“Yeah, there was a problem! Someone was holding a little girl hostage with a knife!”
“Is she all right?” the guard asked, sounding appropriately alarmed.
“Yes, no thanks to you!”
“And yourself, My Lord? You don’t look well.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“That is good to hear!”
“Come on,” Rovik whispered sharply in Ethan’s ear, shoving him along again.
“Keep a better lookout in future!” Ethan called over his shoulder.
“We will do our best, My Lord!”
Once they were outside, Ethan shrugged out of Rovik’s grasp and rounded on him. “What the frek is wrong with them?” he asked, gesturing to the guards standing just inside the sliding glass doors of the warehouse.
“They were being polite. Celestials don’t give orders to Nulls, nor do Etherians.”
“So? I don’t have to give them orders! I’m telling them about something that happened on their watch. They should at least go to investigate.”
The Peacekeeper slowly shook his head.
“Why not? It’s their job!”
“They probably knew what was happening, but as soon as they saw who the troublemakers were, they went back to their posts and minded their own business. Based on the shaven eyebrows and tattoos, those two boys are members of the White Skulls. Sutterfold District is their territory, and not even Enforcers will mess with them. Not below level 10, anyway.”
“So you’re telling me the law is afraid to mess with a pair of kids that I could have beat bare-handed.”
“They’re not afraid of those two, per se, but of the retribution that might follow if they intervene.”
Ethan snorted. “Okay, so the local authorities are running scared. What about all the drones I saw collecting trash? They don’t look like they’d give a krak about retribution.”
“The drones are not programmed to interfere in local disputes.”
“So Omnius just sits back and watches while criminals run the show down here.”
“That is how the Nulls want to live, so he must respect their wishes.”
“That’s a convenient excuse.”
“It is neither convenient, nor is it an excuse. If the Null Zone were less corrupt and decrepit, Omnius wouldn’t need to send millions of his drones to work in the trash fields for free, and the Nulls would pay for recycled products. Besides, if the drones started interfering, they’d become targets for organized crime, and soon Omnius would have to send a whole army down here to clean things up. The Null Zone would become a military dictatorship, run by Omnius, and that would cause more of an outcry than a few murdered Nulls.”
“Omnius runs the recycling operation?”
Rovik inclined his head. “He can’t leave it to Nulls. The job would never get done. Now, enough arguing. Please follow me. There is a reason Omnius allowed you to come down here.”
Ethan scowled, but he decided to follow Rovik in silence. They walked down a broad corridor leading from the supermarket. Here the ceiling was three or four stories high, which Ethan thought to be a waste, but then he noticed the overly-tall doors lining the corridor, and he remembered the mechanized load lifters he’d seen earlier.
After walking for about a minute, they came to a bank of lift tubes, these ones with regular, human-sized doors. The nearest one chimed and opened for them as they approached, as if Rovik had summoned it from a distance.
They walked inside, and the lift started upward with a barely-perceptible jolt of movement. Ethan’s ears popped, and the lift opened, revealing another rooftop.
Smack. The rotting garbage smell was back. They walked out, and Ethan noticed that now they were much further from the trash fields with their glowing accelerator tubes. The noisy bustle of machines compacting and cutting trash had been reduced to a distant rumble.
Looking up, Ethan saw towering rows of apartment buildings stretching all the way out to the distant, hazy line of the horizon. The apartments were aglow with lights, and each one was painted a different color—blue, red, green, purple, yellow . . . It was an assault on his eyes.
Elevated streets ran along in front of the buildings, connecting them to each other and providing easy access for pedestrians rather than cars.
On the far side of the residential complex, the side closest to the garbage dump, Ethan saw a high wall with glittering rows of spikes on top.
“What is this place?” Ethan asked.
“This is where the people you saw in the market live.”
Ethan began nodding. “Subsidized housing?”
“Free.”
“Who pays for it?”
“Omnius. The trash field used to be twice as large as it is today. Omnius reorganized the space to make room for a housing project. This is where Nulls come when they have no place left to go.”
“I thought he doesn’t care.”
“You’re mistaken. He cares too much, but we tie his hands and stop him from helping us.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I didn’t. He did. I suspect he wants you to know what he’s doing, even for people that don’t want his help.”
Ethan frowned, unsure of what to say to that.
“There’s one other thing you need to see before we go.”
“What’s that?”
Not bothering to reply, Rovik walked over to one side of the rooftop. Ethan followed. They came to a long staircase. It descended at least ten stories from their vantage point, all the way down to the highest level of streets running between the apartment buildings. Blue Cape led the way. By the time they reached the street level, Ethan was short of breath and his legs were shaking. He felt nauseated again. “Hey!” he gasped, leaning over a railing to catch his breath.
Rovik turned to him. “Come, Ethan. Your wife is awake and asking for you. She is not happy. I suggest you don’t delay.”
Ethan grimaced and started after the Peacekeeper again, trying to ignore the way the world felt like it was tilted on one end and he was about to slide off. That kick to the side of his head must have upset his sense of balance.
They walked down the street, passing apartment building after apartment building. People’s front decks were lined with glowing green plants and some basic furniture. A few residents sat outside, drinking or smoking something fragrant and sweet. Dark eyes watched him as he hurried by.
A railing ran along the side of the street to his right, and walkways led to people’s homes on his left. Most of the apartments were bright and occupied, but the glass was blurry to preserve people’s privacy. A few of the apartments had holotext signs hanging above their doors and in their windows, describing services that their residents offered—everything from hair cuts to more exotic things that had no place being advertised on a public street.
“You know someone down here?” Ethan asked, catching up to walk beside Rovik rather than behind him.
Again, no reply, but just a few moments later the Peacekeeper stopped and turned to walk down one of the walkways to a particular apartment. This one was painted a bright sea green. The house number was 1050C. A blurry yellow light shone out from the front windows, pooling on the apartment’s narrow front deck.
Rovik knocked on the door. Ethan stopped beside him and leaned over the railing of the walkway to look down. Elevated streets and apartment buildings fell away below in a dizzying swirl of light and color.
Rovik knocked again, louder this time.
Ethan heard footsteps approaching the door from the other side. “Just a minute,” a gruff voice said.
At the sound of that man’s voice, a tickle of recognition shivered through Ethan’s brain.
Then the door swung wide to reveal a young man—maybe thirty-something—with hard brown eyes and straight, short brown hair. He had a strong, square jaw, a chin dimple, and sunken cheeks.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his eyes on the Peacekeeper.
Again, that voice sounded fa
miliar, but Ethan couldn’t figure out where he knew this man from. “Do I know you?” he asked.
The man turned to him and looked him up and down quickly. His brown eyes widened, and he shook his head, stumbling back a step. “It can’t be . . .” he whispered. “Ethan?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Well, I ought to know it,” the younger man replied. “I gave it to you.”
Chapter 13
Bretton Hale’s heart thudded in his chest. There was a Peacekeeper in Sutterfold Mine. Did that mean the resistance had been found?
“Hello, Master,” Bretton said, resorting to the default honorific for people from the Uppers.
The Peacekeeper stalked toward them and gestured to the unconscious Imperial they’d brought with him. “Did you know your friend there is unlisted?”
Bretton forced his eyebrows up, feigning surprise. “Really?” Of course the man wasn’t listed. Donali had crash-landed on Avilon, and his personal data had yet to be uploaded to the Omninet.
“Yes. Really.” The Peacekeeper stopped a few paces away from them and gazed down on Donali with a thoughtful frown, his glowing amber eyes unblinking. “What’s wrong with him?”
Bretton shrugged. “Tripped and fell down an old mine shaft, I’m guessing. We found him down here while we were doing our inspection. We’re trying to get him back up so we can take him to a med center.”
“I’d better take him for you. They won’t treat an unlisted Null without some convincing. What did you two say you were doing down here?”
Bretton pointed to the Gencore emblem on his jacket. “We’re investigating reports of a dymium gas leak.”
The Peacekeeper smiled at that. “In that case, you’d better come with me.”
“What?” Farah burst out. “We haven’t done anything wrong and you’re going to book us?”
Bretton was faster on the uptake than his niece. He placed a hand on her arm and replied to the Peacekeeper’s smile with one of his own. “So you’re the new security system.”
“Avilon’s finest. Who’s going to pick a fight with a Peacekeeper?”
Bretton let out a long sigh. “You had me for a minute.”
Farah’s eyes darted from Bretton to the man in the glowing armor and back again, but she said nothing.
“I’m going to need you two to submit to a quick scan.”
Bretton nodded and watched as the Peacekeeper removed a wand-shaped tool from his utility belt. He clicked something on the wand and it sprang to life, the tip glowing brightly with a shimmering fan of light that swiftly swept down to their feet and back up to the tops of their heads.
“You’re clean,” the man said, and then turned to use the wand on Donali. “So what’s this guy’s real story?”
Bretton chose that moment to explain, before the sentry found the same thing that Dag had found: a cloaked alien implant sitting right beside his regular Lifelink. “He’s not what he looks like.”
The guard turned to them with a frown. “And what does he look like?”
“Human.”
“I’m listening.”
Bretton went on to explain about the battle and the fact that Commander Lenon Donali had come to Avilon aboard one of the warships involved in the fighting. Then he explained about the Sythian implant Dag had found when they’d tried to de-link him, and what their mind walk had subsequently revealed about Commander Donali and the Sythians.
“That’s quite a story.”
“Now you can see why we have him stunned.”
“If all of what you just said is true, you’ve brought us something that not even Omnius has.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. His Lifelink was working when we found him.”
“So why didn’t Peacekeepers find him and pick him up before you did?”
“I’m guessing because he’s spent most of his time on Avilon unconscious. For at least part of the time that he wasn’t, Omnius was busy fighting a war.”
The guard shook his head. “Doesn’t add up. Omnius doesn’t miss things like this.”
“And yet he did.”
“Might be a trap.”
Bretton frowned. “We checked him. He’s not broadcasting anything on quantum or regular comms.”
Wordlessly, the guard finished scanning Donali with his wand and then he looked up, staring at nothing in particular as he studied something projected on his ARCs.
“Well?” Bretton pressed.
“I think I know why Omnius didn’t find him . . .”
“Why’s that?” Farah put in.
“He has two implants, just like you said, but neither of them are from Omnius.”
That news hit Bretton like a bucket of ice. “What?”
“One of the implants is an Avilonian design, but its an old one. Very old.” The guard turned his glowing eyes on them. “This refugee of yours might even predate Omnius.”
“How’s that possible?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible that he’s an old Avilonian who somehow managed to leave Avilon before Omnius was created. You made a copy of the data on this implant?”
Bretton nodded, his hand absently finding the breast pocket inside his coat where he’d tucked the holo card that Dag had recorded with the contents of Donali’s brain.
“We’ll need to take a look at that.” The guard returned the scanner wand to his belt and then opened a compartment beside it and removed a thin metallic strip. He clasped it around Donali’s neck and then removed two more matching strips of metal and started toward them. “You ready?”
Bretton nodded. When the guard clasped the circlet of metal around his neck, he staggered slightly. His head felt suddenly light and airy and his eyes were heavy. He’d been through this before, so he knew what to expect, but the sudden onset of inescapable fatigue was always a shock.
He sunk to his knees on the cold floor of the station platform. It felt so good to rest, like he’d been running sleep deprived for a week. He yawned and said something that not even he could make sense out of, and then he lay down on the floor and drifted off into darkness.
As he slept, he dreamed of floating through the air, weightless, and then of a roaring wind that tore at his clothes and carried him into a place that was so bright it seemed to be made of light. In the midst of that light he saw a familiar face. Small mouth and bright, intelligent blue eyes . . . dimpled cheeks and a ragged mop of dark hair. He was tall and lanky for an eight-year-old, but Ciam was just the way Bretton remembered him.
“Hello, Dad!” Ciam said, smiling at him from the blinding brightness.
Bretton’s mouth cracked open, but he found he couldn’t speak. Only strained whispers came out.
Ciam frowned. “When are you going to come visit me?”
Again, Bretton tried to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat.
Ciam’s expression turned hurt and angry. “You left me! I waited for you to come, but you never did. You left me to die!”
Bretton shook his head. “No!” This time he managed to scream, but his son turned away, disappearing into the blinding light as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
The fuzzy black abyss returned, and he was consumed with rage and grief. After that, he felt like he spent a lifetime crying in the dark, not caring if anyone heard, or if he ever saw the light again; he just wanted it all to end.
But the darkness began to lighten with the first strokes of dawn. The light wasn’t as blinding as before, but it was back, and he could hear voices calling to him from it, calling as if from a great distance . . .
“Wake up, Bretton . . . wake up . . .”
* * *
“Wake up!”
SLAP!
Bretton’s eyes shot open and he gasped from the pain that stung his cheek. He squinted up at a bright ceiling light and he saw Farah appear, her face silhouetted with a bright golden halo. Behind her, a Peacekeeper stood by the door.
A Peacekeeper!
Bretton sat up suddenly, only to f
ind that he was lying on a sterile metal table and surrounded by blinking and beeping equipment. His heart rate accelerated and he heard some of the beeping accelerate with it.
“Relax,” the guard at the door said. “You’re among friends.”
“Relax? What is this?” he asked, finding an IV line trailing from his wrist. “Where am I?”
The room where they had him and Farah was equipped with half a dozen tables like his. Rather than the sterile white walls of a med center, here the walls were dull and gray—bare bactcrete, the lights were a harsh, artificial yellow, and a faint, musty draft wafted through the room, apparently coming from a dirty grate in the ceiling. A dark window on the far side of the room, beside the door, looked like it might be made of old-fashioned two-way glass. Bretton’s gaze found their guard once more. He looked like the same one they’d met on the tram station platform.
“Why are we being held here?”
The door swung wide and in walked a tall, stunning woman with short, straight black hair, wide glowing silver eyes, and a honey brown skin. All of that was wrapped up in a familiar black uniform with white piping and the gold star of a Captain.
“You’re not being held here,” she said as she approached. “New decontamination protocols. Don’t worry; you’re clean. We’ve just been waiting for you to wake up before we take you in for debriefing. The collar must have given you too much sedative.” The woman stopped to stand in front of them, hands clasped behind her back, her posture military straight.
“Where did you get that uniform?” Bretton asked, his eyes wide and staring.
“Old navy surplus.”
“Not from Avilon’s navy . . .”
The woman answered that with a small, secretive smile.
“You’re from the Imperium,” he said.
She shook her head. “No, I was born on Avilon.”
“Then . . .”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
Bretton began shaking his head. “This is all new to me,” he said, looking around the room again. His eyes landed on her once more, marveling again at the uniform she wore. “And so are you.”
Dark Space: Avilon Page 16