very well, and they hadn't done that much talking in the time they spent together, but this was completely out of character. Lydia had stood, but did not return to Hayley, despite Hayley's request.

  Thom got out of the car, leaving it powered-on, but did not step out from behind the open car door, just in case. “Hayley, we're here to help.”

  “Here to help what? Why are you following us?” Hayley paused, then, as if hit with a sudden realization, narrowed her eyes and angled her brows. “Was it you, Thom? Is that why you're here?”

  Thom was looking back and forth, hands moving like he was juggling clouds of soap bubbles. “I have no idea what you're talking about, Hayley. Portland said you were kidnapped, so I came along to help find you.”

  “Bullshit, Thom. Someone at the hospital did this, and they've been hunting me ever since. Now you show up with some sort of service droid. It's an awful lot of a coincidence, dontcha think?” She was way more assertive than Thom or Portland had ever seen her be.

  “Did what, Hayley? Took you from Portland's this morning?” Thom was trying to get her to help piece this together, but she didn't seem t
o want to expand beyond vagueries.

  Portland stood still, not taking her eyes off the redhead, Lydia. “You're saying someone from the hospital abducted you? Is it one of these people? Just so you know, they hit me with a cattle prod when they took you, on top of the fact that they broke into my apartment. I am going to kill them. Maybe in the grizzliest of fashions.”

  “Again... Who are you supposed to be? I don't know you, and I certainly wasn't at your apartment this morning, or ever.”

  Portland actually looked hurt; a face Thom had not seen in over a decade. He looked from Hayley to Lydia, and then to the large black man who got out of the passenger side of the car. He stood by, though, and did not make any movements to approach.

  “Do you guys think we could try to make this a little more civil, here. You're just going around in circles, escalating the anger in the atmosphere.” The giant smiled in a manner that Thom was pretty sure he must have thought was kind and comforting. It was not, but Thom wasn't about to say anything.

  The short, dark haired guy got out of the car, as well, and approached Hayley. He whispered something in her ear, and her face softened, then looked worried. She whispered something back to him, and he nodded.

  “You... You were at the restaurant... with the other me?” Hayley looked beseechingly at Thom and then at Portland's back. “Alan saw you. Sitting in Charlene Becker's section, he said, but I didn't believe him.”

  Portland had somewhat regained her composure, but felt a strange tick develop at the mention of Charlie's name. She followed the redhead with her unblinking stare, rotating in place, as Lydia finally dropped her guard and casually strolled to Hayley's side. “I don't know what that 'other me' business is, but yes, we were at the restaurant where Charlie works, with you. And that night, you stayed with me, and the next day...” Portland let her words trail off once she had finished turning and saw the Hayley that stood before her.

  “Not me, I'm afraid. I've been in hiding for the past three months, and Thom just jumped himself up to prime suspect on the list of people I might be hiding from.” Hayley looked at Portland with no emotion, but that's exactly what Portland would expect from a complete stranger.

  “It isn't you. What the fuck, Hayley?” It wasn't necessarily obvious, but Thom had a feeling she wasn't addressing the girl standing in front of her, at this moment.

  Chapter 17: The Warehouse

  “Jesus Christ, Dave, what'd you do?” Truman stood across the table, looking at the girl in the chair. She was bound by zip ties around her hands and feet, tethering her to the chair. Her limp head was obscured by a black pillow case.

  “We got the girl. Lucked out, really. Saw her on the street, followed her back to some chick's place and watched from across the street. Got Mei to hack the entry codes and everything. Like a bank heist.” Dave beamed proudly, swinging his cattle prod and tapping it against his feet, like a batter at the plate.

  “What the hell are you doing with her?”

  “It's a little late, but I don't see why we can't move forward with the plan.”

  “The Plan!” Truman's chest was growing tight. Breath only coming with considerable effort. “I don't even know what the plan was. It was Cynthia's plan, and I haven't seen her for weeks. Unless you know how to use a botched transfer, with no record of the transfer, to expose some criminal organ harvesting scheme...” Truman waited, knowing he wasn't going to get a response.

  “Well, I don't know about that, but we couldn't leave her out there. She almost killed me, and she put Greg in the hospital for a month. I made sure that wasn't going to happen this time, though. Zip tied her up good. And I prodded her more than last time. Didn't stop 'til she was bouncing.”

  Truman managed to make his confused expression even more confused. “Bouncing? What the hell does that mean?”

  Dave smiled wide. “Last time we just zapped her, and she woke up in, like, an hour. This time I held it on her to make sure she didn't get up so quick.”

  Truman was on the verge of tears. “Do you even know how the cattle prod works, you idiot?”

  Dave started to speak, but Truman cut him off. “It triggers the overload circuit in the body, shutting it down before it damages anything. It's an instant shut down. As soon as the prod touches them, they shut down. No power going anywhere in the body.”

  Dave looked a little confused. He would never admit it, but most people thought he was stupid, and he wasn't sure they were wrong. Truman, however, was less uncertain. “Instant shut down, no power anywhere means no movement.”

  Dave still wasn't getting it.

  “If she even remotely twitched when you prodded her, instead of falling like a sack of bricks, that means she is flesh and bone! Jesus Christ, Dave. Yeah, you got the girl alright. The wrong one.”

  Dave started fidgeting and mumbling.

  “That also means you've committed a felony. And I am an accessory to that felony. I could kill you, you idiot.”

  Truman stepped around the table to the girl in the chair and removed the pillow case.

  “Truman, stop. She'll see us.” Dave tried to wrestle the pillowcase away from Truman, but it was too late to matter, anymore. Truman had already removed it from the girl's head.

  Truman's blood boiled, his breathing was erratic, and he couldn't even think of the words to use. He had to rely on actions, so he jammed the pillowcase down over Dave's head and stepped back a couple of feet. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Truman waved his hand, with his thumb resting on the nail of his pinkie, in front of Dave's face.

  “Three, I guess.” Dave let out a whimper as Truman smacked him in the head.

  “It's a goddamn pillowcase, Dave.” He ripped the pillowcase off of Dave's head and threw it on the ground. It landed with the least satisfying whisper possible, filling Truman with more impotent rage.

  Hayley had woken up in time to hear something about a pillowcase. She kept her eyes closed and tried not to panic. She felt sick, like the room was spinning, and every muscle ached like she had just left the gym. The place smelled musty. It smelled like cardboard boxes and secret societies. It didn't help her nausea in the least. She could hear a lot of stuff going on outside, muffled car and people sounds, and a river or something.

  “Go watch the doors and make sure no one comes in. I don't want anyone else to know what you did.”

  It went quiet in the room after Dave left, which made the background noise a bit clearer. Hayley heard someone sit in a chair, but she couldn't be sure where it was. Then, she heard the chair scrape an inch or two. It sounded like wooden legs against a concrete floor. Her own feet didn't quite touch the floor with her legs tied to the chair.

  “Are you pretending to be asleep?” A man's voice asked.

  Hayley kept her eyes closed, but she shook her head in response. She could hear the man stumble over his words, not getting more than a syllable out at a time. She had caught him off guard, but what did he really expect with a stupid question like that?

  “Look, uh, don't freak out, please. We did something really stupid.” Truman shifted his chair closer, so he could lean his elbows on the table. “Please, open your eyes. Let's talk about this.”

  “No way. I didn't see anything. You don't have to kill me.”

  Truman sighed. “No one is going to kill you. My name is Truman Pond. I have a job, friends... well, just several responsibilities in general. I wouldn't risk any of that, nor would anyone else here risk themselves, by killing someone. Usually, we wouldn't kidnap anyone, either, but some of us aren't as intellectually gifted as others, and don't know the difference between 'the plan', and 'not the plan.' As you can, perhaps, imagine, this is 'not-the-plan.'” Truman paused to catch his breath. He wanted to assure the girl that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn't be sure that it was. Not now. He had no idea what was going to happen, now, after they had kidnapped an actual flesh person. “The original plan had something to do with disrupting the transfer or something, then stealing the plasti
c to expose the organ harvesting that the hospital was doing. At least, that's what I got from it. It was never really clearly outlined for us. It wasn't our plan. But, it was never part of the plan to hurt you, and it's not going to be part of it, now.”

  Hayley finally opened her eyes, but closed them again quickly. The light was too much and her head was pounding. After a few good blinks, she was able to keep her eyes open, and focus on the man across the table from her. “Look, I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe, start from somewhere further back, like the beginning or something. What does any of this have to do with me? Are you sure you got the right girl?”

  Truman was taken aback. There was no way she didn't know what was going on, was there? “Nothing I said made you think about why you might be here?” He waited, briefly, but was irked by her silence. “How could you have gone through the transition and not know that something went wrong?”

  Hayley made a face he couldn't read, and just looked at him, without answering. He sighed, “So, the beginning, huh?” To which, she nodded.

  Truman got up from the table and crossed the room. Hayley followed with her eyes, and saw what he was going for. She whimpered and flexed at her bindings. He gave the appearance of ignoring her, but when he returned to the table, he had two mis-matched mugs, the smaller of which he set in front of Hayley. She eyed him, expectantly, but he made no move to sit down, or to release her bindings. After what felt like an eternity, Truman knelt at Hayley's feet.

  “Don't hurt me, don't run.” He cut the zipties from her left ankle and paused. She wriggled her foot a bit, but did not try to kick him. He crossed around behind her and cut the zipties from her right ankle. Her feet still didn't quite touch the floor. Truman stood between Hayley and the table and cut the remaining zipties from her wrists. She rolled her hands around, at the wrists, and then rubbed her wrists. She didn't know if it was necessary, but that's what people always did in the movies, so that's what she did. Truman returned to the other side of the table and sat down, picking up his coffee. Hayley sipped at her coffee, and was pleased to find it was still hot. It wasn't particularly good coffee, but it was better than no coffee.