Fires of Man

by Dan Levinson

  As days passed, Tiberian decided it was time Aaron was rewarded for his efforts. Aaron had never seen the big city before, and when Tiberian broached that as a possibility, Aaron jumped at the chance.

  So it was that Aaron ended up in Chiron, his mouth open in wonder. The size of Chiron staggered him. The biggest place he had been was Elmer, twenty miles from his family farm. Elmer was the sort of place that had qualified as a “city” before, but . . .

  Chiron was in a class all its own.

  Aaron wasn’t by his lonesome, of course. He had been assigned a driver who doubled as a guard. Whether the man was supposed to

  be protecting Aaron from the world, or keeping him from escaping, he didn’t know. Probably both. At least the man was unobtrusive—he remained ten feet back at all times, wearing a baseball cap, shades, a nondescript shirt, and jeans. The man wouldn’t even tell Aaron his name. If Aaron tried not to think about it, he could imagine he was alone.

  As alone as one could be in a metropolis of millions.

  He had no idea where to start. The driver had parked in a garage in an area he referred to as “midtown” and afterward made no further effort to dictate their destination. Aaron would’ve been grateful for a little direction.

  With nowhere in particular in mind, he wandered toward the lights.

  In the distance, Aaron saw towering billboards for films, television shows, live entertainment, and more he couldn’t make out. He found himself drawn like a moth to an array of neon multicolored flames. There were people everywhere—more people at once than all the people he’d seen in his life combined. He was also stunned by the cars—luxury vehicles he’d only seen in commercials or never at all, mixed in with the sort of everyday working-class cars he was used to.

  Before long, his neck ached from swiveling about, taking in the sights.

  It dawned on Aaron how sheltered his life had been. He’d never seen so many skin colors and varied features, men and women of all races of the world. It was hard to shut out what his father had told him, all those old prejudices.

  His father had said the Rakharans, or “the blacks,” were lazy, uneducated, and often criminal. The Isaians, “those ching-chong folk,” were thrifty, cunning, and would feed you dog meat and call it chicken. The list went on. Aaron tried to put it out of mind, but it was hard not to feel like he’d stepped into a dangerous new world. Were it not for the allure of the bright lights and the reassuring presence of his guard, Aaron might have turned tail and left the city.

  At last, the street opened into an enormous square. All around were the glowing lights of three-tiered restaurants with gigantic signs, huge department stores, movie theaters with scrolling movie times on digital readouts, a huge stock ticker on the side of a building, and a large illuminated poster of a woman’s face that sat above a “gentleman’s club.” As crowded as Aaron had thought the city was before, he now realized it hadn’t even come close. Pedestrians jammed the well-worn sidewalks. The throng was so thick that Aaron couldn’t take more than one step at a time. Cars filled the thoroughfares that cut through the square.

  How could anyone bear to live in a place like this?

  The noise was pervasive: honking horns; squealing brakes; pavement crunching under wheels; the constant drone of chatter; the periodic rumble of subway trains. Worse was the air. Aaron could smell trash on every breeze; cigarette smoke; car exhaust; food; body odor; and a hundred other scents he couldn’t place. He began to feel claustrophobic.

  In need of respite from the overpowering atmosphere of the street, Aaron ducked into one of the movie theaters—a multiplex that proclaimed itself in giant letters to be the “Viewplex Stadium 26.” Inside, it was cool—even cooler than the springtime weather outside, where at least the closely packed people had provided some warmth. It was dim within. Maroon carpeting covered the floor. All around were movie posters and cardboard displays for films Aaron had never heard of. He was so distracted, he barely noticed when his guard entered behind him.

  Aaron saw one poster with a man dressed in futuristic space armor, holding aloft a large rifle. Nearby, a cardboard cut-out depicted a computer-animated dragon, with a knight and a woman in a gown on its back. The title was How to Save a Princess, with the subtitle . . . and Live Happily Ever After, rated AA, All Audiences.

  If anyone had asked Aaron a year ago whether he thought there were movie theaters with more than twenty screens, he would have said no. The cinema in Elmer had two screens, and any movies they played were already several months old. In fact, most of the movies Aaron had seen were on tape, at home with his father. None of the newer films came out on tape, and his father had never been willing to upgrade to a DVD player.

  With a stipend of a hundred crowns in his pocket, Aaron decided he wanted to see a movie.

  In 3D.

  He had never dreamed of seeing a movie in 3D before. He got in line behind other moviegoers. The Duo in Elmer had never been so crowded. When it finally came his turn, he was so distracted by all the different titles that three people cut past him before he realized.

  He stepped up to the next open booth, where a heavyset woman sat behind the glass. “What’s good in 3D?” he asked her.

  She peered at him. “You don’t know what you wanna see?”

  “I was just curious—”

  “Next in line,” the woman called.

  “Hey,” Aaron said. Mrs. Belding, the woman who worked the one booth at the Duo, would never be so rude! She had always been happy to give recommendations between the two films they had available. “Just give me two tickets to whatever’s newest. In 3D.”

  The woman gave him a skeptical look. When she saw he was serious, she shrugged and tapped at her computer screen. “It’s thirty-one fifty,” she said.

  Aaron’s jaw dropped. It cost that much for two movie tickets? Even for 3D, his father would have said it was highway robbery! All the same, Aaron fished out two twenty crown bills and handed them over.

  The woman made change and gave it to Aaron along with the tickets. “Escalator’s on the left,” she said. “Third floor, theater eleven.”

  Tickets in hand, Aaron stepped out of the line. The print said they were for a film called Galaxy Ranger. He walked up to his guard and handed the man one. The guard appeared genuinely surprised, but accepted the ticket without fuss.

  What did he think Aaron expected him to do, wait outside the theater the entire time?

  Aaron headed up an escalator, and then another, to the third floor. The mall in Elmer had escalators, but none so big as these. When he reached his destination, a ticket taker tore off Aaron’s stub and handed him a pair of glasses. “What are these?” Aaron asked.

  “Dude, 3D glasses,” the taker said.

  “You mean it isn’t just . . . 3D?”

  The ticket taker stared as if Aaron had turned green, or sprouted a second head. Rather than embarrass himself further, Aaron hurried onward without waiting for the response.

  Following the signs, he made a quick trip to the restroom. Despite white walls and floor tiles, the reek of stale urine belied its façade of cleanliness. Afterward, Aaron went to the concessions counter. At the Duo there was only popcorn, candy, and soda, but here the selection was staggering: more than twenty types of candy; hot dogs; pizza; pretzels; ice cream; something called a flatbread; and more. In the end he opted for familiarity: a large popcorn and a cherry cola, no ice. He preferred room temperature soda to a soda’s watered down flavor when the ice melted. Besides, there was more that way. At the exorbitant Viewplex prices, he would take every drop he could get.

  At last Aaron headed to the theater, winding his way through maze-like halls with that same maroon carpeting. Doors flanked him on every side.

  Eventually he spotted number eleven and went in.

  Aaron was greeted by the largest room he had ever seen. Now he understood why it was called a “stadium” theater. Rows of seats rose in succession. The screen was gargantuan, as big as five of the Duo’s p
ut together, if not bigger. The place was moderately full, but he managed to find himself a good seat about halfway up. Aaron’s guard, meanwhile, took a place all the way at the rear of the theater.

  Aaron sat through commercials, and then previews for other films. Some were action movies with car chases and gunplay. Others were raunchy comedies with lewd jokes that would have earned him a mouthful of soapy water if he repeated them back home. Then a notice appeared onscreen to put on the 3D glasses. In his wonder at the immensity of the theater, Aaron had completely forgotten about them. Heart pounding with excitement, he dug the glasses out of his pocket and shoved them on. He nearly fell out of his seat when a message telling him to silence his cell phone seemed about to hit him in the face.

  By the time the film started, Aaron was shaking with delight. Galaxy Ranger turned out to be a sci-fi action movie about Space Ranger Hank Roberts who, with his crew and trusty starship Galaxy, shot around space to deal with difficult situations for the Earth Universal Coalition. Early on in the movie, Hank was given his most dangerous mission yet: to rescue the daughter of Earth’s ambassador from alien slavers. By the end, Hank and the Galaxy took on an entire alien fleet and came out on top. It still was not as good as a Clyde Coburn movie, but it was close. Aaron was enthralled by the action and special effects, the realistic aliens, the exploding ships with shrapnel that appeared to fly out of the screen.

  When the final credits rolled, Aaron began to applaud, then stopped when he realized he was the only one. Hastily, he made his way out of the theater, into the hall, down the escalator, and back to the lobby.

  He considered going for a double feature and decided against it. He had eaten most of his popcorn, but now he wanted real food. He headed out to the street. Impossibly, it seemed even more crowded now than before—though perhaps that was due to his brief escape. There were a number of restaurants nearby, but Aaron wanted to find a quieter place, away from the bustle. There had been many places he’d passed on his way to the square, and he figured there would be more heading away from it.

  He took one of the streets that branched off to the east. Maybe the city wasn’t so unpleasant once a person got used to it. He thought he could become accustomed to movies at the Viewplex.

  It was mid-afternoon now, and the air had grown colder, but Aaron hardly noticed the chill. Every block he passed held restaurants featuring cuisines he’d never tried—Kaitanese, Jiangmese, various types of Cotin and Middle Eastern, and some from places he had never heard of. As for what “fusion restaurants” were, or what “molecular gastronomy” meant, he had absolutely no idea.

  After a time, the noise lessened. Aaron realized the square was no longer in sight.

  How far had he walked?

  He’d been so engaged in his surroundings that he had completely lost track of everything else. The pedestrian traffic here was sparse.

  It was only then he noticed his guard was missing. The man had been adept at staying close behind, and Aaron had been so distracted after the movie that he hadn’t thought to make sure. Wandering was all well and good, but now he had no one to help him find his way back.

  He tried to retrace his steps, but here the city grid had turned into a labyrinth of intersecting side streets. He’d been walking east before, so he faced the setting sun and headed west, presumably toward the movie theaters and the billboards and all the noise and people.

  He walked and walked, but somehow he kept getting turned around. The streets seemed to wind in on themselves. Each time he attempted to reorient, he became more lost than before.

  He began to feel an irrational sense of panic.

  What if he never found his way back?

  What if he was lost here forever?

  That’s ridiculous, he told himself. All he needed to do was stop and ask directions. At present, however, he found himself on a back street with no stores to speak of. There were only dirty apartment stoops with rusty broken railings, and shaded doorways with peeling paint.

  As Aaron walked past an alcove, a man in a hooded sweatshirt stepped out behind him. Aaron quickened his pace.

  The man kept up.

  Aaron tried to convince himself he was being paranoid, but he knew that was wishful thinking. He was being followed.

  He shot a glance over his shoulder. The man was not tall, but he was broad and moved with a menacing swagger. His features were concealed in the depths of his hood. His hands were stuffed into sweatshirt pockets big enough to conceal any number of weapons.

  Aaron found himself at a loss. What should he do? He wanted nothing more than to seize his power and sprint out of there as fast as possible, but knew he couldn’t in a public a place with at least one stranger for a witness. He ran down a list of possibilities. There were a number of methods he could use to incapacitate the man, if it came to that. He could . . .

  “’Scuse me, bro,” said the man in the hoodie, his voice high-pitched.

  Aaron missed a step, nearly tripped, but kept on walking. He had to figure out a way to defuse the situation without revealing what he was.

  “I said ’scuse me,” the man said. His voice was closer now, though Aaron didn’t dare turn around to see how close.

  Aaron considered making a run for it, putting on just enough extra speed to escape without it appearing unnatural. It could work. But what if the man had a gun? Tiberian had said most psions could stop bullets, but Aaron didn’t want to put that to the test right now.

  Something sharp pressed up against Aaron’s back. “Ignorin’ me? I was tryin’ to get your attention all polite and shit. You jus’ bein’ rude, man.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aaron said. “I . . . wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t hear you.” There was nothing else he could do. He wavered on the brink, ready to reach for his power.

  “Yeah?” The pressure on Aaron’s back let up slightly. “Good thing you said that. Maybe I won’t slice ya up. But ya better make it worth my while. Start with yo’ wallet.” Aaron didn’t have a wallet, so he reached for the money in his back pocket. “Slow, yo. Slow so I know you ain’t tryin’ nothin’ funny.”

  “Slow,” Aaron repeated.

  He didn’t relish the thought of being lost in the city without any money, but perhaps it was worth it to get out of this situation without using psionics. He used his forefinger and middle finger to gingerly lift the money from his back pocket. His heart pounded in his chest like the thundering of hooves from horses at a gallop. Never had he been in such a situation. He knew he could defend himself, but he worried what panic might drive him to do. He could kill the mugger by accident. Better to hand the money over. Less complicated. Soon it would be over with and he could focus on finding his way back to . . .

  Enough, said a voice.

  The pressure against Aaron’s back eased. Even so, Aaron stood rooted, afraid to move.

  Man has become a plague.

  Goosebumps rose on Aaron’s flesh. He felt the sharp prickling of unseen eyes at his back. He turned then, and gasped.

  The mugger hung suspended in air. His hood had fallen back to reveal a frightened black teenager, no older than fifteen. He tried to form words, but no sound emerged.

  “Let him go,” Aaron croaked to no one in particular.

  The time for mercy is past. You must be prepared. For what must be done.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron caught a hint of movement, a flash of red cloth. “What do you mean?” he demanded. The voice’s cryptic riddles reminded Aaron of Tiberian. “Prepared for what?” He imagined he must look insane, talking to thin air.

  Or was he insane?

  No, this was too real! The man in the robe was real! He had to be!

  Soon, the voice said. It came from everywhere and nowhere, emanating from somewhere around him, yet also from inside his skull. First, a lesson.

  The boy’s eyes rolled wildly. It reminded Aaron of the way the farm horses had looked when a wolf had once found its way into the barn.

  “Stop!” Aaron gr
abbed his power and sent shafts of energy streaking out to sever whatever restrained the captive teenager.

  Aaron’s power snapped back at him with a recoil that sent him sprawling to the ground.

  You would dare stand against me? the voice snarled, suddenly furious. No, I should have expected. You still have much to learn. Now, watch. I command you.

  The boy began to vibrate, his mouth open in a silent cry.

  Something terrible was about to happen. Aaron knew it, could feel it.

  And he couldn’t look away.

  His head was held in place by a psionic force, his eyelids forced open. The boy’s suffering filled his vision. The figure in the robe appeared then, now here, now there, flickering in and out around the floating teenager. There was nothing visible in the depths of that crimson cowl.

  “Please,” Aaron begged, “just let him go! Please!”

  Why? the voice asked.

  “Because . . . because . . . he hasn’t done anything wrong,” Aaron said.

  He is a thief. A doer of violence. A sinner. I have passed judgment.

  “No!” Aaron screamed.

  It was too late.

  The boy burst into countless tiny particles—a fine red mist floating on the air.

  All that remained of him was a fine red mist.

  Aaron got up, and ran.

  He ran hard. He ran fast. He ran until his legs ached and his lungs burned and his throat was raw with the filthy city air. He ran, and didn’t care when people stared or shouted obscenities. He ran, and didn’t look back.

  “Hey!” Aaron nearly collided with someone’s chest. He looked up to see his giant of a guard frowning down at him. “Been trying to find you. What the hell?”

  Aaron stared blankly. What was there to say? “Sorry,” he managed. “I was mugged.”

  “Mugged? Shit. Stupid kid.” The guard turned Aaron around and prodded him forward. “Next time, stay put. We’ve got a tracker on you, but it’s no use if you’re running all around the city. Now come on. We’re leaving.”

  Time blended together as they returned to the parking garage, and then John Black’s mansion. Before long Aaron found himself back in his room, without a moment’s recollection of how he’d gotten there. He couldn’t help but play those final seconds of the teenaged mugger’s life over and over in his mind.