by J D Cortese
But Dhern wasn't done with just recharging him. Agdinar could see a series of arches ahead of him—made with some sort of space-bending veil. The arches ran through the group of Hawks—literally through them—and blurred the middle one to just a bluish ghost.
“Run.”
“What?”
“Run. Now.”
And Agdinar, against his fear and the obvious consideration of big men with big guns coming straight toward him, did run.
He crossed through the blue man, feeling a tug and possibly a slight rearrangement of his internal organs.
By the time he'd reached the opposite end of the first floor, he was as exhausted as if he had run a mile.
The arches were gone.
He was standing near a small office, its glass door propped open. Without waiting, he entered and closed the door behind him.
* * *
Dhern had done, as usual, everything he could to help his friend. Agdinar was again whole, or at least recovered from whatever supernatural thing their technology had been making out of him.
Because there was no reflection of him in the glass, only the light falling in isolated rays all over the hall.
He had no body.
He was again a ghost in a world that had never been his to walk as a person.
Agdinar was anchored to this world only by his love of humans.
Maybe by the love of a single human.
He was startled by the approach of another ghost. Dhern. He could feel him nearby and knew that he would need his friend’s help.
Chapter 14
Agdinar paced around the small office—deceptively small, as the floor plan had been remodeled one too many times, leaving it with two incomplete side walls. He made sure of completely closing the door.
“Dhern?”
“Yes.”
“I have an idea.”
“Hopefully one that doesn't get us in any more trouble.”
“It would get us in some trouble, but not a lot more that we already are in.”
“Yes, but remember, I do better when disconnected than you will. Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”
Agdinar talked with Dhern while trying to see outside. “Let's not argue, Dhern,” he said, starting to move a box to clear a path. “Can you give me Vaxeer in the comm?”
“You want me to implicate your friend?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Agdinar stopped before getting another box from the pile. There were two old office doors leaning against the lower half of the window, and those would be hard to move without using his suit’s servo-strength—a device he shouldn’t use if he wanted to save energy.
“Maybe sharing the blame won't be such a bad idea. I'm going to open another channel—wait, I'm getting better at this.”
By getting better, Dhern had meant to go a little over a simple voice comm. Vaxeer's head appeared at an arm's length from Agdinar. It was a little out of focus and flat, as if it had been captured from a view-screen.
“Agdinar, is that you?” Vaxeer’s voice was uneven, coming in waves to the room.
“Yes, hiding in an abandoned office down here.”
“Where are you? It has been almost two days; this escapade of yours is growing into legend. If it weren’t for the Managers' Rules, they'd send robots to chase you.”
“I know that I'm in trouble.”
“Just trouble, no. Try man of the universes’ worth of trouble. The Council is discussing your punishment, and they're siding with long-term stasis. We are talking glacier ice, Agdi, decades of ice.”
“Not surprised. Can you see me?”
“Barely. The connection is coming through old down-world cables.”
“I need you to access the main core and get views from all cameras in City Hall.”
“City Hall? Wait, isn’t that there where the Hawks have their cave? How—?”
“Less questions, Vaxeer, for now.”
“Well, let me invent a reason to search the archives. Those buildings flooded a few years ago, with that mega-hurricane. It might be a—”
“Just do it. I don't have much time.”
A few minutes of silence followed, broken by the occasional burst of white noise and a buzzing sound coming from quantum exhaustion on Dhern’s patched link.
“Okay, as they'd say down there,” Vaxeer said, his head now turned toward Agdinar, “here is everything I have.”
“Thank you, my friend,” said Dhern. “That's all I need.”
“Is that Dhern? You shouldn't have taken him with you. They—we can detect him easily, and if he—”
“Sorry, Vaxeer, but we have some urgent things to talk about.”
The noise on the line stopped.
“Dhern, you shouldn't have cut him off like that.”
“Don't worry, you'll talk plenty with him soon.”
“And what do your calculations tell you about my future?”
“For now, that I have to help you rescue Sarinda. And then, get out of the way.”
“I know I won't get anything else from your tight quantum lips. So, where is she?”
“Way back in the building’s upper floors, where they keep prisoners who await judgment. Unfortunately, I can't find Tysa in any of the camera view-streams.”
Agdinar worried about Sarinda's friend but had decided to take on one problem at a time. “Well, my friend,” he said, “it seems we need to resort to riskier means. Follow me.”
“Where?”
“To prison.”
Without waiting for Dhern's great mind to process that, Agdinar opened noisily the room's door. And he started strolling toward the half dozen Hawks who were coming along the floor's main hallway.
* * *
The Hawks had been surprisingly considerate with Agdinar. They limited themselves to showing him their guns—he lost count at six, and probably could have counted twice that many big multi-functional rifles. He just shrugged and started to walk in the statistical direction aligned with the most gun barrels.
The DND Building was falling apart, visible on walls that bent forward, and a dozen scaffolds erected to fix the holes in the ceilings. Either there were too many Hawks to use the elevators or they didn't work out of the ground floor. From the looks of bundles of cables running the ceiling and isolated LED lights hanging from them, electricity had trouble reaching the building’s heights.
The corridors got narrower upstairs, and Agdinar kept bumping against the Hawks who walked next to him. He couldn't see most faces, hidden by the ever-present black hoods, and those he saw—with face tattoos and scars from knife fights—didn't help to calm him down.
They entered a large space, which had a hundred computers and even more view-monitors scattered around, bringing images from all over the city. But they shuffled him past that hub and into a small room at the end of two long, dark corridors.
It was an elongated space, partially surrounded by broken walls, and he could see Sarinda standing behind a wall of translucent glass.
She did not show any emotion or acknowledge his presence. It took Agdinar seconds of his strained thinking to realize why—a one-sided transparent glass covered completely the front of her cell, completing the isolation brought about by an inner meshwork, which was presumably also bullet-proof.
She couldn't see him from the other side of the glass.
A thick metallic finger pushed against his spine, and he walked toward the glass box.
Chapter 15
Several hours passed quickly, helped by steady conversation prompted by any subject either of them would bring up. As for keeping hope alive, a situation like theirs triggered it as a biological response, and they entertained several crazy possibilities for escaping and rescuing Tysa.
Looking at how well sealed their cell was, by layers of thick metal nets and bulletproof plastic-glass, Agdinar knew those were more crazy than possible.
Sarinda turned to faced Agdinar. “Why are you doing this?” she said.
“What?”
>
“Helping me. See where it has taken you? You could have stayed…wherever it is that you come from.”
“I have to help,” Agdinar said, having a hard time keeping Sarinda’s stare. “All my life, all the time I have been awake—if I can ever explain to you what that means—I was told just to observe, to let things happen for the good of the future. And I hate that.”
“But your people know what would happen.”
Now Agdinar did stare back at Sarinda. “That’s what we are told,” he said, “and I believe it less each day. And now, seeing what happened to you and your friend, I can’t stand anymore to remain idle. We let people die, every day, people who we could have saved. I wish…”
Agdinar closed his eyes and hit the jail cell’s wall with his fist. Sarinda was close enough to touch his arm. “What’s that you wish?”
“That you all have what I have. Not giving you from our power is unconscionable; not unconscionable, it is evil.”
Sarinda stayed silent, while Agdinar kept pacing around their cell.
* * *
Their assigned guard was as tall and massive as other Hawks Agdinar had seen. But he was less well exercised and sported a ballooning belly. It was just in his red-rimmed, black eyes—and the uncared-for hair and beard—that a criminal life was apparent, whether present or past. A sleazy and conflicted character for sure.
It was Sarinda who broke the silence. “Hey, can you talk with us?”
“No.”
“Come on,” she said, pointing to the entrance. “We don't know what's going on.”
“You should.”
Agdinar tried too. “What's your name?”
“Stealy.”
“Steely?” Sarinda sounded sincerely interested. “Like steel?”
“No, Stealy from stealing stuff. That's how I'm known. Fastest time to open a closed door in the city.”
Having started a sort of dialogue, Agdinar kept trying. “Well, that's something. Now, what's your real name?”
It was clear that the Hawk shouldn’t have been talking to them, but he was paying close attention. “We don't have names no more,” he said. “Names come from the past, and the past is gone.”
“So, none of you has a name?” Sarinda said.
“Yes, sure. I don't even know how Rychar got his.”
“Weird,” Sarinda said.
“I'm not here to think. Just to kill you if you try to escape.” Given the blinded cell door, Stealy’s comment was rhetoric.
“I thought you just stole stuff,” Sarinda said.
The guard smiled at her. “A guy has to have some other fun trades, you know.”
Agdinar realized Stealy was taken with Sarinda, and she was trying to use it—her smile was fully turned on.
“You, kid, don't even think about escaping,” Stealy said, touching his gun. “It won't go well.”
“Why?” Agdinar approached the cell’s front panel, wondering what safety mechanisms it had—how dangerous they were, and if they could prevent him from passing his hand through.
“Every time I leave,” Stealy said, “we turn on a laser alarm across the door. If you open the door, you'll hit those rays and trigger a hell of a noise. You two are not going anywhere.”
“I see,” Sarinda said, approaching the clear section of the wall. Agdinar could now see a dozen faint blue lines bridging the gap of the outside door.
“Sorry, girl,” their guard said, “but that's how it goes here.”
Stealy leaned back on the wall across their cell, and his weapon made a clanking noise on the dividing glass. He was trying his best to be friendly, but it was clear he had received tougher orders from above.
“Do you know what's going to happen to us?” Agdinar pressed on, hoping not to lose the small connection they'd made with their guard.
“If you have made it to one of these cells alive, maybe they won't kill you.”
“Do they—have they killed many people?” Sarinda stumbled with her own words.
“Can't tell you. Already said too much.” Stealy turned away, peeking at the exit.
“Come on,” she insisted, still smiling. “Let us know. We are very worried. Please.”
“Rychar wants something from you two, or you would be dead already. You might get lucky.”
Agdinar noticed that Stealy was only looking at Sarinda. He might not have been talking about him, which was a bad sign.
“Said too much,” the guard added. “Goodbye.” He turned and left, without looking back and probably trying not to add anything else to his unplanned comments.
They were truly alone.
* * *
After their guard left, they spent some time inspecting the door together. Theirs wasn't a traditional jail cell, but rather a modified small room that—given the presence of a solitary toilet in the back—had once served as an office restroom, possibly for a semi-important functionary. Things had changed quite a bit in the last decades. The room was painted in an unseemly flat black, and the meshwork securing the cell was embedded in the wall's body. A few of its edges were torn as if someone had used a tool trying to break it.
At least, someone had tried to get out. Although that might have been before another someone installed the patterned laser alarm at the entrance. From the looks of it, not even a lucky fly could get out of the room without triggering an avalanche of Hawks.
Something interrupted Agdinar from collecting unproductive thoughts. There were steps from the outside hallway.
* * *
“And here you are, back together,” Rychar said, standing near the holding cell’s wall. It was as if he were afraid of them, and they could only see part of him through the clear rectangular window. “I hope our hospitality is suiting you,” he said. “We will bring you dinner later.”
Sarinda advanced toward the visitor with an angry look. “Why are you keeping us here?” She approached the glass, trying to see the whole figure of their visitor.
Rychar also took a step forward, relaxed and with his hands in his white jacket’s pockets. “You should have known,” he said, “that we are not very keen to let city dwellers enter our building.”
“We are free to go wherever we want,” Sarinda said, her breath fogging the glass.
It was Rychar's turn to smile broadly. “Not in our city.”
“It's not your city,” Agdinar said.
“Yes, it’s not,” Sarinda chimed, “and you have taken possession of this building illegally.”
“Illegally,” Rychar managed, chuckling. “Not really. We are the law in this lawless place.”
“There are laws,” Sarinda said, “and my father enforces them.”
“Ah, your father. He will soon be working for us.”
“I don't think so.” Sarinda’s words didn’t carry any confidence.
“Me neither,” Agdinar said. He had approached Sarinda and, from over her shoulder, he stared at the brilliant blue eyes of the Hawk.
“You, young fellow,” Rychar said, “you shouldn't talk so much. In fact, you should not talk at all. You don't exist. You are here, in front of me, but there are no records, anywhere in the world, of your face or your body. Who are you?”
“He's just my friend,” Sarinda said, touching Agdinar’s arm.
“That's only going to get him to share your troubles, but it doesn’t explain to me who he is. So, who are you?”
“I just have a common face,” Agdinar said, but the pressure from Rychar’s stare was starting to affect him. It reminded him of the non-human eyes of the Overseer. “Maybe your computers are a little confused,” he added.
Rychar pointed at Agdinar, and then at Sarinda. “I could almost believe you, may be on a good day, but we have to consider those suits of yours.”
Agdinar shuddered at the comment. The suits. Even in appearance, they were a giveaway of unearthly technology—at least, high-level military—and, when examined, they would be shown capable of doing magical things. If they ever recovered their charge.<
br />
“What's the problem with our suits?” Agdinar said, trying to sound surprised. He would have given anything to have Dhern's telepathic powers.
Rychar was smiling as he started talking. “Let's see. First, the intriguing fact of all these lights being powered by...by what? We can't find any source of energy in our registered scans—did you think we don't have scanners at the door? You two passed them, entered the building, and left no records, visual or otherwise. Nothing was detected, whether electromagnetic or nuclear, and no traces of any chemical emission. Also, not a single image of you two. And, my dear Sarinda, we can see you appearing out of thin air in the middle of the main floor. There's something quite weird about how you came here, and I want to know it. How is it that you entered our central?”
“We were just lucky,” Sarinda said. “That I didn’t get to be seen at first. As for my friend, he's not very photogenic.”
Rychar smiled, nodding at Sarinda’s attempt at humor. “I don't think so. You are both very cute, and too smart. And I will have plenty of time to get answers to my questions.”
“Can I ask you something?” Agdinar didn't want Rychar to leave, as it was their only opportunity to get some advantage coming from their captor’s interest.
“Sure, I don't want to seem impolite to my guests.”
“Why this? Taking over the city; the barricades, the fighting.”
Rychar looked at Agdinar; it appeared he wanted to answer. “I normally would say that's obvious. But you seem like a foreigner to our world, and, without entertaining the question of why that is, let me brief you on our story.”
“By all means,” Sarinda said. “Go on.”
Their exchange, odd as it was, had started to resemble a true conversation. Agdinar touched the cold inner side of the glass to remind himself of their entrapment.
“I will explain,” Rychar said, “but just because our friend here seems to have landed from a spaceship.”
Agdinar shivered again.
“Let's start early. About thirty years ago, in the mid-twenties, the political left and right started to separate in extreme socialist and right-wing parties. Our early members thought there was a better third option, a party that wouldn't take sides and expressed democracy to the fullest.”