Unremarkable & Other Stories

Unremarkable

& Other Stories

Book One of the Universe Series

Published by Sean Sandulak

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Sean Sandulak

Names, characters, places, and events are used fictitiously or satirically, and are the product of the author’s overactive imagination. Any resemblance to actual locations, incidents or persons, living, dead or otherwise, is a complete coincidence and the product of your imagination.

These stories may contain mild profanity, violence, and other mature content. They are not intended for young children.

Unremarkable & Other Stories

Copyright 2012 by Sean Sandulak

All Rights Reserved. These works may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the written permission of the author.

Published by Sean Sandulak

seansandulak.com

ISBN 978-0-9936982-1-7

Forward

Strange things are happening, but no one wants to talk about them. Whether it’s the tales of people with extraordinary abilities, or the rumors of a secret government organization established to hunt them down, few can deny that the world has become a strange and sometimes frightening place. In the middle of it all, a few individuals try to make sense of the mystery and hunt down clues to its origin, while others can only try to deal with the consequences.

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Book One of the Universe series – This collection is the first part of a serialized short story series I began in 2012 as a way to experiment with mechanics of storytelling. After completing the first few, I realized that they were starting to form a part of a larger narrative, so I've rewritten some of the older pieces and have reformatted others to give a more consistent style throughout. Each story is intended to work as a stand alone tale, but also in conjunction with the rest. Consequently, in many of the stories, there are clues and exposition that give you insight into what is happening in the other stories in the shared universe.

I hope you enjoy these stories and will continue to follow these adventures.

Uncomplicated

Cassidy

The party had been dreadfully dull and full of grown-ups she’d never met before. The youngest kid, besides herself, had been a twelve-year-old boy who wanted nothing to do with her, as she was only nine and a girl. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, Cassidy had slept through most of the evening on the pile of coats in the spare bedroom and was wide awake now as her father drove her mother and her home.

Looking around in the back seat for a toy to pass the time, Cassidy saw her father’s old phone peeking out from under his seat. He had downloaded some games earlier and given it to her to play with. She thought she had lost it, but it had reappeared just in time to save her from the long dull trip through the country. The only problem was it was out of reach. Mommy was sleeping, and Daddy was busy driving, so she figured they wouldn’t notice if she undid her seat belt for a little while. She slid across the seat and reached underneath to grab the phone.

The car began to sway. Her father was shouting. There was a bright light and she was flying, weightless. The sounds of shattering glass and bending metal were somehow muted, as if they were far away and this horror was happening to someone else. Then, just as suddenly as the light had come,  the world went dark, and she was falling into what seemed like an endless abyss. There was pain as she hit the ground and rolled down the embankment to the trees below. She cried out, but there was no one there to answer her.

As she regained her senses, a dim glow to her right caught her attention. Cassidy was surprised to find she still held the phone clutched in her hand. She tried to dial but her fingers wouldn’t move. She couldn’t even feel them. When she tried to reach for the phone with her other hand, pain shot up her arm forcing her to stop. Despite the protestations of her bruised flesh and broken bones, she managed to slide her torso closer to the phone until her head was right next to it. That was when she realized the reason she couldn’t move her fingers was because her arm was no longer attached to her body.

She should have been horrified and screaming. Perhaps it was the shock or just a consequence of her unique mind, but she managed to keep calm despite all of her injuries. Cassidy knew she needed help and her parents must be hurt as well. She might be the only one still conscious, and she needed to stay focused if they were going to be rescued in time. She leaned over and dialed with her tongue. Finally, someone picked up. She tried to speak but all she could manage was a faint call for help before she became dizzy and rolled over on her back.

There was another loud bang, and something coming toward her fast through the darkness…

She woke with a gasp and nearly slipped off her stool. Having fallen asleep at her workbench again, she was groggy and disoriented. Even after all these years, she kept finding herself dreaming of that night and all the things she couldn’t change.

A tiny ball of fur nudged her arm, demanding attention. She picked up the robotic kitten and nuzzled his neck and stroked his back fur. She knew it was just the algorithms responding to a need to recharge that made it act that way, but even she was still fooled by the mastery of her handicraft.

If you didn’t purr so much, you wouldn’t wear out your batteries so fast, she scolded the simulacrum. She cradled it in her hands as she carried it over to the small pet bed which hid the induction charging plate. There you go. Sleep tight. She stroked the tiny kitten on the head a few times and it immediately curled into a ball and pretended to be asleep.

Cassidy had almost worked out the kinks in the programming and would soon be able to sell the design. The money she earned would set her up for life, indeed for several lifetimes. The ersatz animal had been her most difficult challenge to date, and she wanted it to be perfect. She knew her little friend would be the object of desire for every child with a parent to beg from, and a companion to those who, for whatever reason, couldn’t have a real animal. There were already thoughts of a similar puppy, perhaps even a teacup piglet, running through her head.

She wished she could have had one when she was younger. After her parents had died in the crash, she’d been sent to live with a foster couple who had forbidden any pets because of the woman’s allergies. A manipulative shrew of a woman, she was more interested in the government cheques than she was in raising children. Her husband had been doting and pleasant enough, but his wife was another story entirely. Once Cassidy had carved out a workspace in the garage, however, the woman had learned that she would be left alone if offered the same in return.

The accident had left her with only two working fingers and a thumb on her left hand. The other arm had been severed below the elbow and, in the long minutes it had taken for help to arrive, had been rendered unrecoverable. It had been the third car, swerving to miss the accident, that had slid down the embankment and crushed her legs.

She found solace in her gift for invention. Within a year she had built herself a dollhouse. Unlike other girls her age though, her dollhouse was not a Victorian house with antique furniture. Her creation was an Art Deco inspired mansion that was designed with clean, straight lines and circles. Built from plaster and glass, it had working lights and plumbing.

While that worked for a few years, Cassidy quickly found that building toys was not enough to engage her anymore. Unsatisfied with the prostheses she had been given, she sought to improve on them. By the time she was sixteen, she had made a pair of legs that allowed her to walk without the aid of crutches. She used them to run away from her foster home. That was ten years ago. She had made improvements since then.

There was a knock at the door. She didn’t have any appointments today, and she wasn’t expecting any packages. Still groggy from sleep, she walked over to answer the door. Her workspace was in a small warehouse off of an alley, selected to avoid curious passers-by. Casual visitors were unheard of, and Cassidy did not know anyone in the city well enough to call them a friend, having only moved here a few months ago. She wondered who it could be.

She straightened her long brown hair and tied it up in a ponytail. Through the small window beside the door she saw two men in suits, one tall and about her age, the other older and average height. Strange men at her door could only be preachers or Feds. Whether they were J-men or G-men, men in suits were always bad news.

She opened the door and gave the men a scowl. Yes. What do you want?

Miss Cassidy Miramontes? The older one asked.

Maybe, she snapped back. Who’s asking?

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. With a practiced flip of his wrist he opened it to reveal a laminated ID card. Military Intelligence. You recently applied for a contract with Anders International. As an entity with several sensitive government contracts, we are required to vet all potential employees, contractors, and vendors. We would just like to ask you a few routine questions. May we come in?

What’s the deal? she demanded. I’ve worked for them before but I never had to submit to a background check.

Circumstances change, and with them, policies, said the younger one, casually. If you’d rather I went back and told them you’re not interested in the contract anymore, that is your only other option at this point.

Cassidy never liked strangers poking around her workshop, especially when they showed up unannounced. She considered just dumping the job and tossing these two clowns out on the street, but she needed the money for her robot pet start-up, and the project was a fascinating problem in design. Ultimately, her enthusiasm for the work overcame her distaste for intrusive questions from the government. Whatever. Ask your questions.

We also need to inspect your workplace, said the other agent, so why don’t we step inside and talk. A thin smile crossed his lips as he squinted in the sunlight.

All right, come in, she said, half-heartedly. Her gut was telling her that something about these guys didn’t seem right, but their credentials seemed to be legitimate. She strode to her workbench and sat down on the stool, deliberately forcing the agents to stand if they wanted to talk to her.

The two men glanced around. It was all one room except for a small bathroom in the back. In the corner nearest the door, a couch and television were set up in a makeshift living area. Nearby were an old fridge and a counter with a hot plate and microwave. Assorted pots, plates, and boxes of food were carefully arranged on the shelves underneath. The rest of the space was given over neatly stacked shelves of mechanical and electrical components, sorted by their function and size, and to the large workbench where Cassidy spent most of her time. An overhead door was the only other egress. The space had once been used as a garage, and it still smelled faintly of used motor oil.

You live here? the younger man asked with thinly veiled contempt.

I’m between places right now, she replied, masking her own scorn. Seeing as how I was spending most of my time here anyhow, I just started crashing here. There were some projects I didn’t want to leave unguarded as well.

It was the older one who spoke this time. Is security a problem? This doesn’t look like the best neighborhood.

After someone tried to break in the first time, I secured all the windows with bars and the doors with double deadbolts. Plus, I put in a security system of my own design. If anyone ever tries to break in again, they’re in for a nasty surprise.

You make custom electronics and devices?

Only the best, she said.

And you’re the only one who works here? asked the older one. There are no other employees?

It’s a one-woman show. I don’t like ordering people around and I don’t have to answer to anyone except who I choose. Cassidy’s patience was wearing thin and it was starting to show. She had to remind herself that these guys were bureaucrats doing their job. The sooner she got through this, the sooner she could get on with her life. She slowed her breathing and tried to calm her rising ire. Why is Military Intelligence doing background checks anyway? Isn’t that the Bureau’s job?

The older agent ignored the question and turned to the younger one who was standing off to one side, arms folded across his chest. So, what do you think?

The tall man scowled and answered, You know what I think.

Yes, I do. When he turned back to Cassidy, he seemed almost sad. Do it.

For the first time since he had shown up on her doorstep, the younger agent showed some life. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol with a long barrel. Before she could even think to react, he pulled the trigger. A dart hit her in the thigh, but it bounced off the plastic of her artificial leg.

Shit! yelled the younger one. Is she armored? Nobody said anything about body armor.

Cassidy bolted off the stool. She did the only thing she could and ran for the door. A sharp pain hit her in the back between the shoulder blades as she opened the door and ran outside. She only got a few steps before she felt dizzy and her vision blurred. She had to stop before she fell on her face. A few seconds later she blacked out and collapsed to the ground.

For the first time in years, Cassidy slept untroubled by nightmares, but she woke dazed and weak. Her eyes were too heavy to open and her mouth was dry and pasty. She tried to roll over on her side to make the lumpy couch a little more comfortable, but she found she couldn’t move. Memories started to come back, and panic flooded through her as she became aware that this time the nightmare was real.

Her artificial limbs were gone and with them any way of fighting back or escaping. They had even taken her clothes, leaving her lying there in nothing but her underwear. It was like she was some kind of freak on display for the whole world to see.

All at once she felt like she was trapped in the ditch again with the black shadow rushing toward her. She couldn’t open her eyes or even turn her head, but she could make out half-a-dozen voices. All she could do was listen as these strange men tore apart her shop and her life.

I want everything examined and cataloged before it gets moved. We don’t know what kind of surprises are waiting for us.

Be careful with that. It looks delicate.

Are we taking the tools as well?

Yeah. Everything goes.

Have you ever seen anything like this before?

So how do we classify this one?

Cyborg?

No, they’re not implants. They’re just attachments. It would be like calling you a cyborg because you wear glasses.

If she made the glasses they would probably be real x-ray specs. This stuff is amazing.

So molecular manipulation, then.

I don’t think so. See here. It was welded in place. Granted, it’s expert workmanship, some of the best I’ve ever seen, but otherwise it’s unexceptional. And she wouldn’t need all the tools if she could do it without them.

What does that leave us with?

Hyper-sapient?

What, super-intelligence? I’ve only met one before, and he sussed us out in three seconds. This one let us walk in the front door. And they never bother with material things. They live almost exclusively trapped in their own heads.

I think we may have to consider the null hypothesis.

What does that mean?

She might not be, you know, one of them.

But she fits the profile perfectly: loner, secretive, self-employed, extraordinary abilities, childhood trauma.

"Nevertheless, there is one fairly obvious thing that you all seem to be overlooking. If she’s one of them why didn’t she heal? Why is she still missing her legs and arm?

Shit, he’s right

No, that’s not possible.

On the contrary, it was inevitable, statistically speaking.

Can we test that? Maybe a small cut…

Don’t be a barbarian. You shot her with a tranq, didn’t you? Check the puncture mark. It’ll be an hour old already.

She felt hands turning her over on her side, and then examine her back. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t move her mouth to vent her rage and shame. She had never felt this helpless and vulnerable. Somehow this was even worse than when she had lain in the woods, waiting to die. This felt like it would never end.

That doesn’t prove anything.

Actually, we use healing as one of the prime indicators. I don’t think we’ve seen a single case that didn’t have accelerated healing to some degree.

Christ, she’s waking up.

I got it.

A sticky, sweet spray hit her in the face. She might have thrown up, but the paralytic in her system had suppressed her gag reflex. Helpless to move, she was forced to breathe in the vapors. The room spun for a second before the blackness of sleep returned.

When Cassidy woke again, she was in an unfamiliar room, a cell of concrete painted white and with a heavy metal door in one wall. She was lying on a bunk, dressed in an orange jumpsuit which was trimmed and roughly stitched where the pant legs and one sleeve would have hung down uselessly. A wheelchair was parked beside the bed.

You’re finally awake.

Cassidy’s head snapped to the corner of the room at the foot of the bed. She recognized the older of the two agents sitting on a chair, staring back at her.

Where…? Cassidy’s mouth was still bone dry and she choked on the words. She pushed herself to a sitting position on the bed with her good arm and instantly regretted it.

The agent filled a plastic cup with water from the nearby sink and handed it to her, letting her take a sip before continuing. While I’m sure you’re curious about where you are, it probably hasn’t occurred to you that we don’t want you to know. Suffice it to say you are a military prisoner being held for national security reasons. He sat back down in the chair and leaned back like he was preparing to stay for a while.

You don’t have any right to hold me. I haven’t broken any laws. She drained the cup and tossed it back at the sink. It missed and clattered loudly before coming to rest on the floor.

Officially, you have suffered a psychotic episode and are being held indefinitely for your own safety. I can show you the paperwork if you like. It’s all perfectly legal and signed by doctors and a judge. We can keep you here as long as we like.

Cassidy knew from the tone of his voice the man wasn’t joking. Still dizzy and confused from all the drugs they had pumped into her today, she was in no condition to argue. Only one more question occurred to her. What do you want from me?

She must have said the right thing, because he smiled and leaned forward in the chair. It’s very simple. We’re at war, and we need your help.

You have a hell of a way of asking for help. If she hadn’t been so sick and scared, she might have laughed. You have a whole army to fight your wars. Why do you need me?

First things first, he said. We need to find out whose side you’re on.

What do you mean? Who are you even fighting?

All that in good time. He gestured to the wheelchair and said, Are you up for a little trip?

Cassidy looked at the rickety wheelchair and sighed. It had been many years since she had needed one of those. I don’t suppose I could get my legs back?

One step at a time.

She hated to admit it but she was going to need some help to get in the chair. She was still off-balance from all the sedatives, and she was long out of practice in any case. The agent seemed to anticipate her needs however, and brought the wheelchair up next to the bed. He bent down and guided her into the chair with a practiced efficiency that told her that he was a man with some medical training. It felt odd and a little demeaning to be so dependent on a man who, for all intents and purposes, had just kidnapped her, but she had always been pragmatic. She had to be strong if she was going to survive.

They went down a long corridor with many more cells, until they came to a large metal door with a guard dressed in riot gear. As they approached, the guard opened the door to let them pass. Beyond was another passageway leading away at a right angle to the cell block. This one was freshly painted, but pipes and other conduits ran along its ceiling. It looked like a service tunnel where the previous one had looked more like a dungeon. After they had gone through the door, the guard sealed the door again without a word or even a nod of acknowledgment.

What is this place? she asked.

It’s a lot of things, he said, absent-mindedly. A military base, a research laboratory, and sometimes a prison. I know you have a lot of questions, but they are just going to have to wait. There are reasons for the things we do. Very serious reasons. His voice trailed off as if he were recalling some unpleasant memory.

They moved in silence through several more tunnels until the came to another reinforced door. This one opened on to what looked like a hallway that one might find in the basement of a hospital or a university. Again an armor-clad doorman closed and sealed the door behind them. Cassidy got the distinct impression that these rooms and hallways were normally bustling with activity, but had been cleared out because of her. She couldn’t help feeling silly thinking that these burly stormtroopers were around to protect a bunch of military types from a cripple who would have trouble making a sandwich in her current condition.

They passed through a set of double doors into a large room filled with workbenches full of machining tools and plastic bins. She immediately recognized most of the things as belonging to her. It was everything from her workshop, abducted and imprisoned like her. She felt the need to check and make sure everything was accounted for and nothing was broken, but the agent had other ideas.

He pushed her up to a low table with nothing on it but small bin about the size of a shoebox. Reaching in, he pulled out a heavy plastic collar and started to fasten it around her neck.

What is that? she asked.

Sorry, but this is non-negotiable, he said, sternly. Everybody wears these here. Even me. He pulled down his shirt collar to reveal that he was in fact wearing an identical band around his neck. They’re as much for your protection as they are for security."

As the collar clicked and locked into place she immediately felt an electric shock and reached to pull it off. Ow! I think it’s broken. It just gave me a nasty shock.

That’s perfectly normal, he said. You’ll get used to it.

Well, I don’t like it. It itches.

The agent reached into the bin and pulled out a circuit board. He placed it on the table in front of her and said, What can you tell me about this?

Cassidy turned it over in her hand, giving it a cursory glance. It’s a circuit board.

Unamused by her sarcasm, he said, "Anything