For a moment he thought he had made it through the circle, only to have his legs kicked out from under him. Rolling to his feet still gripping the broken case, Jeff saw that the circle had closed around him. A dim form lay crumpled beyond the circle looking like someone had dumped dirty laundry on the sidewalk.
“That was dumb, asshole, real dumb. You hurt my man, and now you’re gonna get cut real bad.” The dim figure speaking gestured around. “No guns. I want this to go slow.”
Teacher and another gang member shuffled forward in the knife-fighter’s crouch. Breath coming in quick gasps, Jeff knew that his life was at an end. “No, goddamit!” He ripped remnants of the case away and drew the saber. The two men halted abruptly when they saw the saber’s dull gleam, but too late. Jeff vaulted forward with a hoarse yell.
The saber flashed down in a cross-body cut that sent Teacher’s right hand spinning to the sidewalk still clutching the knife. Continuing on, the blade sliced through clothing and flesh. Billows of intestines exploded from Teacher’s abdomen as he tumbled to the ground with a wild scream. He thrashed around in circles, severed arteries in his wrist jetting pulses of blood in random arcs.
Face set in a snarl, Jeff pivoted to follow the course of his blade. Thrusting upwards with both hands, he drove the saber through the second man’s sternum and lungs, two inches of blade springing out his back. A shriek bubbled from his mouth and he fell to his knees. Jeff put a foot on his chest and wrenched the saber free. Gang members dashed around in confused patterns and alarmed curses bounced off walls. Something hit his back and Jeff lurched forward. The warble of police sirens suddenly crescendoed.
Squad cars came sliding to a halt and what seemed a flood of uniforms slammed open doors. Taking to their heels in a mad scramble, the gang evaporated into the night. Blinded by headlights, Jeff crouched against the wall for support.
“You! Drop your weapon!”
Jeff numbly wiped the saber on his jeans before laying it down.
More sirens. An aid car pulled up followed by two more, and spectators materialized out of nowhere. An officer bent to examine Teacher.
“Christ, will you look at this guy. Gutted like a pig.” A startled grunt. “Jesus. His right hand is gone. Quick, get me a tourniquet!”
“Cuff that one by the wall, Pete. Make sure you collect that sword or whatever it is.”
“Hey, Sarge,” the patrolmen called out as he pulled Jeff’s arms behind his back, “this one’s got a big cut on his back. Might want a medic to take a look at it. Don’t want him to bleed out on us.”
The last thing Jeff heard was, “Shit! There he goes. Hey, give me a hand with this guy.”
Chapter Two
Strange Dreams
Jeff regained consciousness face down on a towel. As his mind continued to come on line, he picked up on a subdued racket in the background: people talking, the squawk of police radios, and the jingle of equipment. Turning his head, Jeff saw what appeared to be a number of white uniforms and smelled disinfectant.
In a sudden rush, preceding events hit like a hammer blow. Jeff tried to push himself up only to discover that his arms wouldn’t move. Quick panic caused him to struggle until he heard someone speak close to his ear.
“Settle down, buddy, there’s nothing wrong with your arms. They’re tied to the table. You’re in the Harborview E.R. You’ll be fine.” Jeff relaxed and became aware of a tugging sensation on his back.
“Looks like this one is back among the living, Madge.”
“Wish he would have stayed down,” a tired feminine voice replied. “Nearly ripped the clips out when he jumped. Good thing he was tied off. I’ll have this one zipped in a few minutes.”
It was still black outside when Jeff awakened in response to someone calling his name. He was lying on a hospital bed. A police officer was leaning over the bed, which explained the insistent voice. Nearby, a gangly figure slouched in a chair, mouth open and snoring. An immense wave of relief swept over Jeff.
“Glory be. It’s Carl!”
“What?”
“Sorry, officer. What would you like to know?”
A brief interrogation and the officer left. Awakened by the conversation, Carl scooted his chair over to the bed. Yawning hugely, he solemnly examined Jeff’s face. An orderly came into the room with a bowl of soup for Jeff, took pity on Carl and found him a cup of coffee.
After a few sips Carl slammed his cup down on the arm of the chair. “Dammit, Jeff, this has to rank as the most stupid thing you’ve ever done! When are you going to start using your head?”
Jeff cringed with shame. “Maybe never.”
Cursing under his breath, Carl tried to wipe coffee off his clothing. “It’s a damn good thing I was cruising south. I’d been kicking myself for not talking you out of walking home, backtracked from the library and saw the collection of gumball machines.” The napkin he was using to sop up the coffee began to shred. Jeff handed him a clean one.
“I think I managed to convince the police that you are who your identification says you are, and a law-abiding citizen. Until they’ve had a while to chew on it, though, I understand you’re on a police hold.” Carl held his shirt out to look at it and shook his head mournfully. “My favorite one, too.”
“I’m sorry, Carl. I’ll buy you another shirt.”
“Screw it, just tell me what-in-hell happened. When I arrived they were loading you into an ambulance.”
There were large gaps in his memory, but Jeff related what he could. “…And that’s all I remember. Think I must have passed out from blood loss.”
Carl stared at Jeff in shocked disbelief. “Holy shit!” repeated at regular intervals was the extent of his speech for some time. “I expected something bad, but nothing like this. Be right back. I really need coffee.”
When Carl returned with a large container of coffee and settled back into the chair, his expression was grim. “I think, my friend, that I had best get busy on some serious damage control with the police in the morning.”
Still feeling acutely embarrassed, Jeff whispered, “Yes. Thank you.”
Carl waved Jeff’s thanks away. “Also, whether we like it or not the university has to be informed at once. You sure that woman in the park was dead?”
An image of her face flashed into Jeff’s mind. Every detail was perfect. Not trusting himself to speak, Jeff nodded.
“Finding her like that must have been pure hell,” Carl said sympathetically. “Problem is, publicity on this is going to be fierce and who knows which way those winds will blow? You stumbled on her after she was dead, but what will the media make of it?”
“Probably the worst. Get the most splash they can.”
“That’s a good possibility.” After a pause, Carl asked, “What about the two gang members you wounded? Think they’ll make it?”
“Things moved so fast…I didn’t hold anything back, Carl. Into the chest of one and opened the other’s belly. Maybe—if they got help in time.”
Carl observed Jeff’s expression closely and read a lot between the lines. Only a few hours ago he had seen what Jeff could do when he was holding back.
“We’ll find out about them soon enough. That’s history. Right now I‘m concerned about the university. I don’t think you want old Hildebrand to learn about this by seeing it on Death and Destruction News.”
Charles Hildebrand was Jeff’s boss in the Department of Anthropology. Jeff could well imagine what he was going to say.
“That would not be a good thing.”
“Bet your ass it wouldn’t be,” Carl said, and reached for his coat. “I’d best haul my carcass home. I’ll give Hildebrand a call first thing in the morning.”
“I’ve done more stupid things in one night than I care to think about, Carl, and have abused our friendship. Thank you.”
“I’ve got a feeling about you, boyo. I think the time will come when the shoe is on the other foot.” With a parting wave, Carl left the room. Jeff was weak from blood loss and fell asleep alm
ost at once.
The graveyard shift made rounds, drifting up and down dimly lit hallways like ghosts. Satisfied that all was as it should be, they retreated to the nurses’ station and pools of brighter light. Shortly before dawn when heads were beginning to nod, the stairwell door eased open. A man slipped through and darted by the nurses’ outpost.
Traffic noise was picking up when Jeff groaned in his sleep. His right arm suddenly lashed out as if holding a sword. Sweat stood out on his forehead, and his features were distorted with fear. A great sigh and Jeff relaxed. Darkness shifted in the chair next to his bed.
Headlights from a passing car briefly illuminated the face of a tall man sitting with chin in hand. When another car passed by a few minutes later, the chair was empty.
Carl stopped by early the next afternoon. “Talked with Hildebrand. Expected him to shout a bit, but he hardly raised his voice. Pretty impressive.”
“I have never heard him raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. That is one serious man. What did he say?”
“Primarily he was concerned for your health. I think he plans to talk with the chancellor’s office and fill in the rest of the department staff. Wouldn’t be surprised to see him stop by tomorrow.”
Swiping part of a sandwich left on the bedside stand, Carl tried to eat and talk at the same time. “Going to the police station to give a statement when I leave here. I’ll check on your saber while I’m there and see if I can get some idea of what happens next.” Carl washed the last piece of sandwich down with a big gulp of water and stood up. “Best run along and get things moving.” He gave Jeff an appraising look. “How you doing?”
“Feel a lot stronger. Not so blown away emotionally.” Jeff frowned and shook his head. “Really had a weird dream last night, though. Never experienced anything like it before.”
The odd tone to Jeff’s voice was so intriguing that Carl sat back down. “Like what?”
“Like, I don’t know. You’ve seen some of those holographic travelogues, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So that’s what the dream reminds me of. It was so real! It was as if I were floating several hundred feet up in the air.”
“Are you going to tell me what you saw, or do I have to muss you up?”
Jeff grinned at Carl’s impatience. “Sorry to be so vague, but....” His voice trailed off. “Holy simoleons,” Jeff breathed, “now I remember. It had to be a summer evening. The smells. Lord, it was so beautiful!”
“Whoa. You were aware of smells? That’s not only unusual, it’s almost unheard of.”
“Maybe so,” Jeff replied with a stubborn set to his mouth, “but smells were definitely present. I think it must have been an island. Looked like pictures I’ve seen of England except there were mountains right up against the shore. Maybe more like Scotland. Carl, thinking about it now, it almost seems like I was being given a choice.”
“Now, don’t tell me this dream had a moderator!”
“No,” Jeff said slowly, “It was like the land itself posed the choice: do you really want a new life?”
“Some dream, boyo. Maybe wish fulfillment?”
Spreading his hands in uncertainty, Jeff replied, “Could be, I guess. God knows I wouldn’t mind finding a place like that to live. Dream, wish fulfillment or whatever, it was so beautiful and offered hope. Think I might try to get to sleep early tonight.”
“Think I would, too. Well, got to run. See you tomorrow.”
Although it was a good night for sleep, Jeff was disappointed he couldn’t remember any dreams Sunday morning. He toyed with breakfast as long as possible before swinging the communication unit over the bed.
“Let’s just get it out of the way. I’ve got to know.” He punched a button. “Seattle Times, Sunday edition, 32325.” The set beeped and gave the ready signal. “Initiate.”
He rapidly scrolled through the first section. Front page, three columns, no picture. Thank God. Jeff scanned the article again.
“Jesus! You killed both of them!”
Jeff tried to punch in the code for a hard copy, but his hands were shaking so badly he kept hitting the wrong keys. Downing what remained of a cold cup of coffee, he whispered, “Hard copy. Alpha one, beta four.” Too quiet, no response.
“God dammit! Hard copy! Alpha one, beta four!”
The console whirred quietly and dutifully spit out the requested parts of the paper. Jeff tried to read it through from start to finish, but his eyes wouldn’t pass the paragraph that ghoulishly detailed the coroner’s report. Sometime later, it could have been minutes or hours, Jeff was startled from bitter self-recrimination by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find a woman standing by the bed. She was wearing a long lab coat and intently examining his face.
“Terrible way to meet, Mr. Friedrick. I’m Doctor Winston.”
Jeff tried to figure out why she looked familiar. The doctor glanced down and saw the hard copy, which had fallen from Jeff’s fingers onto the bed. She pushed the console out of the way and sat down.
“Want to talk about it? It doesn’t take a shrink to see what this has cost you.”
Recognition seeped in. It was the doctor from the emergency room.
“Don’t know what to think right now.”
“It’ll take a while.” She gestured at the hard copy. “We’ve seen those two in the E.R. on more than one occasion. What they would have done to you had you not defended yourself makes this article seem like nothing. Small consolation, but it’s a fact.”
She reviewed his chart on a hand-held computer then listened to heart and lungs. Removing a slender electronic jack from an inconspicuous module attached behind her ear, Dr. Winston slipped the auditory pickup into a pocket and covered her mouth to hide a big yawn.
“You lost at least two liters of blood, Mr. Friedrick—that’s nothing to take lightly. You’re going to feel weak for another day or two, but your hematocrit is coming up surprisingly fast and I’m comfortable with letting you go. We’ll notify police of the planned discharge. As far as I know the hold has been removed.”
At the door, she paused and smiled warmly. “Think about what I said. There’s been a lot of talk about it in the E.R. No one including myself can see that you had any alternative except permitting them to kill you.”
Shortly after she left, Jeff got out of bed and shuffled into the hallway. He was tired of being in bed and needed to break free from thinking about the men he had killed. Slipping his mind out of that gear, he engaged anthropologist mode. A few steps and he had mentally departed the hospital.
The haven of abstract thought proved such a relief that Jeff was able to objectively examine his close call, and to reflect on the explosive growth of gangs. He could not avoid concluding there was a direct relationship between the stunning advances in technology and rapid failure of social infrastructure. With a sour grimace, he thought, What infrastructure? What did society have left in its system of reward and punishment except punishment?
One percent of the population controls ninety-eight percent of the wealth, the rest starve or are no better than indentured servants. Unless you start on the inside, know someone on the inside, or have an indispensable skill, forget it.
Jeff reviewed his own prospects at the university. The possibility of becoming tenured was fading rapidly. He had already seen a well-connected instructor junior to himself pass by over Dr. Hildebrand’s objections. I’ve just got to hang on and socialize more, he thought anxiously. Forcing his mind out of that familiar rut, Jeff examined broader implications.
How many years now since the computer revolution started? How many years since New Age Prosperity for all had been predicted? At least fifty, Jeff concluded, probably more. Fifty years of promises, and nothing to show for it but grinding poverty.
It’s not that computers or technology as such are at fault, he mused. Jeff glumly reviewed a cycle that had been played out many times in human history. Plate armor, gunpowder, the possession of iron versus bronze—all
technological miracles that had resulted in the dominance of those who first possessed them. But only so long as they kept the advantage to themselves. And that had become much easier. Less than twenty percent of the population could keep up with modern technology.
“It’s just like the Middle Ages,” Jeff fumed out loud. “What’s the practical difference between a financial kingdom and a geographic one? The end result is the same—serfdom.”
He caught strange looks from passing individuals and retreated to inward musing. This can’t go on much longer. God help us all when it comes apart. Is that what it’s going to take to distribute wealth and access to hope? World War Three? An endless cycle of war until nothing is left except feudal states, disease and mass starvation? An insistent beeping got Jeff’s attention. He glanced at the hospital bracelet’s digital readout.
“Well, shit,” he muttered.
Somehow he had managed to wander not only off his ward, but off his floor as well. Returning to his room on rubbery legs, Jeff slumped down in a chair. America, he morosely thought, is fucked. He had not moved when Carl entered accompanied by an austere, gray-haired man.
“My, don’t we look cheerful.”
Jeff scowled in Carl’s direction as he stood up. “Professor Hildebrand, I’d like to apologize for this mess. I know it’s put you in a difficult position.”
Hildebrand looked him over carefully before replying. “That, young man, is something of an understatement.”
Taking a seat, Dr. Hildebrand gazed at Jeff with unblinking concentration. As on past occasion, Jeff felt like his every thought was apparent to the man. It was unnerving.
“Well, well. Where were we, Mr. Jorgenson? Oh yes, the police.”
At the word, police, Jeff tensed and his heart skipped a beat.
“You are a fortunate young man, Mr. Friedrick. University counsel tells me that no charges are to be brought. It seems the commotion at the scene prompted interest in a local apartment dweller given to late night reading.” Professor Hildebrand paused to marvel at that fact, cherished it for a moment, and continued. “His statement convinced the police that you acted not only in self-defense, but to preserve your life.” Frosty green eyes gazed steadily into Jeff’s. “Let me tell you where I stand.”
Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) Page 4