by J. N. Chaney
Too late, I saw it as a ruse and found myself back in the usual side hug of comradery he so enjoyed. I expected a snide comment about my rebel cred, but he was otherwise occupied. After pulling myself from his grip, I looked in the direction he was focused.
A student I recognized from the academy was across the street. Canton was his name. He was a ginger with pronounced freckles and the trace of a harelip scar. I’d seen him exiting the science building a few times as I entered but had no real contact with him.
Vance gave me another slug in the arm. “Hey, hang here for a minute. I’ve gotta talk to Canton.” He didn’t wait for me to agree but did give a glance back as he crossed the street. His expression implied that whatever they were meeting about would be better without my presence.
I walked to the corner of the theater near an alley and waited. The theater was to the west end of the downtown area and bordered the residential blocks. We were still far south of Mr. Kurns’s place, but I couldn’t help wondering how the initial city layout had been put together with such tall residential buildings here, where the downtown area thinned, and such small ones to the north where the downtown was populated with looming towers.
Vance handed something to Canton, one of the various things he hustled from one person and delivered to another for some purpose. Vance didn’t offer any explanation of his activities, and I didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to work it out without help or simply respected his privacy. Neither option sounded like the whole reason.
I tried to slouch against the wall, faking my best Vance impression, when I noticed a man coming out of the alley on the opposite side. He stood out from the crowd with the fluidity of his movement, but then he quickly blended in. After sweeping past where Vance and Canton were talking, he made his way to the corner beyond. Then he continued to follow the foot traffic and cross the street to the theater side.
I resumed my slouch and made a show of adjusting my sleeves as he came by. He had a headpiece on that was concealed between his thin hat and the popped collar of his large coat. I memorized details about the length and cut as he passed. The hat was interesting as well, the way the brim curled on the sides but looked flat from a distance.
He turned just past me and stopped to adjust a shoe as the crowd he was walking with passed on their way. I took a few steps toward the theater and tried to count out a few beats before turning back. He was gone, but I didn’t spot him heading down the street.
I returned to the corner and found him making his way through the tight alley. There was a slight glow on the side of his head now. Whatever the purpose of his headset was, he had activated it. I followed along slowly, keeping my eyes on him at all times.
I followed him for a block before he turned south, then I stopped at the corner and waited again, counting out a steady ten beats before attempting to follow. I figured it was enough time to avoid any glances but fast enough to keep pace. Once I’d turned the corner, he was already at the far side of the alley.
I wasn’t nervous or fearful. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t seem dangerous. It was more the excitement of the moment—this sense of mystery and the need to understand what this man was after. He was out here for a reason, and I intended to find out what that was, even at the risk of being found.
I waited for more than ten beats this time. If I lost him, there would be little hope to find him again without a way to track him. Getting spotted would be worse, though. He might not be dangerous, but he would certainly have questions.
I came back around the corner and saw him standing near a wall, the glow of his headset shining steadily for a nearly a minute.
I heard a window slide open next to him, and the headset light disappeared as the strange man climbed through it and into the apartment.
I didn’t bother waiting this time and walked carefully toward where he had gone. A kind of rough cylinder rested on a pipe—something he’d placed here. The smell of old concession eats drifted from around the corner, and the light on the device blinked steadily. I traced the angle toward the window the man had entered.
The window was expensive and part of a linked security system. The etching on the sill indicated it was a Klemtite Essentials system, and the red light from the cylinder flashed at a point just above the sill where the window would normally sit.
I ducked under the glass window to get a better point of view. Inside, I could make out a room and a hallway beyond. A light source was on somewhere in the house and the geometry and white walls suggested it was a bathroom light bouncing from the upstairs floor. I stepped back and looked up to confirm a small sliver of light from the second story coming around the edges of a curtain.
I made my way back to the corner facing out to the street in front of the theater, waiting for the stranger to return.
After about five minutes, the man emerged from the window and closed it. He took the device with the red light and switched it off, then proceeded further down the alley. I left the corner and followed him again. This time, he didn’t stop each block but continued for exactly sixteen blocks. He moved back and forth through each alley with confidence, painting a path toward what had to be his hideout or drop-off point.
I matched my pace to his as he traveled with some winds and twists further west and slightly south, until finally I came to a smaller three-story mid-rise building adjoined to several others. A sign on the courtyard gate listed it as Cascade Gardens.
He entered through the front, disappearing behind a set of foggy glass doors.
I lingered for a few minutes before realizing how long I’d been gone, so I turned around and made my way back to the theater. I came out of the alley to find Vance leaning against the very corner I had been waiting on.
Vance gave an exaggerated shiver. “Where were you, Alpha? I’m dying of cold out here worrying and waiting for you.”
“It’s sixty degrees,” I returned. “Hardly what I would call cold.”
Vance stretched and walked to the edge of the street. “Still, you were gone. I’ve been waiting. Where were you?”
“I took a walk.” Technically it wasn’t a lie, just an omission of context.
“Just a walk? I almost had time to finish a whole new snack tub.” Vance gestured to an empty container jutting out of a full trash can. “Okay, I did finish one, but I was really thinking about getting another.”
“I guess I can fill you in on the details if you want to let me know what you were giving to Canton.”
Vance stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I think I was just having a chat and you were just having a nice long late-night walk.”
I grinned. “Seems like.”
Vance started walking toward Quintell. “Keep this up and you might actually graduate to something beyond rebel in training.”
9
I paced in my room. The excitement I felt tracking the man with the headset had not subsided and I found that I couldn’t sit, let alone sleep.
His actions were too precise, his methods well-thought-out and assisted with cunning technology. Given his clothing and the devices he employed, the robbery itself was almost certainly not about money.
The object being taken was unlikely to be worth more than the time and equipment to take it. The fortuitous nature of the missing wire mesh from the entry window suggested both deeper pockets and a matter of influence. The object stolen was likely about power or manipulation over simple profit. And if it was, then it meant the object was priceless, which seemed doubtful considering the location.
I had tracked the man to a building but didn’t have time to see if he’d left. The building was the last thread that I had learned. It wasn’t, however, the last thread I had to pull. He left several other clues, and I needed to follow each of them up to get an idea of who he was and why he acted the way he had.
It would take considerable legwork to find the right information. Network access was unlikely to get me all the pieces I needed. Fortunately, Mr. K
urns had given me an idea of how I could do this. I opened the Quintell Academy site on my pad and navigated to student services. There was a form to fill out to request a trip into town. The request needed to be filled out and the disclaimers indicated it would take several days to get approved, and still more days to arrange the actual outing.
I closed the site and reconnected the pad to show an access from the administration building. I skipped to the administrative login and entered the headmaster’s credentials, then took a moment to look through the access logs for earlier in the day and found how Mr. Kurns shuffled the funds from my account to his department. It was confusing and I lost the trail. Another puzzle I would need to delve into.
I backed out and accessed my support fund account to see what Mr. Kurns had learned there. The amount open to me was not listed in a numbered amount. Instead it listed a Tertiary Inc. and the term “secured in trust.” A quick network search found that this was banking code used to describe an assurance, usually given between businesses or other legal entities, to pay for any expenses based on the word of the company itself. With the name Tertiary Inc. in hand, I now had three puzzles to unravel.
For the immediate task, I dummied a form and backdated it. Then I approved it and assigned Proctor Camille Maevik to escort me to town.
I requisitioned three destinations with optional secondary stops as needed. I listed a trip to a clothing store, a tech supply store, and a job shadow tour of Klemtite Essentials.
Buzzing with the possibilities and a plan firmly in place, I let myself drift off to sleep.
For the first time I could recall, I found myself desperate for class to end. Even the dullest material provided interesting avenues for watching the reactions of other students with a lower tolerance for information absorption. Perhaps this was a manifestation of my own eagerness. I had never felt a pressing need to do something with my time.
I had also not made plans for my own reasons in the past. The final class wound to a close and I quickly made my way through the halls and to the maintenance area.
Proctor Maevik was waiting at the entrance, prompt, if not overly enthusiastic, as always. She gave me her trademark confused salute-wave. “Good to see you adjusting, Alphonse. We will be ready to leave in a moment. Mr. Kurns is bringing out our transport.”
The larger roll door of the maintenance building activated and winched up into the ceiling. A van backed slowly out of the shop and pulled up alongside us. Mr. Kurns exited the vehicle and held the door for Proctor Maevik. “Sorry about the radio. Damn thing is jammed on and a bit loud. She’ll get you where you’re going.” He nodded to me with a wink while Maevik got situated inside.
I opened the door and was startled by the loudness of the music, but I sat down and strapped in. Clearly, conversation with Maevik would have to wait until later. There was little concentrating to be done over the noise, so I nodded to her and indicated I was ready to go.
To her credit, she didn’t try to speak over the sound but simply put the transport in gear and headed out. The shops I wanted to visit were already loaded into the itinerary from the forms I had put up earlier, so there was no need to discuss our next destination anyway.
We hit the road and made our way into the downtown area, but I didn’t recognize the streets or the route. Driving often took paths that walking both excluded and didn’t account for. As we rode, I heard subtle noises under the music. Mr. Kurns had jammed the radio himself to cover up the age and shoddy care of the vehicle. I smiled to be “in on it” and listened to the stress of the engine and shaking of the panels as we made our way east of the theater and into the far southeast corner of the downtown area.
Maevik pulled into a parking garage in the area and parked, shutting off the transport. The music ceased, leaving an intense silence that rang in our ears. “Do you think we’ll need several trips?” she asked.
I considered the large amount of space in the transport. It was designed to carry full loads of students or gear for the academy. Mr. Kurns had removed the other seating and put in a variety of nets, which created pockets to organize cargo.
“I’m only buying a few essentials. I think I’ll be able to carry it all in one go, Proctor Maevik.”
She frowned and shuffled her scuffed shoes on the floor. “I told you, call me Cams.”
“I’m not good with nicknames. It’s strange to use them for school staff, so I’d rather not.” I tried to sound reassuring but probably came across as condescending.
She smiled and opened her door, turning back to me before I had finished unstrapping my seat belt. “My role at the academy is as a supporter. I am not officially a teacher and I don’t have a regular schedule like the rest of the staff. Think of me as an older sister. I’m here to bridge the gap between boarding school and the outside world.”
I nodded and opened my own door. “I’m quite certain your job description is to monitor students for truancy and during exams. You’re more covert security than a sister.”
She came around the side of the vehicle once I was outside, then fixed me with a steady glare and an overly warm smile. “I’d like to think my security days are behind me. Can you at least try to loosen up there, Alphonse? Live a little and be a rebel every once in a while. You might find that it suits you.” There was a warning in her stance. Proctor Maevik had a past that I was suddenly much more interested in learning about, but that would have to wait.
I nodded again. “I’ll follow your lead, Cams,” I said, giving her the satisfaction of the name. “That is, if you don’t mind that I’m only a rebel in training.”
She clicked the heels of her ratty shoes together and performed her salute-wave. “There are plenty of ways to get into trouble, Alphonse. Dare to be original.” Her smile remained warm, but there was a haunted quality in her eyes. Something I couldn’t place, but I knew without knowing that she had suffered a loss. Not just a loss, but a sacrifice.
I walked after her and we departed the parking structure onto the street. Maevik threaded through the crowd of shoppers efficiently, leaving me to sometimes apologize to a bystander or wait for a group to pass. She really knew how to get through a crowd, finding gaps and predicting the ways the lines would shift to allow her in. It was a shame she kept forgetting I was following along.
Our first stop was a mixed styles and ages clothing store. I had picked a general shop to get an idea of what I was looking at. Clothing was a diverse pursuit and creating an individual style was more important than following a trend. Or so I had read, which in itself created a kind of “look unique” trend.
I walked from aisle to aisle, reviewing the different colors and fabrics. Nothing “spoke to me” or “jumped out at me” like the fashion articles suggested. Everything looked like clothing.
Maevik watched patiently for nearly an hour while I browsed and touched nothing. “If I didn’t know better, Alphonse, I would say you were just wasting time being off campus.”
The accusation startled me. “I don’t know what I want. Nothing seems any more useful or important than the others.”
“Well, how do you see yourself? Or how do you want to present yourself to others?” She subconsciously rubbed the heel of each shoe against the toe of the other.
“Cams, you make a good point,” I admitted.
Clothing had never been about what I’d wanted to wear. It was always about how I wanted people to perceive me. More importantly, it was a way to have them not perceive me. My uniform had drawn the attention of Manson and Gil. My attitude had interested people like Vance and Mr. Kurns. People saw what they wanted to see.
I moved quickly then, going from aisle to aisle collecting a few shirts and pants. I picked up a few outer shirts and then some nondescript shoes. Within minutes, I had a pile of purchases. We checked out and took the bags back to the transport.
Again, Maevik led the way through the crowd with deft agility. She was also seemingly unencumbered by her bags and I fell further behind the second time. I was
huffing and puffing by the time we reached our transport. Whatever sense she used to move was impossible to repeat. There were moments when she simply vanished.
We stored the load at transport and headed to my second destination in the same area, an upscale shop that sold men’s coats.
I decided to keep Maevik closer as we traveled so I could spot whatever she was seeing in crowd movement. “Thanks for the advice back there. It helped me decide what to do.”
She stopped at a few gaps that appeared while she tried to focus on responding to me. “Really? It looked to me like you were just grabbing whatever. Nothing you ended up with says much of anything. It is all over the place.”
I smiled inwardly but played it cool. “I thought it was best to try a lot of things. See how they felt outside of the store. Then I can make better decisions next time.”
“Is that it?” She rubbed her heel against her toe again. “I better not see those clothes on any other students. Especially two I could name.”
We arrived at the next store together. The pattern in her thinking and observations about crowds remained unclear, but I was learning. “Nothing like that, really. I’ll show you here. I have some very specific ideas about what I need in a coat.”
We entered the shop and she bristled at the sight of the displays. She pulled out her pad and checked the itinerary against the name of the shop. “I thought this was a knock-off or a junior’s version. This is upscale even for boarding school brats. Uh, no offense.”
A tailor was already at my elbow by the time Maevik finished her statement. “No offense taken, ma’am. We strive for excellence at Silverton’s Regal.” The tailor had an old-world air to him and a posture that was almost out of an anachronistic holo. “That said, sir, we will need to see some proof of payment before we proceed. Everything you see is a sample of something custom. Our clothing is made-to-order.”