“Yes, sir. I’ll contact them immediately, sir.”
“Good. Thank you.” He put the radio down and breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing just slightly. With reinforcements, we might just make it, he thought. Of course, even if we make it out, they’re going to flay me alive. He walked outside and barked some orders to uninjured soldiers waiting for instruction. He kept some on a wide patrol pattern with specific direction to avoid enemy contact and provide an immediate report if they found anything. Back inside he started coordinating the teardown of Gamma base. God willing, we’ll come back to finish this sometime soon, he thought.
The prospect that they had so severely underestimated their enemy still made him nervous, but with more proper attention, he knew they could not possibly stand against the full attention of the Citizen regime.
Chapter 23: Insomnia
Citizen Gregory Michaels lay on his back, head propped up on his pillow in his incredibly soft bed. In spite of the luxury in which he lived, it was near 3:00 AM, and his eyes were wide open, staring at the dark ceiling of his room. He had not slept at all because his mind would not be silent. He couldn’t stop it from stumbling around, blindly looking for an answer to the riddle which plagued his thoughts.
Of course, he had stared at it for so long during the evening that it had become etched in his mind. He could see the words burning in bright letters every time he closed his eyes.
Only one in color, but not one in size,
Stuck firm to the ground, yet easily flies,
Present in sun, but seldom in rain,
Doing no harm, and feeling no pain.
As always, his mind provided a deep, sinister-sounding narrator to voice the riddle. Perhaps because it was 3:00AM and he hadn’t slept at all, but that voice made him shudder.
Once more, as the riddle finished its dark trail through his thoughts, the consideration began once more. In spite of the knowledge that he was terrible at this sort of thing, his mind, unbidden, still ran with it, and he began the internal discussion anew.
Perhaps it refers to grass.
Well, yes, grass is most often green and blades come in different sizes. It sticks to the ground, but when pulled or cut gets “flies” by the wind, but…
Why would it be seldom in rain? That makes no sense.
Maybe it could mean too much rain; that kills grass.
Too rational for a riddle, too many maybes. Not grass.
What if it’s a plant species that thrives in dry climate?
Too obscure for a riddle. You shouldn’t need obscure knowledge to figure it out.
Why not?
On, and on it went.
Let’s figure out a portion of it. What doesn’t feel pain?
Plants don’t feel pain.
No, no, no! It’s not going to be vegetation-related. Think intangibly! More conceptual!
Fine. How about light?
Yes, present in sun, not usually in rain, but nothing else fits.
Frustrated again, Michaels cursed angrily and bid his weary mind to cease. Obedient as always, the voices fell silent. They always did, for a little while. Then he would close his eyes and the riddle would blaze through again. Of course then the speculation would start once again until he grew weary of the internal argument.
On, and on it went. He had ruled out dozens of suggestions, many of them too stupid to contemplate. Air, gravity, flower petals, wind, snow, radiation, the moon. His mind featured an irritating fixation on vegetation; he contemplated dozen species of vegetation, including grass, trees, cacti, and wheat. Still, nothing seemed to make any decent amount of sense.
So he stared at the darkness on the ceiling. The half-moon hovered in the sky, filtering slivery light to those on the surface. The slight illumination reflected off of the pearly white buildings and shone through the windows, casting various shapes in the shadows on the surfaces of his…
He sat up, eyes wide and pulse racing. That’s it. That’s it! He thought.
Excited, he sprang from his bed, ignoring the soft slippers as he ran out of the room. He made it to the door out of his apartment and began turning the knob before he glanced down and realized he wore nothing but an undershirt and boxers.
He hurriedly threw on whatever clothing he could grab and ran out the door. Mismatched brown socks with black shoes. Horrible coordination and wrinkled clothes. Normally he’d be appalled if anyone dressed so slovenly, but more important things were on his mind.
Several minutes later, after a brief but intense argument with the on-staff security person and a sprint back to his room to get his identification badge, he was admitted by the cheerful guard into the Institute.
A few moments later, he found himself in his office. He sank into the luxurious chair that could have been on fire for all he would have noticed as he impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk as the computer booted.
He mistyped his login and password three times before taking a deep breath and inputting them once more, this time carefully enough to avoid any mistakes. As soon as everything was loaded, he pulled up a directory search. In the field signified by the blinking gray bar, he wrote what he sincerely hoped was the answer to the riddle.
Search keyword: ‘shadows’
Michaels clapped his hands and gave a cry of triumph as the next entry in the video log came up into ‘items found’ window of the search engine. It, of course, did not contain the word shadows or anything like it, but he had long since given up on wondering about the eccentricities of Coleman and his programming. It was easier to just play the dead man’s game and hope for the best.
The video file was named ‘mlc-nanit,’ and the creation date was only a couple of weeks prior to his death. He opened it, seeing the frozen, kindly, bearded face of Marcus Coleman wearing a stoic expression. He hit the play button, and the image sprang to life.
“Lange has personally expressed irritation at my absences at meetings and, as he put it, ‘dereliction of responsibility.’ Ancient fool. Everyone knows the ‘youthful’ hologram is just a pitiful ploy; how can he not realize it?” Coleman sighed, “Of course, that kind of talk, even from a well-established individual like myself, could get me into serious trouble.” He sighed, forced a large, hollow smile, and said with obvious sarcasm, “Citizen One knows best.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, none of my ‘duties’ are nearly as important or fascinating as the recent discoveries. Although there is no way of knowing its precise origins, I know now that the tissue sample must have come from some very highly advanced and enlightened race.”
All irritation with Lange was forgotten as Coleman spoke with building excitement. “The tissue sample is still alive. At first, it completely blew me away. It seemed so inconceivable. However, the specimen, in spite of being naught more than a scrap of skin and having traveled through the vacuum of space for God only knows how long, still features functioning cells. But that’s not even the best part,” he took another deep breath, and Michaels leaned forward, his face inches from the screen in anticipation, waiting for Coleman to continue. He paused for quite a long time.
It took Michaels a moment to realize that the recording had stopped. Michaels sat blinking for several seconds at the glowing screen. Then in a storm of curses and shouting, he slammed the lid of the terminal down. “What’s the best part you incompetent fool?” He yelled. “Tell me now and spare me your eccentricities!”
His voice echoed in the otherwise silent room as he slumped back into the chair, fuming. His hands gripped the chair arms in frustration as he breathed hisses through his clenched teeth. After a time, he took deep breaths and his body calmed and rage subsided. As he sat, thoughts of the clearly justified brutality to the bastard filled his head, and the exhaustion seeped back into his body. I wish he were alive again so I could kill him myself… he thought.
Chapter 24: No Exit
Rick couldn’t help but display a wide grin as he replaced his radio once more. No one saw this, but they soon would notice his glee as he w
alked back to the group now embroiled in serious discussion.
Isaac, representing Miguel, stood with his back to the Heavenly Bodies club where a group of his people loitered around the entrance. They toted weapons of various kinds and sizes and all glared, mistrustful of everyone else in the square. A similar crew stood behind each of the three leaders now meeting. Sergei stood rigid with his arms folded, his crew of imposing Russian soldiers behind him. Victor, still going by Elijah, stared at each person in turn with a penetrating gaze. A few of his soldiers and bodyguards stood at attention, and the rest were walking around the edge of the square and keeping an eye on things.
They had still yet to locate Miguel. Granted, they had only been searching for about half an hour and once they were out of immediate danger. Rick wasn’t sure exactly what the man’s absence meant, but he fingered the transmitter in his pocket. He received a stronger signal when pointing it towards the club. That meant that Kaylee, or at least her end of the device, was somewhere inside. In any case, Isaac and most of the others seemed very unconcerned about it. Rick assumed it must have been because of Miguel’s unlikable nature or his poor treatment of subordinates. It’s good that they hate him, he thought. That way if they find out we engineered an assassination attempt, they might not be so pissed.
Regardless, the three leaders were still speaking about agreements when he moved back towards them. Victor was saying, “…secure all of Old Haven and make sure that no Citizen, soldier or otherwise, can set foot down here before we are prepared to move up.”
The half-crazed grin on Rick’s face was difficult to ignore, and even Victor stopped long enough to grant him an inquisitive expression. “I take it you have some good news,” he said.
Rick nodded and licked his lips. “I just got off the radio with my team over at Purgatory.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow at him. “You have a team at Purgatory?”
“Oh, sorry,” Rick said, “let me explain. Our initial attack, before we came here, was upon their exit point. We secured what they call ‘Alpha base,’ and we now are intercepting communications.”
The corner of Victor’s mouth curled just slightly at the news. The other two just stared with expressions of disbelief on their faces. Each opened their mouths as though to ask a question, but Rick started speaking again.
“The Citizen field commander, Captain, uh,” he snapped his fingers a couple of times, trying to remember the name,” Redgick. He radioed Alpha to relay a request for reinforcements.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Naturally, no one’s going to send any aid; the almighty above thinks that the campaign is going fine, if maybe a little slow.” Rick grinned once again. “Oh, but the good Captain was kind enough to provide a location of where the additional troops should be sent.”
Isaac’s weathered face smiled, “I take it you want to attack immediately.”
Victor nodded and spoke, “Yes, the opportunity could not be clearer. There are still around two hundred soldiers remaining, but they and their commander are obviously rattled. It will not take much to devastate what remains.”
Sergei jumped in, “Yes! With an aggressive push they will panic! They will fall like wheat to the scythe while they flee, and-”
Isaac rubbed his chin and finished, “-and when they pull back to their exit point, a trap will be waiting for them,” he looked at Rick, “but you figured that one out already.”
Rick nodded. “The trap is set. If that doesn’t work, they still can’t leave; the elevator’s already disabled. The up-aboves won’t be able to tell if its sabotage unless they check over the car itself, but they wouldn’t send someone down for quite a while yet. Of course, we wouldn’t let them fix it anyway.” He shook his head, laughing, “After all these years they still haven’t gotten rid of the fail-safes on that elevator; one chunk of busted brick wedged in the wrong place and it goes nowhere.” He finished speaking, noting the mixed admiration on the faces of his new allies.
Sergei grinned broadly and said to Victor, “This man is quite an asset for you, yes? Tell me, how much to buy him?”
Victor shook his head, “Not for sale, still too useful.”
Isaac nodded thoughtfully, “Not that it matters. Assuming we succeed, this alliance is intended to be long-lived, is it not?”
Sergei and Victor both nodded at this, and Rick spoke, “Speaking of alliances we should consider our counterattack while they’ve still got their tail between their legs.” He cleared his throat, and highlighted ideas and strategy for the upcoming skirmish.
******
As he spoke, Kaylee and Malcolm moved through the unoccupied back door of the club, where Malcolm had originally entered. Kaylee winced at his earlier handiwork, a fallen body with a smear of blood on the wall where he had impacted. They sidled along the alleyway. Kaylee squinted out, towards the square, noting Victor’s presence among that of Rick and two other men she didn’t recognize. She assumed they were leaders embroiled in some discussion.
She also decided that, being the last person known to have been with Miguel, that she would be in danger when they found him. That and the fledgling alliance would suffer greatly if they could connect her to Elijah.
I’m just glad to be alive, she thought.
“I’ll check in with them after they separate,” she whispered. “Let’s move along this way and get behind them.”
Malcolm grunted an affirmation and followed her. No one appeared to notice them as they darted across the street and into the alleyways. They walked a twisted pathway, trying to get around behind and mingle with Elijah’s soldiers.
They had reached a side street, parallel to the one they were aiming for, when they heard, “Stop right there!”
Shit, she thought, whirling around. She saw the black uniform; something seemed familiar. The patrolman lowered his weapon and said, “Kaylee?”
However, at the same time, Malcolm let out a low growl and launched himself at the man, who panicked and raised his weapon. Malcolm gripped the submachine gun and tore it out of his hands and, with his other arm, lifted the man by his throat. He kicked and struggled, but couldn’t break free of the hold.
Kaylee ran forward. “Malcolm! Malcolm, stop! I know him!” She tugged at his arm. Malcolm looked over at her, then back up at the man, whose eyes rolled back in his head while he face faded to an ashen blue color.
He released the man, who collapsed to the ground, gasping and rolling around. He clutched at his neck. “Sssoorry.” Malcolm whispered. The man coughed weakly in response.
Kaylee knelt next to him, “Sorry,” she whispered, “He’s a little jumpy. Are you okay?”
The man looked up at her, still wheezing, and nodded. “Good,” she said, “we should get moving, I gotta talk to Rick,” the man nodded once more and waved them on.
The pair stood and jogged on, this time they were able to skirt around the prying eyes of anyone and end up behind Elijah’s men. They waited in the shadows.
After a time passed, the group negotiating in the center dispersed, and Rick came jogging back over to his men, already on the radio calling the rest together. Victor went along with Sergei, and Isaac walked back to his people.
Once off his radio, Kaylee stepped out of the shadows and gave a little wave. He did a quick double take and brushed past his soldiers to get over to her. “Kaylee, my God. You’re okay!”
She smirked and held up the transmitter device, “Yeah, no thanks to you.”
Rick opened his mouth in a retort, then thought better of it, saying, “Yeah, uh… sorry about that…”
“What, that’s it? Sorry?” She flicked the device at him, which he caught, and jumped forward. She flung her arms around his neck and he gave a surprised grunt. “What the-?”
“It’s good to see you, Rick,” she said as she pulled back.
“Well, uh, it’s, uh, good to see you too, I guess.” He stuttered, surprised at the sudden burst of affection.
Kaylee scowled at him, “You guess?” She made
a fist and punched him in the chest. “What do you mean, you guess?”
“Hey, ow!” He yelled, wincing and rubbing the spot.
Several of Rick’s troops had gathered to watch the reunion. Most of them were either smirking or poorly concealing laughter at their commander. “She too tough for you, boss?” One of them asked.
Rick gave a little cough and composed himself. He stood up straight and said, “Well, uh yes, Miss Kaylee. It is good to see that you are alive and have accomplished your… um, mission?” His attempt at posturing in front of his troops, who were still laughing at him, fell flat as he trailed off with an upward turn in his inflection. He had no idea whether or not she succeeded in her endeavor.
Kaylee smiled and dropped her voice to a whisper. Everyone leaned in to hear her, “The bastard’s dead. I killed him myself.”
Relief washed over Rick, and an admiring smile crossed his lips, “Very well done. Excellent job, Kaylee.”
The other soldiers were nodding in agreement, and the same one piped up, “Shit. She is too tough for you boss. She’s too tough for anyone.” This garnered several grunts and words of affirmation.
Rick grabbed Kaylee’s shoulders, “Do you think that some of his people would recognize you?”
She thought about it, “Probably. He paraded me around for a while.”
“Then you should get out of here, it’s not safe.” Rick said. “They still haven’t found him, but if they connect you to either us or his death, there’s going to be a lot of trouble.”
Kaylee nodded, “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m going to head out of here and hide out for the rest of the night,” she let out a wide yawn, suddenly realizing how tired she felt, “and probably some of the morning,” she added.
Rick replied, “Well, you’ve earned the rest,” he signaled to one of his men, “let me send someone with to make sure you stay safe.” The person stepped forward.
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