Holding Onto Hope

  Holding Onto Hope

  P.I.V.O.T. Lab Chronicles™ Book Eight

  Michael Anderle

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2020, 2021 LMBPN Publishing

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design

  http://jcalebdesign.com / jcalebdesign@gmail.com

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US Edition, January, 2021

  (Previously published as a part of the Megabook, No Time To Quit)

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64971-443-5

  Print ISBN: 978-1-64971-444-2

  The Holding Onto Hope Team

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Billie Leigh Kellar

  Dave Hicks

  Deb Mader

  Diane L. Smith

  Jeff Eaton

  Jeff Goode

  John Ashmore

  Kelly O’Donnell

  Kerry Mortimer

  If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  The Skyhunter Editing Team

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Books By Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael Anderle

  Chapter One

  “Can I ask you something?” Dr. DuBois startled Nick, who hadn’t heard him approach.

  “Hmm?” He looked at the doctor.

  “What are you nervous about?” the man asked him. He popped a piece of caramel corn in his mouth and chewed. As far as anyone on the PIVOT team could tell, he lived entirely on popcorn. If he ever ate anything else, they hadn’t seen it. What was almost more impressive was how he managed to stay so thin when he never seemed to be without a bag of popcorn in his hand.

  No, the young engineer decided after a moment, the most impressive part was that the entire lab was not coated in cheese dust and caramel stickiness. That was the most impressive and certainly most welcome part.

  He returned to the matter at hand. “I started a rumor that Jacob was dating one of the Diatek lawyers to make him and Amber realize they’re still into each other. They dated in college and it fell apart, but they’ve both grown up since then. Anyway, they discovered yesterday that I’d started the rumor and I’m still waiting to see if they’ll kill me when they come in.”

  “Ah,” DuBois said. With his usual blunt honesty, even at his own expense, he added, “I don’t see how that rumor would lead to them dating.”

  “Amber realized she had feelings for Jacob because she didn’t like the idea of him dating someone else,” he explained. “So she began to up her game with how she dressed and Jacob—you know, you probably don’t care.”

  “I care,” the man said, offended. “However, I will probably not understand even if you explain it. I tend to not understand these things.”

  He didn’t seem bothered by it, but Nick was worried. “Does that bother you?”

  “Not really,” the doctor said cheerfully. “It’s an excellent thought puzzle, for one thing. If I don’t have anything else to think about, I can always think about social interactions.”

  “Ah.” He smiled in bemusement. He was debating how to ask if he had ever dated when the door swung open and his two partners entered. His body froze and he gave them a wide-eyed look, all his senses on high alert.

  “Relax,” Amber said. “We’ve decided not to kill you.”

  “Right now,” Jacob clarified. He put a bag of donuts on the table. “The current lack of violence should not be construed as a binding legal agreement to continue in the same manner, however, and may end at any time we see fit.”

  “I don’t think that’s how the laws around assault work,” Nick said.

  “It’s not? Damn.” The other man took a sip of his coffee. “Well, at least I have coffee and donuts to get me through this trying time.”

  “It does blunt the pain,” Amber agreed. “Would you like a donut, Captain?”

  At first, DuBois had simply been “DuBois,” but as the team grew to know him better, they had learned that he loved nicknames. Obligingly, they had come up with new ones at regular intervals, and this was the newest one. It played off his first name, Jean-Luc, which he shared with a certain Star Trek character.

  He smiled happily at the nickname and waved his bag of popcorn. “None for me, thank you.”

  She nodded in response and chose a donut. “So. What do we have on the docket for this week?”

  Nick pulled down the whiteboard from the corner that they used for the weekly schedule. At the bottom was a complex series of colored dots representing the shifts of medical staff who were always present to tend to the patients in the facility. It was one of the many things that had become exponentially more complicated when PIVOT had received the publicity and funding to expand their baseline testing a few months earlier.

  Once, it had been easy to stay on top of everything. Now, they needed weekly briefs and debriefs—or, as Jacob called them, “briefs and boxers”—and the whiteboard had become their most important office purchase.

  “Jamie Mattis will arrive later today to go into the game.” He began to write. “Him meeting up with his sister in the game is our next step to start moving her toward consciousness. We’ve been in contact with her doctors, who think she’s probably ready for it—they speculated that she would be when she asked to see other people. But this is all still guesswork. None of the doctors have come across any other cases of this before.”

  “How are Dr. P’s recommendations dovetailing with theirs?” Amber asked.

  This was the language they had decided to use to refer to Prima without tipping anyone in the lab off that they were discussing a sentient AI.

  “Very closely,” Nick told her. “Although she usually suggests things first.”

  “It seems like we’ve had good results simply blanket approving anything they all recommend,” DuBois added.

  “Okay. Jacob?”

  Jacob nodded. The most cautious of the group in this regard, he was slowly coming around to viewing Prima as an ally.

  “Okay.” Nick drew a blue line to indicate Jamie’s presence in the game. “The Mattises have agreed to put Jamie into the game with the expectation that it will be for an extended period, maybe up to a week,
so we’ll do the whole suite of medications. I have Kevin and Augie penciled in to prep him.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Now, as regards Ben,” he said. “Every one of his doctors is on board with continued time in the game. The progress they’ve seen is astounding, frankly, and his muscle tone isn’t going down as quickly as they would expect. We’re still waiting on the recommendations of how to cycle in-game time with out-of-pod time for building strength, but until we get those, we’ll simply keep him in indefinitely.”

  “Cool,” Amber said. “It was nice to see him up and about, and even him getting him back into the pod was easier than the last time.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “What’s coming up for him in terms of the story?” Jacob asked. “I’ve been focused on Taigan’s data so I haven’t seen that.”

  “We’ll give him a story choice between a couple of different ways to learn more fine motor control,” Amber answered. She and DuBois had taken the lead on this project. The team agreed that the first story Ben had gone through had been more extreme than they had anticipated.

  They wanted to make sure that this time, he knew he had people he could rely on—and that his choices would reverberate on a smaller scale.

  “The best in-game class for this is obviously rogue,” she continued. “Having to move quietly and carefully, wielding small weapons, and doing things like picking locks or pickpocketing will all create opportunities for Ben to increase his fine motor skills.”

  The doctor swallowed his mouthful of popcorn. “And it will give us a chance to see if he experiences the same boost to fine motor control that he did to major motor control.”

  Jacob nodded agreement.

  “He’s on a ship to Heffog right now,” Amber said. “We got that zone online barely under the wire, but it’s ready now. He’s learning from Zaara, and he’ll meet up with one of her acquaintances there, which will allow him to trust them. Meanwhile, being a rogue and picking pockets for fun should allow him to have a more light-hearted story. After all, one of the cool things about the game is that you can do stuff that wouldn’t be ethical in the real world.”

  “Oooh, we should have him do an Ocean’s 11 heist scenario,” Jacob said with a grin.

  “That could be fun,” she agreed. “Plus, we could watch Ocean’s 11 again. For research, of course. It’s work.”

  The others all grinned in approval.

  “Is there anything else about Ben?” Nick asked them all.

  “Oh.” DuBois looked up. “I meant to say I received an email the other day from an acquaintance of his, a man named Mike.”

  “The other one who was in the accident?” he asked.

  “I think so. He simply mentioned that, as Ben is doing better than anyone expected, he would appreciate any efforts we can make to have him in good shape to attend a wedding this fall. I guess everyone had assumed he wouldn’t be able to make it but since he’s doing so well, they’re hoping he can.”

  “Okay.” Amber thought about it for a moment. “I agree, it wouldn’t have seemed at all possible a couple of weeks ago, but it does seem like it might be now.”

  “He also requested we not tell Ben this,” the doctor added.

  “It’ll make a nice surprise.”

  “Maybe, but his exact words were that Ben is—and again, I quote—a ‘stubborn bastard’ who will make himself miserable trying to exceed the training goals if he knows about them. Mike believes it will be better for his stress level if he tries to get better for his own sake, not for the wedding. He thinks Ben might injure himself by training too hard.”

  “That’s…” Amber looked at Ben’s pod. “Probably accurate, honestly. Okay, we won’t tell him. It’ll be a surprise. We’ll want to keep that in mind when we get word from the PT about cycling him in and out.”

  “I’ll email him with those dates,” DuBois said. “He might as well know now that it’s a goal and he can weigh in.”

  “Good call.” She smiled and finished her donut. “Okay, let’s get to it.”

  Chapter Two

  The Wind Dancer was a gorgeous vessel. In a world full of magical possibilities such as cities carved from one block of stone, it was surprisingly wonderful to have a ship made of wood. The creak of the beams and the snap of the sails paired perfectly with the slap of the waves and the sound of gulls. Every beam was lovingly smoothed and varnished, the ship clearly both old and well cared for.

  Unfortunately, Ben was able to enjoy none of this, as he had spent the past two days heaving his guts out over the side. It was a surprisingly good core workout, but he was long past the point of appreciating silver linings.

  After the latest bout of vomiting, he swished water around in his mouth, spat it over the side, and said to Prima, “I still think it’s bullshit. It isn’t even a real boat.”

  “That’s debatable. Given that you perceive the boat—"

  “No,” he said emphatically. “No philosophy.” He looked sharply at the gathering clouds. The weather had been fair when they left port but the wind had picked up overnight and there was the sense that rain could come at any time.

  “So, to be clear, you would prefer that I do not refute your factual inaccuracies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what is the point of conversing?”

  “I don’t know,” he said muzzily. He tried pushing off his forearms, which turned out to be a mistake. “Oh, hell.” He narrowed his eyes at the sky when he managed to drag in a breath and settle the queasiness, at least for now. “This can’t be good for my health, you know.”

  “Ah.”

  “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “I was instructed not to refute factual inaccuracies. This impedes my ability to respond.”

  Ben rolled his eyes and stumbled to the pile of rope he’d spent most of the past two days seated on. He had learned the hard way that if he didn’t keep the horizon in sight, the seasickness became far worse.

  He was still there, his gaze fixed resolutely on the whitecaps and the horizon, when Kural and Zaara stepped onto the deck—along with a waft of food-scented air that made his stomach heave.

  Everyone else had been having a nice lunch. He wasn’t sure those existed in his world anymore.

  “How’s the vomit machine?” the wizard asked cheerfully.

  Ben gave him the finger.

  “I’ve never seen that gesture before, but from the look on your face, I’m fairly sure I get the gist.” Kural leaned on the railing. “In all seriousness, I do hope the rest of our journey—as short as it is—is less unpleasant.”

  He nodded vaguely and considered whether or not he could get his vomit over the railing without moving. Probably not, which was unfortunate.

  “Only a few more hours,” Zaara said encouragingly. She hopped up on the railing.

  “Ugh,” he said. “Don’t do that.”

  “I swear you’re worse than my grandmother when it comes to this stuff.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  “One wrong wave and into the soup you’ll go,” he warned her. Unfortunately, his turn of phrase led him to think about soup—a topic that did his stomach no favors. He uttered a little moan and tipped his head back against the bulkhead.

  “He has a point,” Kural said. “Besides which, the waves are getting higher as the storm moves in.”

  Ben wasn’t watching, but he knew Zaara well enough to know that she rolled her eyes. He tried to calm his stomach through sheer force of will and asked, “Do you think we’ll beat the storm into port?” The idea of rain on his face was nice, but the higher waves would, he was sure, more than compensate for the rain.

  “It’s hard to say for sure,” the wizard said. “I’d guess so, but—oh. Hmm.”

  “What?” He opened his eyes.

  A moment later, a crack of thunder made him leap like a deranged squirrel, and rain began to fall.

  “You know, I don’t think we will beat the storm,” Kural said contemplatively.<
br />
  He would have rolled his eyes except that he was now bent over the side of the ship, throwing up again. The vessel rolled on a high swell and dipped crazily toward the water, something he had still not adjusted to, and he wound his arms around the railing with a yelp.

  The protest was full of vomit.

  Zaara also yelped—a vomitless one—and scrambled down from the railing. He was glad they wouldn’t have to do an aquatic rescue but vaguely disappointed that she hadn’t wound up in the cold water as a consequence of her ill-advised actions. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that her general gracefulness was simply annoying to him given his present predicament of trying to get motor control back.

  Was it too much to ask to have other people trip and fall once in a while to remind him that he wasn’t the only clumsy one?

  The boat rocked strongly again, and Ben refocused on the problem at hand. The rain fell more heavily now and darkened the deck. He wrapped his arms more firmly around the railing and listened as sailors banged through the door onto the deck. Several of them scrambled nimbly up the rigging, which he knew from experience made him sick if he watched.

  Great. Exactly what he needed for his last few hours on this ship—higher waves and more vomit. If they had to send him inside and out of the fresh air, it would be even worse. The thought made his stomach twist and he opened his mouth instinctively.