by SJ Davis
“Right,” Tran said, tucking his white pants into the ankles of his shiny boots. Metal studs decorated the upper boot, a large silver buckle wrapped around the ankle area.
“Nice look,” said Yeshua sarcastically. “Now, what do you want?”
“The same thing you want.”
“I doubt that.”
Tran coughed and patted the front of his shirt. “I know I had a cigarette,” said Tran. The brown shaded lamp flickered a circle of light on the ceiling.
Tran pointed to the green folder on the floor, dropped in the scuffle. “You are wondering if you’ll find her in there. Like all of us, you’re looking for solutions to a problem.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Yeshua, giving away nothing. Yeshua felt pressure behind his eyes.
“The parasol girl. The girl from the hospital with the robot wound. You know, the girl with the headaches.”
Yeshua stepped within inches of Tran and looked down at him.
“You will find her in there,” said Tran. “If that helps ease your mind. But next you’ll wonder how she that’s possible. See? I am a very smart man,” Tran tapped his temple.
Yeshua sat down and flipped through the contents of the green folder.
“You needn’t do that,” said Tran. “I already told you what you want to know. Now I need you to return the favor.”
“Your mistake,” growled Yeshua, “is that you are confusing information that I can get myself, with an obligation to share information with you.”
“I helped Nico, though he is a very difficult boy,” said Tran, slithering closer to Yeshua. He whispered in Yeshua’s ear, “I helped free him from his troubles.” Tran tapped his finger to his forehead again and walked along the opposite side of the room. He brushed his hand across Yeshua’s old school desk. “Perhaps I can help free your dainty friend.”
“No. I’m cool without your help.” Yeshua’s anger was expanding, unstoppable. “Stay away from her.” His legs twitched as he stumbled for the door and he fumbled for his key card.
Tran looked away and lowered his eyes as he grabbed Yeshua’s shirt. “I want the beta device.”
“Whatever. Good luck with that. I’m leaving.” Yeshua pushed Tran away, into a wall of flaking plaster chips.
“You know I mean the Tabulator, the precursor to the Omni chip. Tell me where it is.” Tran took a flattened, foiled wrapped package from his hip pocket and a knife. He threw the packet on the bed. “I imagine Minnow would appreciate such a gift. Give it to her. Make her happy again.”
Yeshua knew the contents of the foil packet were designer narcotics, “No thanks. And on that note, I am out of here.”
Tran picked up the foil packet back up and held it up to Yeshua’s face. Sparkling flecks of shiny dust fell out. “She might be of more help to you afterwards. Speed her up a bit.”
“Right,” said Yeshua, with no intention of delivering her the goods as he walked out. “Minnow is clean, Tran. You can come at her from that angle anymore.” He shook his head and walked out the front door, not bothering to close the door. He held the green notebook underneath his arm and jogged down the street. He turned and walked backwards for a moment, Tran seemed to glow on the walk and light surrounded him. He faded into the evening air. Yeshua blinked. Tran was gone.
Yeshua’s left his neighborhood with a throbbing head. He looked at the faces of the people on the street, the streetlights reflected in their eyes but their faces were blank. He heard muted conversations but couldn’t see anyone talking. The Potomac River shimmered across the street; Yeshua jumped through traffic, ran across to a guardrail, leaned over and vomited.
He wiped his mouth and looked at the waterfront restaurant next to him. The sparkling clink of servers setting the silverware ticked like a metronome. Yeshua jogged down the street between pedestrians. Private laughter from restaurants and clubs leaked to the outside.
Yeshua felt the skin on his neck contract as if someone was breathing on him. An image of a girl with opera glasses over her eyes shot into his mind. The girl turned. Lights flashed. It was Minnow in a pair of ballet slippers running down a staircase. Wallpaper peeled along the walls revealing more layers of more wallpaper. The girl in his vision, Minnow, stopped at a doorway to look back. A syringe hung from her mouth and a black rubber tourniquet draped around her shoulders.
Yeshua shook his head to clear the image. He looked from side to side. Black and white blurs floated in the periphery of his eyes, as he stood rooted in place. He walked with his head down.
Omni’s architects and city planners did their best to veil the infrastructure, but Arlington was an oversized puzzle of a city. Small urban areas were sectioned off and the professional areas were laid in repeated patterns. It was a necessity in any of Omni’s city: if any catastrophe were to befall the residents of Omni, the compartmentalization of the cities would keep the destruction of its most valuable people and property to a minimum. The planning set aside small deregulated areas as a natural funnel for the Omni’s rejects.
To his side, a vehicle pulled over. Minnow hopped out and jumped to the sidewalk. The car sped off. “Hey,” she said. “Where’ve you been?”
“Hey,” Yeshua answered her. “I went to my mom’s place.”
“Why?”
Yeshua looked at Minnow with concern. “Look through some old stuff. Listen, are you okay?”
“Me?” she answered. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason, I guess.”
They made their way through the rubble strewn side streets and skirted into an off grid area, tethered by cement walls and large pipes.
Yeshua looked down at the green folder and pulled out the picture. The picture showed a laughing group of children with their teacher. He remembered the exact moment in the afterschool language program when it was taken. The class where he met Nico. He remembered everyone laughing as Ms. R tried to figure out the image capture program.
“Yeshua, are you listening?” said Minnow, glancing at the picture. His face flushed as he was caught staring at the picture.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“Nevermind. What are you staring at?”
“Who.” Yeshua ripped up the green folder and tossed it in the garbage.
“Okay. Who.”
“Josephine.”
“Whoa. Coffee,” said Minnow. “Now.”
“Okay.” They walked two blocks into the off-grid without talking. “On your left,” Yeshua pushed her into the revolving door of a coffee shop.
“Hey!” Minnow’s tiny frame rebalanced itself.
“I thought someone was tailing us. Sorry.”
“You always think someone is tailing us.” Minnow shook her head; her silver bracelets rang like bells as she pointed at him with a scolding finger. “You’re paranoid,” said Minnow, glancing through the levered blinds then turning to find a table.
Yeshua felt safer in the dense enclosure of the shop. Every table was taken and the bar was packed. Off to the side was a smaller area for pharmaceuticals and knock off designer bags and perfumes, next to this was an escort and travel service.
“Demerol,” sung a woman’s voice, advertising the products and services from the side table. “Old School Special for today.” Yeshua ignored the advertisement. “For your woman friend,” the nasal voice continued in a thick Eastern European accent. “Nice and relaxing.” Yeshua turned to see the young woman, maybe 18, maybe younger, standing between two headless Greek statues as decorative columns. The girl’s inflated red lips, white powdered face, and heavy bright blue eyeliner stared back at him. He grabbed Minnow by her elbow and guided her away to the back area. “Or maybe you need another girl,” she yelled after him, “I can help you with that too.”
“Classy,” said Minnow under her breath. The sounds in the bar area were a mixture of Russian, Spanish, and Turkish, interspersed with an occasional broken English word. The coffee smell from the bar mixed with the pungent aftershave and stale perspira
tion of the patrons. “I feel nauseous,” said Minnow.
“Keep going to the back. To the corner.” Yeshua nodded to a darkened area with three wooden slat chairs. A small lamp sat on the table, soot stained and blackened from years of nicotine; another one hung from the wall behind a red curtain. The dirty parquet floor met a cracked cement wall.
A server approached them, wiping the chairs before they sat. “Coffee?’
“Coffee,” said Yeshua.
“What else do you have,” said Minnow, ignoring Yeshua, leaning closer to the server.
“What do you like?”
“She’ll just have coffee,” said Yeshua, interrupting. “We’ll both have coffee. No cream. Just sugar.”
The server shrugged and walked away.
“Why are you being such an asshole?” said Minnow.
“Why are you being such a drug addict?” said Yeshua. “You are clean now, remember?
“I’m not a drug addict,” said Minnow. “I don’t need them.”
“Minnow, you were angling to see what she could get you.”
“Whatever. But I don’t need them now, there’s a difference. Anyway,” she said, changing the subject, “what’s going on with you?” The light behind them dimmed and surged.
“I found a picture of Josephine,” said Yeshua.
“An old one?”
“No. I found a picture of her, from when I was a kid.” he answered. “She was my teacher.”
“You mean from here? She was here before? Does she know it?”
“I don’t think so. She looks older in the picture.” He pulled out the picture, now cracked down the middle from being folded. “Or maybe, I don’t know, more confident. Doesn’t she?”
“You’re in love,” she said sarcastically. “Anyway, it’s just a picture. A random snap.” Minnow’s hands bunched in the pockets of her coat, her face crinkled in annoyance. “How and why did she come here?”
“Maybe we’ve tried this before and we didn’t have all the pieces the first time. Maybe we keep doing this until we get it right. Or maybe you can’t change the future from the past. Maybe only the past can change the future.” He rubbed the picture of Josephine’s face. “She taught Nico and me the language, you know?”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t think so. It might mess things up.” He sighed and rested back in the chair, messaging his temples.
“Christ,” said Minnow, sighing into the air above her. She leaned back sullenly in her chair.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just what we need. Constant complications.”
“The complications are inevitable.”
A middle aged English businessman with the disinterested eyes of a teenager sat reclined across from them in a woven settee. A Spanish man peppered him with staccato questions while the Englishman simply shrugged. The Englishman’s eyes quickly widened for a moment when he saw Yeshua. He leaned forward and pulled out an ornate hookah pipe from his bag. He balanced it on the table and laboriously dusted out the filter. He signaled the waitress for more water and poured it into the base. Blue flames erupted from his match as he lit the coals of the hookah. He looked back at Yeshua.
“Do you know him?” asked Minnow without much interest. She paid little attention to the water dripping down the walls.
“Maybe,” said Yeshua, his lips barely moved. “But I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
The man rose with ease, without regard for his Spanish companion. He picked up his hookah and approached them. As he bent down to avoid a low hanging crystal chandelier, Minnow cleared her throat, “Think harder, he’s coming over.”
London
Early September 1865
The trudging walk through the overgrowth was exhausting. Droplets of perspiration decorated Caroline’s brow as she dragged the half-conscious Anson through the brush and ivy.
“Why don’t we just leave him in the Sphere to die and rot?”
“Such an ignoble thought, dear Lady Caroline,” said Charley in his slow southern voice. He inhaled deeply. “I forgot how wonderfully fragrant the earth can be.” The wild freesia and honeysuckle grew alongside an iron drainpipe that led up the side of the Sphere. A flurry of mice scrambled along the sides of the overgrown walking path, taking refuge under the deep weeds. “I forgot the beauty of the fauna. It seems exotic to me now.”
“Have you visited the Sphere on a previous visit?” Caroline inquired. “It is in dire need of landscaping. I never even know of its existence.” She looked down towards the mice under the green leaves, and the sound of their tiny feet in the earthen puddles filled the air with a lapping noise.
Charley didn’t answer and they didn’t speak the rest of the walk. The faraway clatter of carriages echoed in the night, alongside the staccato clicks of their heels along the cobblestones. It took nearly half an hour, with Caroline dragging Anson and Charley carrying the near lifeless Bodhi, to arrive at Caroline’s airship.
“I’m damn near collapsing,” said Charley. “I beg your pardon, Lady Caroline.” The froth-covered mouth of Bodhi hung open as his eyes rolled back. Charley stooped over to climb the ramp to the interior, balancing himself carefully with Bodhi’s extra weight.
“Ugh,” Bodhi moaned as his head tilted towards the ground. His eyes closed again as Charley propped him against the wall of the airship.
Caroline closed the door behind them, dragging in Anson and leaving him in a heap upon the floor. She clapped her white satin-gloved hands dismissively, as if to rid herself of Anson’s touch. She stepped over him, looking at the hem of her chartreuse dress stained with mud.
“Let me guess,” said Caroline with a sigh and roll of her eyes. “We are going to Francesca’s.”
“I need to find Nico. He’s there.”
“Then I will direct the airship to her residence. Unless you would like to man the controls.”
“It’s been quite a while,” he whispered under his breath. He ran his hands across the mahogany control panels. The brass accents around the portholes reflected the lights of the gas lamps.
“How many propellers?” he asked, adjusting the knobs for take-off.
“One aft of the ramp, three in the back, one in the center, and two smaller ones on either side for steering and control.” She tossed him a leather bound flight manual.
“Impressive. Top of the line.” He looked back at Caroline as she placed a cold cloth on Bodhi's forehead. The middle deck was a large ballroom with an ornate spiral staircase on each side. Charley wrapped a long white silk scarf around his neck and placed the Captain’s goggles over his brow. Two lenses were attached to the sides by a mechanical arm, allowing the goggles to work telescopically or for simple magnification.
Caroline changed into a deep violet jacked accented with silver stripes. The tail split over a black satin skirt and bustle.
“What is it?” she asked as he smiled at her. “I don’t like mud on my clothing!”
“No mud for the Lady,” joked Charley. “Ready? Going up!” He pushed to power on button and performed a quick read on the air and pressure valves. “Prepare for lift-off!”
A grinding noise spit through the airship as the large toothed metal wheels began turning. Steam shot through the floor and a rhythmic purr settled in their ears, as the gears got up to speed.
“She’s got some kick to her,” said Charley.
“Do you know what you are doing?” asked Caroline.
“Not so much.”
THE DINING ROOM was the most spectacular room in Francesca’s house. Such an inordinate amount of crystal filled the room that guests had the illusion of being surrounded by diamonds. The ornately carved wood table was always set for eighteen with eight to a side and one on each end. The walls were covered in glass armoires and china cabinets filled with old books, goblets, and silver. It was here that they found Francesca. The table was covered with miniature tools and her magnifying goggles sat atop her head.
“Bodhi!”
She ran immediately to him. He was slung like a wet rag across the shoulders of Charley. “Who are you?” she asked him.
“Keep him here. Keep him as still as you can and keep him hydrated.”
“Has he been poisoned?”
“Possibly. Or maybe drugged.” Bodhi’s lips began to swell and sputtering noises coughed from his mouth as he tried to breathe.
“Anaphylactic shock,” said Charley. “Hold this, quick,” he tossed Caroline his denim jacket. He pulled a syringe from his side pocket. “Epinephrine. This should counteract his reaction.”
Charley popped the safety lid from the needle and with a quick jab into Bodhi’s thigh, the contents of the syringe emptied. Bodhi’s breathing cleared but the muscles in his body tensed and he arched his back in agony.
Francesca ran to the entryway of her dining room and pulled the velvet cords of the curtains for privacy.
“What is happening?” asked Caroline. She gently wiped a pool of frothy spit from Bodhi’s mouth.
“The epinephrine is acting as an antidote to Anson’s poison.”
“Anson did this to Bodhi?” said an unbelieving Francesca. She directed everyone into her study where a large copper piece with dials protruding from it sat. A makeshift workman’s table stood between two bookcases filled with books propped in all directions. Her serving boy sat next to the fireplace reading next to a pile of books on the floor. Francesca looked at Bodhi, her face ashen. “I never thought him capable of such an act!”
Another woman in Francesca’s employ bustled in with a tray of meats, including sardines. The serving boy dashed over and plucked a sardine from the tray and began nibbling its head. Francesca chuckled nervously and sent him down to the kitchen for tea. Her small fingers elegantly ran along the carved back of the chair next to her.
“You never gave me your name, sir,” Francesca insisted as she smoothed her skirts.
“Charley. Last name is of no consequence here. I’m here for Nico.”
The orange light of oil lamps mounted on the walls lighted her study. Strange shadows licked the ceiling. Francesca looked at each of them, her hazel eyes brightened in the candlelight.