Evolution

"No, not at all. For all intents and purposes, we'll provide what is essentially a temporary carbon fiber skeletal structure, a kind of regenerative matrix of your own tissue, for new tissue to adhere to. While this is going on, we'll implant a synthetic neurological net as a failsafe, in case your own doesn't regenerate correctly, or to help it along if your own resulting net is incomplete. It's actually simpler than it sounds, as your body does most of the work."

"Carbon fiber?"

"Yes, but in time even that matrix will be replaced by your own bone. In a few years you'll be, again, for all intents and purposes, one hundred percent you."

"This is all new, isn't it?"

"Yes, and still considered experimental. So, what do you say? Are you in?"

I remember looking at Amy again, that smile, those eyes. Pleading, a soft parade leading me on to the unknown.

"Yeah, I'm in. Too young to retire, and too stupid to know better."

"Fine," Prentice said, sighing his relief. "We'll have some papers for you to sign tomorrow, and we'll prepare your short-term disability papers as well. We should shoot for moving you over to our lab in three days, and you should be home within two weeks." He turned to leave, but paused and nodded at Amy before he left, and she followed him out of the ICU.

I didn't see her again that night, or even the next day – as it turned out.

+++++

But when I came home from Prentice's lab, she was there, waiting, when I walked in the door to my place. I'd given her a key, I remembered, "just in case." Curious, those spur of the moment choices we make.

And my place was spotless. Cleaned, like a regiment of Marine "boots" had invaded the place. So clean I was sure the bolts holding my toilet seat to the bowl had been hit with Brasso...twice. My sheets were starched, and there was a goddamn turkey roasting in the oven. Had she moved in, too? Was she, god forbid, pregnant?

"I just wanted to make sure your first night home was easy."

"Easy?"

"Yeah. You know, clean sheets, something to eat. That kind of thing."

"Ah. I was certain I heard wedding bells."

She laughed at that. At least I think she did.

"Maybe that would be a bad idea," she said.

"I thought you said you loved me."

"I thought you said you loved me, too," she replied.

"I did. Because I do."

"Then...would you just hold me?"

"I can do that," I said, but in truth, I wasn't so sure. The feelings coming from my still bandaged left hand were as yet anything but "normal" – more an annoying "buzzing" sensation that at times felt alternately hot, then cold. But when Amy slipped into my arms my whole world felt complete again...like there was a current between us...something so elemental was enjoined when we fused. Still, my right hand went for the back of her head, because that part of me couldn't understand why the round that shattered my hand hadn't penetrated her skull – yet – I felt nothing. As in: I felt nothing at all, just normal hair, not even a scalp wound.

'I guess my hand took it all,' I remember thinking. 'Lucky.'

But her hands were searching for something else just then, and as she undid my belt and pushed my pants to the floor I hoped the bird in the oven wasn't going to be too badly burned.

+++++

Odd. Returning to duty felt odd.

Like I hadn't been gone.

No one said a thing to me when I walked in the briefing room. Not one "Hey, how're you doin', Jim?" and no knowing nods. I'd been gone six weeks, and now...this? Had my affair with Amy poisoned so many friendships? Why the silent treatment?

But it wasn't poisoned, not really. The feeling was more like I hadn't been gone at all, and when Amy walked into the room no one looked up, no one looked at her as she walked over and sat in the chair next to mine. Our shift sergeant walked in a few minutes later and briefing got under way – with not one "Welcome back, Jim," to be had. Notes taken, feelings hurt, briefing broke up at five 'til and Amy and I made our way out to the lot and prepped the car. She drove and I sat in the dark, wondering what the hell was going on.

The hottest call we'd had all night was a barking dog complaint, and by zero four thirty I was bored, yet antsy even so. I flexed my left hand, marveled at the perfect sense of movement, the utterly normal sense of feeling there now...even my fingernails were growing back ridged, just as they had two months ago...before all this bullshit happened...but the feeling that something was wrong began to grow in the shadows...

"How 'bout a donut?" she said as our lunch break came up.

I shook my head. "Maybe some ice water," I said absently...but she pulled into our all-night diner a minute later and checked us out.

"Come on," she said, looking at me with real concern in her eyes. "Let's eat something. Just get out of the car for a while, anyway," and as she was getting out we both heard it...

A woman's scream, then two gunshots – deep and still.

Thursday night, a full moon out, too. We both stood still, trying to make out where we'd heard the sounds.

There...down the street...lights going out in a second floor window...

"Call it in," I told her, "and get some backup coming." I reached in, hit the safety and took the Remington 870 from the rack and jacked a round into the chamber as I started down the street on foot. Fog was rolling in – all I could hear now was a foghorn on the bay – and then Amy running to catch up with me. Turning my head a bit, I reached out into the night, trying to feel something I knew was eluding me...

...Ambush...I thought...

Once the feeling hit I stopped dead in my tracks, and Amy did too.

"This is a trap," I whispered.

"How do you know?" came her equally quiet reply.

"We open the door to get out of the car and then – bam. People around this neighborhood know we come here, all of us, all night long. Anyone watching our routine would know when to look, too, and there are no calls coming in, no one complaining about gunshots and screams at four in the morning. Something's not right..."

She got on her hand unit and advised dispatch what I'd said, and dispatch confirmed no calls coming in from the area.

"Let's wait for backup," I said as I pulled her into the shadows, then...

"Over there," she whispered, pointing at a man across the street – with an AK-47 – running in a low crouch – in our direction.

We drifted back into some really deep shrubbery, and she updated dispatch. A helicopter was en route, a tactical call-out in progress; now we had to wait, see what developed.

The man across the street stopped, looked at our squad car, then at the diner – but not at us – then I saw at least two more men in the shadows across the street, and Amy whispering to dispatch, listening now through an earbud.

A noise, close, on our side of the street. Foot-steps, very quiet...had I taken the safety off? I slipped my finger along the trigger-guard and felt that – yes – I had, just as I saw this new attacker not ten feet away, looking up the street at the diner...

I heard the first back-up unit before I saw it, but this guy's AK was already coming up to his shoulder when I saw the Ford's lights two blocks up Van Ness. My 870 was up on my shoulder and as soon as I heard the first round from his AK, and I squeezed off a shot. The double ought buckshot ripped into the guy's chest and neck and he went down hard and fast, like a sack of potatoes. Amy had her Sig out and opened up on the guys across the street, just as a burst slammed into the stucco above our heads – and as I pushed her to the dirt. Then I was up and let slip four quick rounds of buckshot, just as a couple million candlepower light lit up the scene. There was a helicopter overhead now, and two vans full of Tac officers arrived and engaged our ambushers as fast as they could get into the fight; next I felt an explosion and the lights went out...all of them, all down the street...and then I heard another helicopter overhead...this one with a gunner leaning out the door.

This isn't San Francisco, I remember thinking. It's Mosul, or Kabul, but surely not the City by the Bay I'd lived in all my life – when I saw another man with an AK looking right at me not five feet away. I was empty so went for my Sig – but he had me and I knew it.

I saw the flash, felt the bullets hitting my vest, then at least two in my shoulder (again) before something spun me around, then I was face down in the dirt. It was suddenly hard to breathe, but I was aware in those last seconds of heavy fire just a few feet away, then the world grew very quiet, and very dark, one more time.

+++++

"Goddamn, it's him again. Didn't we fix his shoulder – like just a few weeks ago?"

I hear voices, faraway, yet very close.

"Yeah. That's Prentice's favorite. His old man, I heard him call it once."

"Oh, right, I remember now..."

"Look at that mess. We'd better call in, see what he wants to do this time."

I was having a hard time following this. What? Am I back in the lab? Something wrong with my new hand? I try to open my eyes, but nothing happens, so I try to speak...

"Where am I?"

"Shit, he's conscious..." is the last thing I heard, then I was out, just like somebody flipped a switch.

+++++

Next thing I know I'm awake, sitting up in a hospital bed, looking out a window at bare trees swaying on a summer breeze. There are patches on my arms and ankles, electrodes maybe, but no IVs. Plain room, very small – like eight feet by ten. White walls, red 110 volt outlets on the walls, two light switches – again – red. No paintings, no framed posters. That seemed odd to me. There was water in a pitcher on the rolling table, but no TV, no remote control. I saw a call button on the bed-frame and hit it.

"Yes?"

"Where am I?"

"I'll be right there, just sit tight."

A minute later the door opens. It's Amy, but she's wearing a nurse's uniform, and her hair is red now, like bright new copper shining in sunlight.

"So, you're up! It's about time!"

"Amy?"

"What? No, my name's Becky. Are you feeling okay?"

Becky? My daughter's name? Coincidence?

"I feel fine. Where am I?"

"In Palo Alto, at the Medical Center."

I can see out the window all the way across the bay, and none of what I see looks even remotely like Palo Alto. I point, say "That's not Palo Alto," then "Where's Dr Prentice?"

"Dr Who? Prentice?"

"Yes, where is he? And where is Amy?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know those names, but your tech will be by to see you this evening."

"My tech?"

"Yes, now drink some ice water. That will help you wake up."

"Water?"

"Yes. Call me if you need anything else."

Well, this girl's coming and going left me floating, all questions unanswered, and I don't know why but I looked at my left hand – again – as if for the first time. It looked like – my hand. That is to say, nada, no answers there, not even a hint. I felt my right shoulder area – and again, nada, zip, nothing out of the ordinary...

Yet I'd heard those guys say it was a mess?

And "my tech" never came by that evening...though Amy did.

My god, but she was a sight for sore eyes. Completely unchanged, too. The same blond hair, her mesmerizing blue-green orbs lasering in on mine, the butterflies in my gut still out of control. She was in uniform too, but the rags were somehow different. The SFPD patch had been changed, and her pistol? Like nothing I'd ever seen before...though everything else seemed pretty much the same.

"So, how's your training going," I started, looking for a nice clean patch of safe common ground to walk on.

"Good. I've been waiting for you to come back – so we could resume."

"Oh? How long have I been out?"

She looked me in the eye – but shrugged. "Who's counting?"

"How's my apartment?" I said, dancing as fast as I could.

"I...it's fine."

"Are you still planning on moving in?"

"I, uh, well I already have. I hope you don't mind."

"Amy? What is it? What are you not telling me?"

She looked around the bare little room, evading the question. Evading me. "That night on Pacific? Do you remember what happened out there?"

"Not really, but I think I got myself shot again," I said, thinking about the man walking up to me, but then I remembered him putting his AK up to my head, and a blinding flash...

...and a sudden chill swept the room...

"Amy? How long have I been out?"

She shook her head and started to walk out of the room.

"Are you still singing?" I asked as she reached for the door.

She stopped, turned and looked at me, nodded her head as she smiled. "Yes," was all she said before she slipped quietly away from me.

I stood uncertainly and walked to the window a while later, looked down towards the water a few miles away. What struck me was that I could see the bay at all; trees were usually so thick on this part of the peninsula the bay was all but invisible. Not now, not tonight. The few trees I saw were all barren, even the handful of palms I could see in the distance, and it was devilishly hot outside. There wasn't a building over two stories high in view, anywhere, and everything was painted white. I saw every rooftop was equipped with some sort of solar array, and not one of the cars passing on the campus road made a sound.

Electric?

A great deal of time had passed, apparently years, perhaps decades – but I found myself thinking that time had somehow become irrelevant. It was either that, or I was dead – or perhaps worse still, this was a dream and I couldn't wake up. But...what of Amy? What had time done with her? She hadn't aged. Not one day, at least from what I could make out during our short time together.

Then I blinked, and saw it was now dark out. Deepest night, and I could see wildfires across the bay, the hills beyond Fremont literally pulsing, alive in a fierce, writhing dance of flame and smoke. Firefighting equipment, on the ground and in the air, swarmed around the beast's periphery – and I could see the bare trees outside my room being whipped by an equally frenzied wind and looked anew at the blaze: it was advancing to the north at a startling pace.

A half hour later Amy came into my room, my laundered uniform in one hand, my gym bag in the other...

"Sorry," she said, "but we've been called up. The fire," she said, pointing across the bay, "it's moving towards Berkeley – fast. We've been called to help with the evacuation."

I was out of bed and getting dressed before she finished speaking, then taking my belt and holster out of the gym bag and strapping it on. I checked that a round was chambered, and noticed the pistol was new and looked familiar, yet a brand I'd never heard of. "What is this?" I said, holding the weapon up to the light.

"Just like your Sig, only a newer version, made in Caledonia."

"Caledonia?"

"Scotland. Used to be called Scotland."

"Used to be?"

"Sorry. We haven't got time to go into all that right now; you ready to roll?"

"Yeah. You?"

She smiled when she heard that – like she'd just heard an affirmation. "Yeah, come on," she said as she took off down a corridor that led to...where? A parking lot?

No, to some kind of helipad...and she ran out of what looked like an elongated tadpole – with four tilt-rotor pods attached at the corners, and a gull-wing door opened as she approached her side – just as another opened as I reached that side of the – whatever the hell this thing was...

And the lettering on the panel was? Cyrillic? Some sort of slavic derivation? A hybrid language?

It didn't matter. Within seconds of getting situated in the left seat Amy had the craft airborne and we were headed north north east across the bay, towards the Bay Bridge...

But it wasn't the Bay Bridge – not the one I remembered, anyway. The two islands at the midpoint – Yerba Buena and Treasure – were gone. Now there was a massive structure, all sorts of domes and dishes – like Kennedy Spaceport on steroids. Ships. Navy ships. Red stars, hammers and sickles, some with Mandarin symbols, a few that looked like US Navy, but not all of these were seagoing vessels.

No. Four were huge, all white and obviously launch vehicles...and the wall of flame had already reached Alameda. Even three miles away, the heat from this inferno was intense enough to feel inside the cockpit, and I saw Goodman shaking her head, talking on a secure COMMs freq to someone on the ground

She flew past these moored ships, arced down towards University Avenue and I could see the Berkeley campus dead ahead, a few of the old buildings recognizable – but most now in flames. Bullets slammed into the glass windshield, but the material healed itself within seconds as Amy jinked down to the treetops.

"Get ready, Jim..."

"Ready? For what?"

"One of our birds is down; they were on a rescue mission. We've got to pick up three to four cops, then get out of here before the..."

More bullets slammed into the side of our ship – and I felt the craft yaw hard right, heard an audible alarm going off. Amy corrected for the drift and I could see the traffic circle between Bechtel Hall and Bancroft Library. Three uniforms crouching beside their broken ship, guarding a fourth man in a white lab coat...

"Touching down in ten seconds. Get out and get 'em in the back, then get back up here. If you're not back here in ten seconds you'll be staring at the ass end of this bird as it...okay! Go! Go! Go! NOW!"

The door was open, the flames now less than a mile off and I felt the hair on my face and arms withering under the heat, then the skin on the back of my neck beginning to sizzle. The uniformed officers behind their downed bird were searing under the onslaught, yet the lab-coated 'scientist' appeared almost unfazed as he walked into the back of our bird. And...he looked familiar too, didn't he?

More shots rang out; one of the officers went down and I grabbed him by the vest and threw him in back, then jumped back into my seat just as Amy pulled up on her stick. Our 'bird' leapt into the torrid air as a wall of flame engulfed us, and I could feel the ship – Amy, that is – fighting to keep us up in the roiling air. She pulled the ship up and out of the fire, but more alarms were going off now and I could see flames in the aft cabin, the engine compartment obviously on fire, the ground reaching up for us again, coming up at us with dizzying speed.

I felt flames licking first my legs, then my arms – and I looked across at Amy as fire engulfed her, and I wondered why she was smiling.

+++++

I'm in a room, much smaller than the last one. I can't tell if the walls are made of plastic or some kind of warm metal, but I can reach out and touch both walls – easily – while still lying in bed. Not really a bed, I see; more a cot, and there are four of them stacked in this little room. I'm on the bottom rack, and there are three people sleeping above me. The room is bathed in cobalt blue light, and suddenly I feel claustrophobic, like I'm in a diving bell – trapped at the bottom of the sea.

Fighting the feeling, I push myself up out of the rack and open the door, step out into the...

What is this place?

My door has opened up – onto a cornfield...

Yet I can see a wall perhaps a hundred yards away, a white, curving wall. Looking up, there's a curved glass ceiling, and beyond – the night sky, full of impossibly bright stars. And the other side of the structure. I'm inside a donut, and I feel the humor in that and smile.

"Hello, Jim, how are you feeling today?"

I turn to the voice; the face I see is at once familiar – and strange – to me.

"I'm not sure."

"I understand. Would you come with us, please?"

Us, I think, and I turn and see three more people standing there. Odd. Amy is one of them, yet she looks at me like she doesn't even know me.