by Josh Hayes
“I will,” John said, taking a seat on an old wooden crate that creaked when he sat.
“Thanks, Tubbs,” Tim said with a bit of a forced grin.
“Not at all, you guys are my favorite.” He frowned and looked over his shoulder. “Hey, where’s Tom?”
Bella answered, mouth full of bacon again. “Who knows? You know him. He does his own thing.”
“Weren’t he and Michael on that mission last night?” His eyes fell on John and widened. “Oh, uh, are they okay?”
“They’re fine,” Tim said, pouring some water into his glass. “Michael’s a little banged up, but he’s okay. I’m sure Tom’s off sulking somewhere.”
He took a bite of egg, chewed, then said, “These eggs are wonderful.”
Tubbs nodded eagerly, “They’re almost all real this time.”
John, who’d just taken his own mouthful of the yellowish fully substance, almost spit them out all over the table. He choked, and used a hand to catch several small pieces that escaped his lips. “Almost real?”
“Oh, they’re eggs all right,” Tubbs said. “Brought in from the finest outskirt farm this side of the Whitecaps.”
He paused and added with a shrug, “‘Course, I had to add my own lil’ something to the mix to, uh, increase my supply.”
Bella said, “You didn’t use that old gigret paste again, did you? That stuff gave me the runs for a week.”
John lost all pretention of manners and spit the remaining portion of egg out onto his plate. “Gigret? You mean that that ugly little rodent I saw scurrying through the alley? Please, tell me you’re joking.”
“No, no, no!” Tubbs said, raising his hands. “Don’ be silly! This time I used, pure halpen milk and cheese. Haven’t used gigret paste in a long time. Takes too long to process the stuff.”
“Hey, Tubbs!” a man sitting at a table across the room called. “We need more coffee.”
The cook put a hand on John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I have t’ run, was nice to meet you. Please, enjoy.”
He turned and marched away yelling back at the man, “Y’know, Fanst, you have absolutely no manners at all!”
John finished wiping off his mouth and poured himself a glass of water. “Well, there goes my appetite.”
“You going to eat your bacon?” Bella asked.
He slid his plate across the table, not sure he’d ever met anyone quite like her. He’d definitely never seen anyone eat so much bacon in one sitting before. She was bound to be sick later. He would have been.
“So, what’s this story you were talking about?” Tim asked, after finishing another mouthful of egg.
John downed his entire glass of water in three gulps, surprised at how crisp and fresh it tasted.
“Yeah,” Bella said, “tell us about the fury tales.”
John laughed, “Fairy, fairy tales.”
Bella shrugged and waved her fork at him, “Okay.”
He took another sip of water, swished it around in his mouth, and thought about where to start. It wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to tell someone that their entire world had been relegated to a children’s book. How was he supposed to tell them that it was a fun-filled adventure with a happy ending, when everything he’d seen of their world was decidedly unhappy?
Afterwards, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d told it right and he was pretty sure he’d confused parts of the Disney cartoon, the book, and the movies. Hell, it had been years since he’d seen the movies and couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a book.
His mother had been the reader of the family, and had made John and his brother read as soon as they could hold a book. She was a traditionalist, and loved all the old books, even had some hardbound copies on her bookshelf in the living room. John and Andrew had preferred digital.
Ironically enough, the classic Peter Pan cartoon had been one of John’s least favorite. A young girl named Sadie Clemens ruined that for him. Sadie’s parents and his own were close, and they got together almost weekly. As a rule, the guest was able to pick the movie in the playroom, and Sadie, without fail, always picked Peter Pan. God, if he had to hear Captain Hook scream like a girl one more time…
Tim stopped eating halfway through the story and Bella had eagerly cleaned John’s plate for him. Tim had interrupted John’s explanation twice, and both times Bella had given him annoyed slaps to his arm accompanied with an overdramatic groan and whine. Now, she sat, chin to fist, soaking in everything John told them.
“So,” Bella said when John finished, “I’m a fairy and I sprinkle magical dust on people so they can fly?”
Probably could have found better way to get that particular idea across. John sighed, “Well, yeah, more or less.”
She thought about that for a minute and grinned, “That’s pretty fantastic. I like the fairy me.”
Tim scratched the back of his head, obviously trying to make sense of it all and John decided he couldn’t blame him. It’s not every day you find out your life has been turned into a story and shared with a whole other world that you didn’t know existed. The fact that it was almost completely inaccurate really didn’t matter.
“I just can’t believe it,” Tim said, finally.
“What’s that?” John asked. He reached for the carafe of coffee Tubb’s had dropped off halfway through the story. He’d explained that Neverland’s Best was the finest whole-bean coffee this side of the Whitecaps, even better than the stuff they make in Baytown.
He poured a cup, watched wisps of steam roll off the dark liquid, and then took a cautious sip.
He immediately regretted it.
“Oh, God.” He reached for his water and chugged it down, trying to wash the taste of metallic sludge of out of his mouth.
If the damn Regency doesn’t kill me, this food will.
He gave Tim a pained look. “Is anything palatable around here?”
“Sorry,” Tim said. “I should’ve warned you. His coffee’s a touch strong.”
John wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Strong? Hell, you could probably fuel a jet with that stuff.”
Bella seemed oblivious to John’s distaste. “You say that everyone on the Otherside knows about Neverland?”
“Well, I don’t know about every single person, but I’d bet a good majority of them do.”
“Hmmm,” Bella rubbed her chin. “I wonder why she left so much out. I mean, she was always a little off, but to change the story that much…why even tell it at all?”
John raised an eyebrow. “You know who wrote it?”
Brother and sister exchanged glances and Bella shrugged, “Don’t you think?”
Tim pursed his lips. “I don’t see how it can be anyone else.”
Interested, John said, “Who?”
Tim tapped a finger on the table. “The person who wrote the story? She’s Wendy’s sister.”
SEVEN
Pan cursed as he stepped from the bridge to the quarterdeck. The brightness of the day made him squint. He took a few steps away from the hatch and looked over the Revenge’s mid-deck rail. Several hundred feet below, the barren, rotting cityscape of Old Town slid passed.
He’d decided to put off informing the captain about the second transference for as long as he could, hoping he would be able to rectify the situation before it got out of hand. The captain had been talking about crossing over for years now and Pan feared that this would be the final straw.
As far as he knew, no one had ever come through the Terminus without strict controls in place and those that did never left the custody of the Regency guards. But, then again, somewhere deep down he felt that wasn’t true either.
A slight twinge pulsed behind his right eye at that thought, and he pressed two fingers to his temple. But it wasn’t the pain that bothered him; it was something else. Something he couldn’t quite comprehend. For a fleeting second, there was something. A memory, or a memory of a memory. Then it was gone.
He reached into his pant pocket and produc
ed a small cylindrical injector, about the size of his thumb, then pressed it to his skin behind his right ear. It hissed as medicine rushed into his veins, and within seconds the pain and fuzziness subsided.
Pix sensed Major Starkey’s arrival just before he stepped through the tall hatchway.
“Yes, Major,” Pan said. “What is it?”
“I just wanted to inform you, sir, that the area has been secured by our forces and we will be on station in another minute.”
Two sets of patrol skiffs lifted off the foredeck and screamed out over the crumbling buildings. Strictly speaking, they weren’t needed. Pan had little fear that anyone would attack them, especially aboard the Revenge. But he knew the rumors about the attack on the Garrison were spreading, and he knew his men were feeling the pressure. Patrolling gave the pilots something to do instead of sitting around gossiping.
“Very well, thank you, Major. Maintain station here and launch an additional patrol.”
“Aye, sir.”
Pan took the short staircase to the mid-deck, crossed the flight deck, and climbed up another flight of stairs, to the bow. Pix followed, zigzagging back and forth across the ship’s deck behind him. A pair of crewmen working on one of Revenge’s many deck-mounted cannons, stood and acknowledged his passing. He ignored them.
Pan leaned over the gunwale slightly and looked at the tall gray buildings below. Directly ahead, two pillars of smoke pinpointed the locations of two separate crash sites, flanking either side of a tall grey building identified by his advanced teams as the Landen and Kotch Building, some ancient retail conglomerate. The first pillar of smoke rose from a parking structure just behind the main building.
He would start there.
Pan activated his rig then lifted off the deck. He angled around the edge of the old building and immediately began assessing the damage on the rooftop below. Pix shot down to the still burning aircraft while Pan chose to circle around and take in the view from above.
Large chunks of composite and framework lay strewn across the rooftop, blown out from a large hole in the side of the building. There’d been a fairly decent firefight, Pan decided, counting the bodies tangled within the rumble. He counted six Regency uniforms and a handful of others dressed in oversized rags, sprawled out where they had fallen.
Security troops held position around the scene, while several technicians moved through the mess, looking for anything to salvage. The smell of human remains, mixed with burning fuel and machinery, reached him as he glided effortlessly through the still air. He twisted his nose briefly at the acrid odor then wiped any expression of disgust away. Around his people, he was above any emotion and refused to display anything other than complete control.
He touched down several feet away from the skiff, where technicians worked to retrieve the data computer in the destroyed cockpit. He made one complete walk-around before stopping along the side of the craft, eyeing the scorch marks and impact points of weapon fire he couldn’t place.
One of the techs, a short woman dressed in a perfectly tailored Regency Uniform, looked up from her crouched position near the nose of the skiff. The silver pins of a Lieutenant stood out against the dark black lapels of her uniform.
She stood and saluted. “Commander Pantiri.”
“I hope you have good news for me, Lieutenant.” Pan said, wondering if she’d been able to collect anything at all. Pix had been scanning for almost a full minute—an eternity for the bot—and had yet been able to collect any conclusive data.
“The main core is fried, sir. The only information I’ve been able to collect so far is fragmented and next to useless. I’m working on pulling data from the secondary sensor suite, but the units don’t speak the same language, so it may take some time to retrieve any usable information.”
“I see.”
“Some of the fragmented information suggests that the skiff was hit with an abnormally high amount of focused energy.”
Pix had just come to the same conclusion and busied itself with cataloging the residual field distortions left behind by the powerful weapon. Pan ignored the raw data. Until the bot had time to translate the information it meant nothing to him.
“Interesting, what kind of energy?” Pan asked.
“I’m not sure about that yet, sir, some kind of weaponized plasma. I’ve never seen anything like it, but there isn’t enough information to make an accurate determination. Once I get the sensor logs back to the Revenge, I should be able to find an answer for you.”
Determining what kinds of weapons were used would have to be a secondary concern, but it would be interesting to learn where they had come from. He wondered if Wendy found another stash of Graft tech. If she had, would it be enough to tip the scales? He knew finding the Revenge was what had led to the captain’s victory during the war, but because the captain refused to tell him the particulars, he felt like he was missing some larger piece to the puzzle.
Pan glanced to his left and watched two men dressed in olive green coveralls move the bodies of the assault team out of the rubble. He would have to make a statement about the deaths of his men, and that in and of itself would motivate. All his men needed were targets to focus their grief on and he would give it to them.
The Lieutenant said, “This wasn’t just a random insurgent group, was it, sir?”
Pan debated his answer for a moment, trying to decide how much information would hurt his campaign and how much would benefit it. Only two people had a direct connection with the Star’s Pride, and by extension, the captain: Pan and the City’s Chairman, Smee. The captain’s massive ship never stayed in one place for very long and limiting the amount of contacts she had kept her location secret.
Pan could control Smee. If he released the information about the Othersider locally, chances were good he would be able to locate him before the captain caught word. In the end, he knew this would be bad, whether the captain learned of it later or sooner, but if he already had the problem in hand he might be able to limit the fallout. But the information needed to be handled correctly and delicately.
“No, Lieutenant,” Pan said, as the two workers lifted an armored body into the back of a waiting truck. “It wasn’t.”
The dead men will be honored, of course. The captain was not beyond paying proper respects to those who’d served him well. After all, the loyal members of the Regency weren’t the animals that Wendy and her ilk made them out to be.
“I don’t understand why they keep fighting,” She said as the team loaded the last body. “Nevaris has never been as safe as it is now, and we work hard to protect that peace. I don’t see why they don’t understand that.”
“Some people will never see the truth, even when it slaps them in the face.”
Pan moved away from the wreckage and inspected the large hole in the back of the Laden & Kotch building. Pix zipped past him and began examining the charred composite. As the data registered in his mind, he picked out several similarities in the burn patterns and residue on both the wall and the skiff behind him. He wondered if the technicians would pick up on them.
“Where are the miserable junkies being held?” Pan asked.
“I believe they are down street level, sir. A Guard squad is handing their security.”
“Very well, Lieutenant. Continue your work.”
The dust around his feet rippled as the harness activated and he lifted into the air. Behind him, the woman responded, but he was no longer interested in what she had to say. He flew around the tall, gray building and over the avenue beyond.
EIGHT
“You’re kidding, right?” John asked, then paused for a moment, considering everything that brought him to this point. He shook his head. “No-no, of course you’re not.”
“Nope, but,” Tim looked around nervously, “can you do me a favor and keep that little bit of information to yourself. In fact, I probably wouldn’t repeat that story to anyone else.”
“Yeah, especially Wendy.” Added Bella.
/> “Why is that?”
“Eh, Wendy can be a little…” Tom trailed off, apparently attempting to find just the right word.
Bella finished his thought for him, “Bitchy.”
Tim looked around again. “Damn, sis. Watch it.”
“What? I don’t care if anyone hears. She already doesn’t like me. What’s a little bit of name calling going to get me? Absolutely nothing, that’s what.”
“I was going to say, touchy,” Tim said. “Especially now, with everything as hectic as it is.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I tell you, John, you couldn’t have picked a worse time to come over.”
“It’s not like I had much of a choice.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Well, you know what I meant.” Tim finished off his water. “Look, no one has talked about Maggs in years. Hell, most of the new people who’ve joined our little group, in the past few years, wouldn’t even know who she was if you asked them. And Wendy’s gotten to the point where she won’t even acknowledge that she even had a sister.”
“What happened?”
“That’s a long story.” Tim took a bite of his cold toast then wiped the crumbs off his chin with the back of a hand. “No offense, but I don’t really want to tell it. No one around here, who knows the story, enjoys telling it.”
“Okay, but, tell me this,” John said, “there is a way back, right? I mean if this Maggs got back, then I can too, right? I’m not stuck here?”
Tim sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is,” John said. He wasn’t about to let them off the hook no matter what kind of taboo surrounded the story. If there was a way back home, then, by God, he was going to find it. “If someone’s already done it, there has to be a way. If the Regency goes through, then I can too.”
“That’s just it, the Regency controls the Portal. They are the only ones that go through. Have been for, well . . . ” Tim glanced up as though i thought, “ . . . hell, as long as I can remember.”
“But Michael and Tom were just up there. I mean, they would have had been close to the thing when it opened. They found me almost as soon as I came through.”