Topeka

By Steven Lisberger and Robert Churchill

America's heartland has become the center of the global hi-tech industry. Topeka Systems can download minds. Elites have been using this software illegally to remain forever young. Nora Osborne, CEO of Topeka Systems, becomes a whistle blower. When the powers that be find out she is out to betray them they are determined to kill her. Nora, with the aid of a combat surgeon named Bode, has no choice but to assume a new identity by downloading her mind into another body. Bode has taken an oath to keep her alive. Nora and Bode take on the government's Data Force and the military's Joint Cloud Command. In the process they learn many of America's leaders are not who they pretend to be. And neither are they.

 

245 pages

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Lisberger
• Release date: Oct 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223620426

Book preview

Chapter One

As the sun set over the American heartland, a teal motorcycle streaked down a two-lane county road. Crouched low behind the bike’s fairing, the rider was wearing armor mesh leathers in metallic silver and neon yellow. There were no streetlights along this road, no isolated gas stations or convenience stores; just mile after mile of sorghum fields. The lights of Topeka, Kansas had been left far behind.

A heads-up display visor with faintly glowing nomenclature danced across her face. Her Suzuki EV Boo-saw was as silent as the sunset; the only sound as it passed was the rush of its draft, which bent the tall sorghum at the edge of the still-warm asphalt and stirred the aromas of farmland. Far above the motorcycle’s twin halo headlights a crow-sized drone followed closely. The rider’s long dark braid, which emerged from under her Kevlar helmet, trailed behind her in the slipstream. She slowed; this was the spot where she had to brake for a doe on her last trip. That night she almost had to lay her bike down, but flashing her high beams saved her and the deer. Tonight she spied a coyote’s eyeshine. After some road kill, she thought, and there it was – a jackrabbit. The coyote waited for her to go by before helping itself to dinner.

The bike sped on until it turned off the county road onto a gravel lane. The drone continued to follow her.

Watching the feed from the drone, a trim man in his late thirties stared intently at a screen image of the young biker. His name – Chase Baudrillard, MD. The rider was Maya Revo; she called him Bode. He’d thought about what he needed to say to her when she arrived, and how he’d say it. One way or another; tonight would be their last night together.

Maya was his lover – and his patient, that made their relationship malpractice. Not to mention she was more than fifteen years younger. They’d only been together for a couple of months, but in those months Maya had become his guilty pleasure. It was time to stop pretending it could end well. There would be no tapering off; just cold turkey. Even so, he felt a need to let her down gently; it would take his best bedside manner.

Maya followed the gravel road for a half a mile, finally stopping at the base of a two hundred foot tall 5 megawatt Haliade-wind turbine. She looked up at the lights far above in the windows of the tower. Two of the tower’s enormous one hundred and sixteen foot long blades lay where they’d landed years before, like splintered dinosaur bones. The third had augured some twenty feet into the prairie – the rest of it still jutted skyward. Maya said it looked like a giant’s steak knife. The majestic weathered tower still stood straight as a mainmast. Maya thought this place was like the man inside: cutting edge, banged up but still standing. She’d learned a lot from him. 

Maya dismounted, rocking her bike back on its kickstand. The drone froze, capturing her arrival. Upstairs, Bode took a deep breath and turned away from the screen. If he was going to tell Maya the prognosis of their affair was terminal, he needed a drink.

Maya mock-saluted Bode’s drone. She flipped open her switchblade hairbrush and combed out her braid. Behind her stood Bode’s vintage Triumph Bonneville. A couple days ago, they’d raced to town; her EV had torque on tap, was much quicker off the line than his ancient cruiser, so she spotted him a sizable lead but still beat him. Approaching the tower’s dimly lit door, she peeled off a glove then pressed her palm to the security sensor. Her torque green nails matched her bike.

The curved steel door swung inward. She stepped into the open-frame industrial elevator that would take her up the twenty-one stories to Bode’s place. Yeah, he was kinda old but looked a lot younger when he smiled. She knew she could make him smile, but tonight it was her turn to lecture him; if he didn’t start trusting her more, it was all over. She had to admit she’d learned a lot about wind turbines from him, which was cool. The saga of how he fixed up the windmill made an excellent podcast. Compared to him she felt like a nomad, ready to live anywhere. But what was the point of fixing up a windmill when no one could tell you if living in tornado alley was going to be feasible in ten years? Or even next summer?

A decade ago, the ruined wind turbine had been the control center for hundreds of similar towers on a sprawling wind farm between Topeka and Kansas City. A massive tornado, EF 5+, had slammed into the installation, toppling most of the giant generators like toys. It roared on toward Topeka, chewing up not just barns, roofs, and trees, but entire neighborhoods. A couple miles of interstate was destroyed in minutes, and almost all of the old War Memorial hospital. Nearly three thousand lives had been lost. Kansas had to put its dreams of being the Saudi Arabia of wind energy on hold until wind turbine technology could catch up with the ever-increasing strength and frequency of the tornadoes. The city had been rebuilt but the wind farm abandoned; a silent reminder of the mega-tornado the locals nicknamed Denali – The Great One in Apache. 

The dawning sense of never-ending climate peril divided people.  At first they assumed when things got tough everyone would come together – and for a while they did. But over time, some people just couldn’t accept that the world had truly changed; they fought to retreat back into their old ways. It was understandable but dangerously sad. Bode had told her the more a lie costs the more people believed in it. The problem with the truth is that it’s free. 

Bode had talked about how change was generational, but she replied for that to happen the next generation would first have to survive. He figured if this tower was still standing after Denali, it was safe enough. It swayed during storms, but being a cyber-neurosurgeon who loved bodies, this was as close as he could come to living inside one.

Slowly rising in the tower, Maya recalled the first time she had been there. Bode showed her the panoramic views over the doomed forest of toppled windmills with the lights of Topeka in the distance. Having no neighbors was almost as great as the view.

The elevator stopped. Maya gathered herself just outside the hall door. She was good at making entrances, even better at making exits. She opened the sliding door. 

The floor plan was open with a loft feel. Bode sat in an oversized leather club chair, with a couple fingers of Kansas City whiskey. The chair faced an immersive 8G video display that covered every wall with lunar combat footage. Platoons of moon-suited Special Space Forces, attack drones, and robotic gundogs fought in gravity that was one sixth of earth’s. Mammoth ion-flux rocket engines blazed but couldn’t over-ride the all-powerful mute button. Armored troop transports battled low-orbit fighter satellites, blowing each other into glittering smithereens like a just shaken intergalactic snow globe. When Maya appeared through a door-sized portal in the same universe, she looked like the cover of a 1950s issue of Astounding magazine, the ones with exotically costumed babes on alien planets.

"That war of yours ever going to end?" Maya asked, not remotely interested in his fuel burning space porn. The door slid shut. He’d been anticipating her arrival, but every time he laid eyes on her it still took him a couple seconds to accept that she was actually real – she was, like those covers, astounding.

Want to see who wins, he said.

You lose again, for sure, she had a sexy voice, plus a mean streak. Two of the reasons she made her living as an investigative podcaster.

You’re late, he replied.

Didn’t want to hit a deer.

I appreciate that. So do the deer. 

Better late than sorry. Right?

She smiled as she came over to greet him with a kiss. He put his drink down, then stood up, offering a kiss in return.

Leave sooner, drive slower, live longer, more than half serious.

They kissed again.

A spill, a slip, a hospital trip, she said, mocking him.

Think safety... he said.

...it couldn't hurt, they said simultaneously, cracking up. He felt her body quake with laughter. Some parts shook more than others.

She reached down for his glass and killed his drink.

Want one? he asked.

I’m good. Just some water, please.

Bode said, video off commanding the wall screen. And just like that, the great lunar wars were history.

They moved into the kitchen area. In contrast to the living area, Bode’s kitchen felt warm with handcrafted cabinets made of a local Chinkapin oak.

A few sips into her water, Maya asked, like it was it was the most interesting thing ever, How’s work going?

You know – same old, Bode deflected, change the sheets, empty the waste baskets.

Maya gave him a look. "You ever gonna trust me?"

Told you – I signed an ironclad NDA. When my boss hears your next podcast...

Maya rolled her eyes. CEO’s like your boss don’t listen to me. She’s too busy snatching bodies and networking minds.

"Where’d you get that?

I know – OK? The Ascenders know even more.

Bode shook his head. Wish you’d stop hanging out with them, you may not like the consequences.

They just need new leadership, she said.

One day, you’re gonna fall off that tiger, Maya.

Not my bike? You’ll catch me – right?

If I’m there.

You will be.

He watched her drink.

Pretty sure it’s safe for you to take off your leathers now.

All the gear all the time, you said. She moved over to the couch.

Maya peeled off her padded racing jacket as she leaned back on the couch. Under the jacket she wore a tight small teal tank top. Even in the dim light, Bode noticed fresh bruises down by her hip. His eyes narrowed. He made her lean forward then ran his fingers near the area. What happened here? he asked.

Consequences.

Bode was not amused.

You should see the other girl.

He stepped into the bedroom; she could hear him open the drawer of his nightstand. Bode returned with a hand-sized tube of a prescription medication labeled Sodium Zenecal, widely known as Zen or just Z.

Bode had studied human anatomy, living and dead, whole and in parts, but Maya stood out. God had clearly put in extra effort when he made her. Of course, her personality was engaging; she was curious about everything. Maybe a little too curious about aliens – did they build the pyramids? Was this world base reality or just an extraterrestrial computer simulation? Should we migrate to an exoplanet before Armageddon?  But her heart was in the right place, directly under two perfect breasts.

He rejoined Maya on the couch with his Z dispenser and got busy.

It was a roll-on. He applied a good length and began to gently rub it in. Gave you a prescription for this stuff, did you use it?

Nah, couldn’t reach back there anyway. Bode had no argument. I’m already hooked on the truth.

Bode made a face. That stuff is good for you but can be dangerous.

Unless applied correctly.

The Z Bode applied left an iridescent turquoise trail on her white skin, which phased into violet as it was absorbed. She began to relax.

Young people should be loved, protected, she insisted.

I’m trying, he said, continuing to massage her.

Not used up like just another commodity.

Why do you think I show you how to protect yourself?

She turned to kiss him lightly. You didn’t hear it from me, but the Ascenders are going to try to shut down Topeka Systems.

Hope not. I’ll be out of a job.

She frowned. Like soon. I don’t think I can stop them.

Then don’t try.

I’m worried about you – thank me later.

I’ll start wearing a hard hat at work – promise.

Why do you even work there? You’re not like them.

Checks keep the lights on. Why are you with the Ascenders?

I’m fighting for regime change – like you did.

Hope you’re better at it than we were, he said ruefully.

Or we could just split – I can podcast from anywhere.

I like this job – no one shoots at me anymore. Bode noticed the top of her panties showing above the low-rise leather pants.  He touched the fabric; it was interactive.

Polyamide membrane, he said, surprised.

New interactive nano-knits...

His touch on her panties triggered multiple bursts of firework patterns; the fabric was like a touch screen.

Pretty sure those are illegal in this state, he said, chuckling. Extreme fire hazard.

Maya reached for the zipper on her hip. Each leg of her biker leathers had a full-length zipper that ran from the belt to the ankle.  She slid the zipper down to mid-thigh on both sides giving Bode a better view.

Watch this, she instructed.

He already was.

She tapped her panties, showing off. Under her fingertips, a luminous periwinkle Daggerwing butterfly graphic fluttered into being, taking flight over the shapely feminine terrain.

Runs on my body heat, she said, matter-of-factly.

Me too, he added, We use interactive polyamide membrane at work – for medical purposes.  Love how everything changes... depending on how you touch it. She settled back across his couch, their thighs touching, resting her head on his shoulder.  He tapped a butterfly while she touched his chestnut brown hair. He needed a haircut, though she’d just given him one a couple of weeks ago.

She turned to address the video screen: Shift video – God mode, she said, instantly all the walls and ceiling seemed to vanish; they were suddenly suspended twenty stories above a sea of moonlit grasses below a star-filled sky. God mode replicated the 360-degree view they’d have if the tower’s structural elements were glass. That left them floating two hundred feet off the ground with just a bed, disorienting, but fully magical.

She zipped both pant legs completely off. The leathers fell open, revealing her long white legs. 

In his mind, Bode formed the words Wait – we need to talk, but they refused to come out of his mouth. There were those legs, that S-shaped adductor magnus that formed her upper inner thigh.  Parallel to it, Maya’s gracilis muscle ran from her hip all the way down to her knee, the longest muscle in the body – a miracle of bio-engineering.  If she’d been the model at his medical school, he could have learned anatomy in a couple weeks instead of two years. The curves of her slender calves disappeared into her metal-soled biker boots; the contrast with her almost nude body made her even more outrageous, and she knew it. Maya unbuttoned his shirt; on his right bicep he had a tattoo of the ancient symbol of medicine – a winged staff of caduceus entwined by two serpents, one of the snakes was just a skeleton. She gently ran her hand over it then down Bode’s torso, stopping where there was a series of nasty scars.

I’ve been touched pretty hard, too, he confessed.

No need to hide them. She knew they were combat wounds, the reason he obsessively watched those war videos.  She picked up the Z, gently rolled it over them, making them glow with turquoise luminescence.

Numb there, he said.

Under here, too? she said, slipping her fingers under his belt.

Bode nodded, Nerves are gone – might grow back if there was something worth coming back for.

You need some body work, she said.

I’ll clear my schedule, he replied, lying back.

Maya slid her hand deeper calling him out. "Oh – now you like me doing undercover investigating!"

I’ll never talk.

Yes, you will, ha!

She put some Z on one fingertip, drew it across her lips, kissed each of his scars one by one. He moaned. Then with her mouth close to his ear she whispered, You can trust me.

Trust you with what, exactly?

He knew what she wanted. 

She kissed some more.

Gonna meet with the CEO of Topeka systems.

Nice. When?

Tomorrow. Maya’s warm sweet breath was having an intoxicating effect on him.

Can we talk afterwards? she asked.

Don’t we always?

After your meeting, I mean. With the CEO.

Sure – why not?

Maya smiled. She started to zip her boots off, Bode helped. He had a pair just like them. 

Thanks, she said, as she stood up, heading for the bedroom.

The bedspread had a Native American sunset motif in Southwest tones; Maya threw it back, stretching across the sheets.  She pulled her top over her head, and tossed it at him.

Bode caught it, placed it on a nearby chair and laid down beside her. He rested his hand gently on her hip, touching her panties.

Do these stay on when you take them off?

You’ll have to do some research, won’t you?

I’m good at research.

We’ve got that in common.

When Maya’s panties hit the transparent bedroom wall, the butterfly program auto-linked to the wall screens, still in God mode. A cluster of daggerwings took off across the night sky. Bode’s goodbyes were put on hold.

Rising before first light, Bode did his usual routine.  First he sat at his desk, worked on his journal for about half an hour and then with the tower casting a mile-long shadow to the west, he did his daily workout, climbing the rungs of the twenty story ladder that ran top to bottom inside tower.  He took the elevator down and the ladder back up every morning, climbing fast enough to break into a sweat.  He then showered and dressed for work – black boots, black scrubs, black leather jacket. Not exactly the official doctor look, but close enough. He didn’t put the journal in a drawer but left it in plain view on his empty desk.

Maya looked so peaceful, he couldn’t bring himself to wake her up to say good-bye.  He rode the elevator back to ground level where he kick-started his vintage metallic red Triumph Bonneville. Maya heard the bike and got up, she walked to the window to see Bode already in the distance. He was running synthetic but she still moved like a champ.

She stepped into the shower. Once dry, she took a faceless nude selfie and sent it to Bode. She noticed a small pad of pale blue sticky notes from the company that makes Zenecal on the dresser. She peeled one off, kissed it, leaving a lipstick print, and stuck it on his mirror. Bode replied with a hot pepper emoji.

When dressed, she opened the drawer in the nightstand where Bode kept more Zen, found it, but also spotted his carbon-fiber handgun. Bode had taught Maya how to shoot with that weapon. She held up the Z roller to the light – it was still half