The Forgetting Machine (11 page)

The drone jerked to my left.

“Slowly!” I yelled. The drone slowed to a gentle walking pace. Billy guided it in a figure eight, lowered it a couple of feet, then raised it back up. It felt solid, not tippy at all. I got my knees up on the disk and arranged myself in a sitting, cross-legged position, but I didn't let go of the edges. It was a nice sensation, like riding a magic carpet. Billy sent me drifting along the outside of the fence, then back.

“Can you see through the phone camera?” I asked.

“Not very well. It's hanging kind of crooked.”

“There's an odd-looking building behind the barn. Can you ease me over there so I can get a closer look?”

“You sure?”

I wasn't sure at all, but I said, “Yes.”

“You're going to have to direct me. Once you're on the other side of the barn I won't be able to see you.”

“Okay, but no more deadly heights, please. I don't want to go any higher than I am right now.”

“Got it. Three meters maximum altitude. You ready?”

“Let's go.”

The drone drifted toward the building. It was a peculiar sensation. The antigravity disk was completely silent and rock solid. I could lean to either side to look down, and the disk didn't tip at all. As I passed the barn, I caught a glimpse of several stainless steel cages through the window. The disk passed over the haystack. Brazie was on the other side, watching me. He seemed more puzzled than angry.

I was passing the corner of the barn when the drone stopped abruptly.

“Hey!” I yelled.

“Sorry. I can't see you anymore.”

“Well don't jerk to a stop like that. I almost fell off!” I hadn't, really, but I wanted to make sure he was extra careful.

“Sorry. Now what?”

“Forward about thirty feet.” The drone eased forward, and the mystery building came into view.

“Stop,” I said. The disk eased to a complete stop. The mystery shed had white-painted metal sides and two windows with metal grates. Several electrical lines and coax cables fed into one end—a lot more than you'd expect from an outbuilding on a farm.

“Bring me forward and to the left, another thirty feet,” I said. The drone moved off to the right. “I said left!”

“I can't see which way you're facing,” Billy said.

“Go the opposite way you just did!”

“Okay, okay!”

The drone reversed course, taking me over an oblong cattle tank filled with greenish water and straight toward the back wall of the barn.

“Stop!” I yelled.

The drone stopped, and it wasn't a nice easy stop. I'd made the mistake of letting go of the disk, and I tumbled off.

Ten feet doesn't seem like that far. It's only the height of a basketball hoop. But falling that far and landing flat on your back . . . try it sometime. For a more complete experience, do it over a neglected cattle tank.

I suppose landing in a tank full of slimy green water is better than landing on concrete or a bed of nails. Still, it was not an enjoyable experience. I came up spitting and coughing and yelling some words I refuse to repeat—at least not until the next time I get dumped in a tank full of scummy water.

The drone, meanwhile, was hovering ten feet over my head. My phone was dangling by a single strip of duct tape from its underside.

“You dumped me!” I yelled at the phone as I climbed dripping out of the tank.

“You yelled stop,” Billy's voice was tinny and distant; I could hardly hear him.

“Get down here!”

“Straight down?”

“Yes! No! A little to the left!”

“Which way's left?” The drone edged toward the barn.

“No! The other way!”

The drone reversed course.

“That's good. Now straight down!” I raked a glob of green scum from my hair as, slowly, the drone began to descend. It was only a couple of feet above my head when I heard a snort. I turned around.

Brazie the bull was standing by the corner of the barn. He took a step toward me.

“No, Brazie,” I said. “Stop.”

“Stop?” Billy's voice said. The drone froze just out of my reach.

“Not the drone! The bull!”

Brazie snorted again. He shook his enormous head and stamped one front hoof.

I like my red hair. I figure it makes me special, because only about 2 percent of humans are blessed with the gene for red hair. But if there is one time when red hair is the last thing you want, it's when facing an irritable two-thousand-pound bull.

I was sure my hair looked to him like a matador's cape. A wet, scummy red cape.

“It's just hair, Brazie.” I took a step back. Brazie pawed the ground and lowered his head so his horns were pointing straight at me.

I said, “Billy, move the drone down a few feet and away from the barn.” If I could get Brazie focused on the drone I might have time to get away.

The drone descended to head height and floated off to the left. Brazie ignored it. His shoulder muscles bunched. He lowered his hindquarters a few inches and launched himself at me.

What I should have done was jump back into the cattle tank, but it is difficult to think clearly when being charged by a bull. Actually, I don't think I was thinking at all. I just screamed and ran, with Brazie on my heels. I was about two seconds from being gored and trampled when something white charged around the far corner of the barn, legs and tongue flying, kicking up a cloud of dust as it came at me like an out-of-control semi.
A miniature white bull,
I thought in my panicky, confused state.
I'm about to become a bull sandwich!

The small white bull barked and leaped. It was no bull—it was Gertrude! I threw myself to the side as Gertrude flew over me and clamped her teeth onto one of Brazie's ears. Brazie skidded to a stop and shook his head furiously, trying to dislodge the dog. He spun around in a circle, making a sound like a squeal inside a roar, but Gertrude would not let go. I knew I should run for safety, but seeing that dog hanging on by its jaws and being thrashed back and forth made me too mad to run. I spotted a pail next to the cattle tank. I grabbed it, scooped up a bucketful of scummy water, and ran at the crazed bovine, screeching like a banshee. Whatever a banshee is.

My yelling didn't distract Brazie, but the gallon of water certainly did. It hit him full in the face. He unleashed a bellow and jerked his head up with such force that Gertrude lost her grip and went flying into the air. Brazie, snorting and shaking his head, took off.

I looked around for Gertrude, expecting to find her lying broken on the ground. Instead, I found her paddling in circles in the cattle tank.

“Come on, girl,” I said, leaning over the side of the tank. I helped her get her paws up over the lip of the tank, then reached over and wrapped my arms around her belly and lifted her out. Gertrude plopped wetly onto the ground.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Gertrude shook, sending a mist of water and scum in every direction, but mostly at me. I backed away, sputtering. She seemed to be uninjured, judging from the ferocity of the tail wagging. She fixed her eyes on me and barked proudly.

“Good girl,” I said.

Apparently I had issued an invitation. She came at me, tongue lolling, smiling that bulldog smile.

“Gertrude! No!” I shouted. “Down!” It didn't work. She weighed only a quarter as much as I do, but she made contact full on, paws hitting my belly and knocking me flat on my back. After that it was all dog breath, wet tongue, and tank scum. No dog has ever been happier to see anyone than Gertrude was to see me. And we hardly knew each other.

“Gertrude, off!” I yelled. I shoved her wrinkly face aside and managed to get back on my feet. She looked up at me, wagging her tail so hard I was afraid it would fly off.

“Sit!” I said.

Gertrude sat, staring at me with those big brown eyes. I don't love animals as passionately as Myke Duchakis, but I can tell when they love me, and this dog had decided I was her soul mate.

“Are you okay?” Billy asked in a tinny voice. I had almost forgotten about the drone floating just over my head.

“I'm fine,” I said. “No thanks to you!”

“What happened?” Billy asked.

“I almost got gored by Brazie!” I said. “Gertrude saved me.”

“I
thought
I heard barking. You better get back on the drone. I'll get you out of there.”

Gertrude was gazing at me with unfiltered adoration.

“Do you think it can lift both me and Gertrude?”

“I doubt it. It won't lift me, and I only weigh twenty pounds more than you.”

“We'll have to let her out through the gate, then.”

“Why? We didn't come here to steal a dog.”

“She
loves
me.”

“Dogs love everybody. That's what dogs
do
!”

“Hang on a minute.” I reached up to the drone and retaped my phone so the camera faced the metal lab building. “You see the building?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I'm going to take a look inside. Keep an eye out.”

The disk rose to head height.

“You wait here,” I said to Gertrude. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Gertrude stared at me, whining. “Stay,” I said.

“I am not a dog!” Billy said.

“I wasn't talking to you,” I said, even though I had been, really. I walked up to the door. The drone followed me. I twisted the doorknob.

“It's locked,” I said.

“What kind of lock?”

“There's a keypad.”

“Just a second . . . Hey, did you know Rausch has a Facebook page?”

“I'm not surprised. He's
old
.”

“Try this.” Billy rattled off a list of numbers. I punched them into the keypad. A green light came on. I tried the door again. This time it opened.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

“It's his birthday. Amazing how often that works. And that people put their birthdays on Facebook.”

I stepped inside the building. The lights flickered on automatically.

“Hello,” said a voice.

My heart stopped. I looked around to see who had spoken, but there was no one there.

“Hello?” I squeaked. One wall of the room was lined with cages. A long workbench covered with cables, printed-circuit boards, tools, and various unidentifiable devices ran along the opposite wall. There were two computer displays and a complicated-looking chair. Mounted above the chair's back was a thing that looked like a bicycle helmet with a bunch of wires coming out of it. Equally scary were the heavy Velcro straps attached to the arms. It looked like an electric chair, or some sort of torture device.

I heard the voice again.

“Give me food.” It was coming from one of the cages. I could see now that four of the cages had occupants: a cat, a cocker spaniel, a Yorkshire terrier, and in the large cage at the end, a goat.

“I like cookies,”
said the goat.

The goat was wearing a collar.

I had seen collars like that before.