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A Doll's Odyssey
Part Thirteen
LXVII. Déjà vu: Juan Moa Tam
LXVII. Deja vu: Juan Moa Tam
Monday, September 30, 1999, Columbus, Ohio
"So how did you know I was in the truck?" Dolly asked, shifting uncomfortably in the manacles that held her suspended with her extended toes six inches off the cold, dank concrete floor. This time they hadn't bothered to drug her or blindfold her or any of that, so she knew exactly where she was. For all the good it would do her.
She was naked, of course. She figured that somewhere in the clone heirarchy there was a woman who was secretly fixated on her body and that's why, every time they captured her, (which was happening with boring frequency anymore), they stripped her or tied her up in some way that seemed designed to appeal to somebody's sick fetish for chains and leather. She herself loved the feel of supple leather against her skin, but no more than she liked the feel of cotton knit shirts or silk underwear. This whole thing with the leather manacles and yard upon yard of chromed dog chain was just really too much.
The particular clone in her prison with her was one that the Center would no doubt designate an XHeche. "We saw you at the rest area in Ann Arbor, of course, and followed you to the TA truck stop and then down Route 23. We could have taken you at any time, of course, but as long as you were being brought right to us, why should we exert ourselves?"
"I'm surprised the Trolls haven't come in here and done a Terminix number on you-all."
"They have tried. So far, we have been able to hold them off. Soon, it won't matter. We're about to move onto the next phase of our plan. To which you will be making a most important contribution."
"An egg." Dolly said flatly.
"Mm, yes," said the clone coyly. "We had hoped..."
"Well, I got a clue for you. Have you taken a real good look at me?"
"Of course. Our doctors will be giving you a thorough examination later this morning. But certain facts are... mmm, obvious."
"So what makes you think you can get any eggs out of me."
"Have you been menstruating since you were last in our hands?"
"No. But I've never been terribly regular. Could start any time." There was a pleasant thought.
"It matters not. The eggs we stimulated should still be present."
"How're you gonna find them? Fer sure they're not still in my tubes."
"Oh, we have our ways."
Dolly shuddered at the thought of those "ways".
"I want you to take a close look at my skin," she said. "I'm told that this is a genetic condition. Are you sure..."
"Hush!" the clone ordered, suddenly alarm replaced the complacent arrogance that had been her expression hitherto. "You should consider your words most carefully, Ms Dolly. If you are of no use to us, then you are a liability. We do not retain liabilities."
Dolly raised a lone eyebrow at that. The clone's face was a stony mask. "I see. So you wouldn't, perhaps, let me go, eh?"
"No," the clone said with pursed lips, shaking her head.
Dolly sighed. "Oh, well. I guess I shouldn't get too friendly with you. 'Cause when my people get here, you're gonna be dead. It's so hard to lose people you're close to. Don't you think?"
"Your threats are empty, little one. At this moment, the Center does not know we have you. They are still searching for you in Michigan."
Fifteen minutes later, they force-fed her a pill. Within a half-hour the bodily neuralgia that had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember... weeks at least... was gone and the petechiae on her skin began to fade.
#
Southern Michigan, near Detroit Metro (DTW) Airport
"Mitch," Terry's voice came over the phone, "It's seven o'clock. Is another five hours going to do any good? We have no way of knowing, but I think there's a good chance that Gabrielle is back in Columbus."
"Yeah." Drummond mumbled. With the help of the Michigan State Police, they'd tracked Dolly to a truck stop in west Ann Arbor where the entire staff was remarkably closed-mouthed and there were an awful lot of rigs not going anywhere and a heavy air of anticipation in the coffee shop. But they couldn't get any traction.
"Shut it down. Bring it home. Just bring everybody back here and we'll take up the search from this end. No more extensions."
"Mmm," Drummond said. "Terry, I'm sorry I took it on myself to take the extra day. But you don't understand what it's like!"
"Mitch!" Terry challenged him.
"OK, Terry!" he said so sharply he instantly regretted it, but truculently let it go anyway.
"Look, I've wanted you to break this off since Saturday. I keep letting my emotions persuade me to extend the deadlines. No more. Pack it in now. Don't try one more place. Don't spend another hour by the roadside trying to spot one person in six lanes of traffic. Just drop off your rentals and catch the next plane out."
"Right," Drummond said.
#
Groveport, Ohio, the Office of the Director, the Center for Xena Studies
Terry cradled the handset. "He's not going to do it," Bobbo said from his seat in the corner.
Serafin, seated on the credenza by the window, nodded. "I agree."
"He will come to regret it. I suppose it's a good thing I haven't asked the gods for the power to hurl thunderbolts, 'cause I'd love to do nothing better than to scorch his butt right now." Terry let herself fall back in her chair. She bit her lower lip and squinted at the ceiling, as though trying to picture something.
"Bobbo," she said suddenly, "Get the TAT out on the street. Plainclothes. See what you can find out. Have somebody check out that warehouse district in the bottoms across from Berliner Park. I gotta believe that Dolly's made it back to town. If that's true, then why hasn't she checked in with us?"
"She can't," Serafin offered.
"Yes. So we have to help her."
"Seems to me that she was pretty pissed off, last anyone knew," Bobbo put in. "I mean... It's pretty strange that she should have been within pickup range of our choppers and instead choose to disappear."
"Fair enough. But we don't know what went on between her and that alien she killed. It sure looks to me like she's trying to come home. Although why she doesn't just catch a plane, I'll never know."
"No plastic. Hell, why'd she call the switchboard? She knows the number to that phone," Bobbo pointed to the phone on Terry's desk.
"I have an idea about that," Maxine put in a bid for attention. Terry raised an eyebrow.
"Well," the Director's assistant went on, "Before I came upstairs to the OOD, I worked in the secure communications lab. We programmed cell phones for the TAT agents, including the ones Agent Dolly carried. All she ever had to do was speed-dial a two-digit number. We always set hers up so that this office was 22. 11 for home, 12 for Drummond, and 22 for Terry. She'd give us different specs for different missions, but those three were always the same. I wonder if she does know the number. If her phone were taken away from her, she could be totally cut off from us."
Terry nodded. "So that call to the switchboard was more important than we could imagine."
Maxine smiled. "I've been thinking about this since then. Seems to me that almost has to be it. Otherwise... I mean, if she was gonna run, why call us at all? Why not just--go?"
#
Detroit Metro Airport
"Drummond, admit it. We aren't going to find her. She's obviously headed for home. If she's not already there. I mean, she started out two days ago for a six-hour trip. We have no reason to think she's still in Michigan."
They were sitting at an undifferentiated fast food joint in the Dearborn or Ypsilanti or someplace like that. The engine was running. Drummond was scarfing down the last of a container of cooling french fries. Xe was slurping on a cold soft drink, using a straw to render the very dregs of the last drop of liquid out of the cup.
"What's the deposit on this thing?" he asked, indicating the Jeep they were sitting in.
"Why?"
"'Cause I want to try one more thing. It means we might not be able to return it in Michigan. Of course, I don't know why I care. I can afford it." He shook his head in disgust at himself. "The love of my life is in danger of dying and I'm worried if I'm gonna have to pay for a car. Man are my priorities whacked."
"Didn't Terry say to catch the next plane out? Are we not two miles from Detroit Metro? What part of 'NO' don't you understand?"
"If you want to bail, I'll understand. In fact, maybe you'd better. No sense in your getting into trouble for my pig-headedness."
"Nuh-uh. No freakin' way. If I leave you now and something happens, I will never hear the end of it from Gabrielle."
"That's the thing, Xe. What if you already have heard the last of it? What if she's dead. Or dying, lying in a ditch by the side of the road somewhere? And I'm supposed to just go back to Columbus like a good little robot when I should be out here looking for her?"
"Oh, hell, man. How the fuck are you gonna find her? She's one very small girl... woman... in the middle of a very big world," Xe gestured at the landscape outside, with its almost infinite horizon and the huge inverted blue bowl of the sky above.
"We can follow the route she would have followed if she were hitchhiking."
"But, if she got a ride from one of those truckers at the TA Center, they would have taken her all the way, wouldn't they? What if she's in Columbus but can't get to the Center for some reason? What if where you should be is there... looking for her, or mounting a rescue operation or something? What then, if you're up here in Michigan, 150-plus miles away?"
#
Groveport, Ohio, The Office of the Director, the Center for Xena Studies
"Oh-Oh-Dee," Terry answered the phone on her desk, more to have something to say than because the caller would need to be told that he or she had reached the Office Of the Director. She kept it on speaker for the benefit of the others in the office.
"Terry, it's Xe."
"Well, well! The prodigal. So where is he?"
"Right here."
"Where are you?"
"Detroit Metro."
"Stand by. The Starship is orbiting. I'll have them pick you up. Be ready at the General Aviation ramp."
"OK."
Terry pushed the disconnect. "I don't care if Dolly is in love with him. I can't work with somebody who won't take orders. When this is all over, Drummond's gone. If that means we lose Dolly, well--so be it."
"I think we can come up with some incentives to keep her here," Serafin said.
"Good. Get it written up and have it to me before the Starship lands at Rick."
Serafin nodded and slid off the credenza seat she'd occupied most of the morning. "You OK?" she asked the Director, who nodded without speaking.
Next: LXVIII. A day in the sun | Previous: LXVI. Penultima fule