Sebastian knew the power of information as well as anyone. A career in the secret services meant he knew things that no one else could. And that knowledge gave him job security. They couldn’t possibly fire him with the knowledge he now possessed.
***
Several days later, Sebastian found himself handcuffed to a seat in the back of a sweltering bus. They had fired him on grounds of sexual harassment—and all he’d done was promise career advancement to a young secretary for a few special favors. Of all the stupid things, he thought. If he was guilty of such a time-honored method of asking a girl out, then what they had done to him was nothing short of rape. The indignity of a strip search had rankled him; the rough cavity search had left him feeling violated. Armed guards had treated him like a prisoner when they marched him into the colonel’s office.
Sebastian’s threats to go over the colonel’s head had shattered against the man’s stoic face. His insults about the colonel’s ability to command seemed to have an effect, but the steely look the colonel leveled at Sebastian got him to mind his attitude. He’d seen that look before: right before someone pulled a trigger.
“I have to take a piss!” he yelled to the bus driver.
The driver reached behind his seat to retrieve something, and with a backhanded throw, he hurled it at Sebastian. With his right hand secured by the cuffs, Sebastian made an awkward attempt to fend off the spinning projectile with his left. It ricocheted off his wrist to his forehead and settled into his lap.
Sebastian scowled down at a dinky bottle of water. “Thanks!” he yelled sarcastically. As much as the heat made him thirsty, he really did have to urinate, and water would make things worse. And even if he emptied the bottle, there was no way it could hold the contents of his bladder. It seemed that everyone he encountered lately had been trained in subtle forms of torture.
***
MPs walked Jessica across a scorching hot parking lot to a plain black and white bus with dark tinted windows. Without air conditioning, the old bus was like a dry sauna, and the interior smelled of dusty creosote. The driver benefitted from a stubby fan mounted on the dash, vibrating in its struggle to produce a cool breeze in the harsh desert heat. With a nod to the MP, he started the engine.
Only one other person occupied the bus, and he sat in the very back. Jessica had no desire to speak to anyone, so she bent to sit in the first available seat. But the guard behind her caught her arm. “Sit in the back next to the other one,” he said. He kept a firm grip as he all but pushed her along the aisle.
A quick glance at the other passenger confirmed that he was watching her closely. When she took a seat across the aisle from him, she saw that his wrist was secured to a sturdy rail below the window. A metallic clinking and silver flash from the MP’s utility belt told her she was in for the same treatment. Giving in to the inevitable, she presented her left wrist. The disappointment in the MP’s expression said everything. With fluid movements, he secured her wrist to the rail and left without a word.
In Jessica’s peripheral vision, she discerned that the man across from her was still staring. She inclined her head to the window, pretending to be interested in something beyond the sand-pitted glass as the bus began to move. Maybe he would get the hint if she ignored him.
“What did they get you for?” he asked.
She clenched her jaw at the familiarity in his tone. Why did they have to lock her up next to a twit like this? Being handcuffed to the drive train under the bus would be preferable.
Her attitude changed when a familiar odor reached her nostrils. It was the same cologne she had detected in the polyhedral room. He was there too.
The man had his free hand extended toward her in greeting. “I’m Sebastian,” he said. “How do you do?”
She regarded his proffered hand as if it were holding a dead mouse. Like a crab retreating into its shell, she shifted closer to the window.
“Hey, I recognize you,” he continued. “You were in the facility where they work on fusion…” He cast her an appraising gaze. “Did you study the artifact?”
Jessica couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was this some sort of sick, twisted test? He had to have taken the same oath she had, and he certainly wasn’t Jack the Ripper. And what did he mean about an ‘artifact’? Could that be the information contained in that classified folder? He shouldn’t be talking about any of this anyway. It was life-alteringly dangerous to do so. She wouldn’t be surprised if they’d hid a microphone in the back of the bus to listen in on their conversation.
“What’s the matter?” he persisted. “Listen—” He leaned over as close as his restraint allowed. “With all the classified information in your brain, they can’t possibly get away with firing you. They’re counting on us honoring that oath. But all we have to do is go to the media and we’ll be treated like celebrities. They’ll even pay us! If we go together, we’ll have more credibility. What do you say?”
Holy shit.
Jessica closed her eyes. He kept babbling on and would not shut up. She wished someone would shoot him. He had a point: if they went public, any subsequent ‘mysterious disappearance’ would only make their stories more believable. But it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth losing her self-respect to side with someone who had none. She would stay true to her oath, no matter the difficulties it caused. It was the right thing to do—and that made the decision simple. With sweat beading on her forehead, she pinned a cold glare on Sebastian.
“Would you like some water?” he asked, brandishing his bottle.
“No thank you. We have a long ride, and I doubt they’ll stop to let us use the bathroom.”
CHAPTER 10
Fall 2040
Mykl stood proudly among the towering snow-covered pines. Gripping a twisted metal sword, he pondered a pale glow in the distance. Leaden gray clouds weighed heavily in the sky, absorbing any hint that the sun had ever existed. He had snuck to this spot and battled this enemy many times before. But today, it was time for a different outcome.
A brilliant flash, followed by a thundering crash, announced the arrival of a demon. Time was the third enemy demanding his life now; he must hurry. With great strides, he set off toward the glow.
At the edge of a clearing, he stopped. On a patch of glistening white snow, in the center of a glowing circle, another demon awaited him. An electric rope of fear spiraled down his spine as he saw his image reflected in the demon’s eyes. Raucous gusts of steamy breath blew through venom-stained fangs, and its fetid odor carried past him on the icy breeze.
Mykl’s fear had nothing to do with the demon standing before him; it was reserved for the person he knew was approaching him from behind. With scant seconds remaining, he dashed into the circle—and threw down his sword.
He grinned as the demon sank its fangs into his shoulder and began rending his flesh. It consumed his limbs in ragged, sloppy gulps. Bright red spatters of blood dotted the snow around steaming entrails. Mykl watched impassively as his life drained away. He no longer cared… Just a few more moments…
***
“MYKL! GET OFF THAT COMPUTER! NOW!”
Mykl stared into the flaring nostrils of the demon-woman fuming behind him. She stood more than three times his size and raked his body with her dark, lifeless eyes. He sighed. He wasn’t even allowed to enjoy his own boredom. His gaze transformed into a forced scowl.
“Don’t look at me like that! You’re lucky to even be here. There are more deserving children who should be, that’s for sure.” Lori’s voice oozed contempt as she advanced on him. “You’re nothing special. The world is filthy with unwanted five-year-olds. Do you think because your mom was murdered that you deserve to be here more than anyone else? You’re no better than the drug-addicted newborn that died on our doorstep yesterday.”
Mykl turned his head to the security video monitors next to the computer and closed his eyes in disgust.
Lori caught his unspoken accusation and declared, “It wasn’t my fault.
I was on my break!”
In his fourteen months of life in the “Box,” Mykl had cataloged all of the excuses in Lori’s repertoire. I was on a bathroom break. I was on my lunch break. She wasn’t my responsibility. The excuses held as much weight as the smoke from her special “cigarettes.” She hated children and said so daily. Why she had chosen to manage a house of unwanted kids, Mykl would never know.
Linda, the night shift assistant manager, strolled past to pick up her coat. Lori lashed out at her. “Why do you let him use the computer?”
“It keeps him out of trouble.”
“And how did he get the password?” Lori’s eyes slitted in anger, and her greasy black hair threatened to slither out of its scalp-stretching bun.
Linda reached for the grimy keyboard and flipped it upside down, revealing a well-worn strip of masking tape stuck to the bottom. Ten tiny letters written in red ink seemed to shrink guiltily in the light. Mykl feigned a look of innocence as Lori shifted her dark gaze from the tape to his face.
Linda pointed from Lori to the tape. “Of all people,” she said, “you should be able to memorize that without having to write it down and sticking it where any simple-minded child can find it. I’m sure you can think up another one.”
“I put it there because you couldn’t memorize it,” Lori replied caustically. “It’s a wonder you can even remember to come to work.”
“Whatever, I’m going home now,” Linda said, marching for the exit.
While Lori reigned as queen demon of the Box, Linda played the indifferent serf, who couldn’t care less what the children did as long as they didn’t inconvenience her. It was that indifference that made it possible for Mykl to sneak out of the dorm at night to use the office computer without reprisal from the mean kids, or from Lori.
The “office” was really just a large semicircular desk that arced out into the dayroom. It served as a post for direct observation of the children coming and going from the dorms. Black and white security monitors recorded events from strategically located cameras.
Lori set the morning paper among the clutter on the desk. Her pale skin took on a greenish tinge under the hum of fluorescent lights as she stared down at Mykl. “Go watch cartoons like everyone else.”
Mykl had no desire to watch meaningless cartoons. They barely deserved his apathy. He turned back to the computer screen. Even living vicariously in a fantasy world as a magic sword-wielding hero had lost its appeal. He needed something more tangible. It was time to find a new form of entertainment on the computer—but it would have to wait. He would resume his adventures in the evening, when Linda was once again on duty, and after the rest of the Box had succumbed to sleep.
Pushing away the filthy computer mouse, he hopped off the chair and started to leave.
“By the way,” Lori spat, “someone called yesterday to schedule an adoption interview with you for tomorrow evening.” Her voice dripped with toxic glee. “There’s no escaping this time—his background and income all check out. Your stay here is about to end. Good riddance!”
Threats from Lori were like cockroaches: they came in varying sizes, and you were bound to be confronted by at least a dozen throughout the day. Adoption threats were far from original for her. He ignored her as he joined the other children in the dayroom.
Mykl tried his best to be invisible to the other denizens of the Box. Barely over five years old, he was a small wisp of a boy, and his delicate features, copper-colored eyes, and chocolate brown hair would be considered cute if not for the serious expression he wore as a shield to hide his inner terror and grief. Still, he was a target for kids in need of punching fodder to justify their existence. The unwritten rule of the Box allowed bullies to pick on anyone smaller than themselves, and Mykl dwelled at the bottom of the food chain.
The flickering television in the dayroom already held kids captive as they waited for the breakfast bell to trigger the morning stampede. Sniffles and coughs leaked from children varying in age from five to seventeen. Mykl felt lucky for never falling victim to the illnesses that so commonly plagued others.
A tattered old couch looked like a living creature as eleven squirming figures jockeyed for position. The rest of the bodies in the room appeared to have tumbled off the couch earlier in an orphan landslide that had left them sprawled haphazardly on a gaudy rug. The kids lay on their stomachs, their heads propped up high. Putting one’s face too close to the rug only intensified its revolting odor.
A public service announcement interrupted their viewing with a piercing sound and flashing red text ticker. The face of a beautiful woman brandishing a fake smile delivered the bad news of the day and an update on the latest end-of-the-world predictions. Civil unrest in the European Union had degraded into border skirmishes involving tanks and mortars. Militarily superior neighbors were taking sides and adding fighter jets to the mix. Body counts were rising accordingly. The strong language of peacekeeping efforts offered little protection from RPGs, airstrikes, and landmines. Oh, and apparently there were increasing nuclear tensions in the Middle East—again. Ever since the dirty bomb detonation at a crowded concert in New York’s Central Park, terrorist attacks around the world had become as common as pigeon shit on a park bench. And the media reveled in it. They stoked public fear and fed on increased ratings like starving parasites.
Mykl wanted no part of it. He wondered if things would be better off if they just launched all the missiles and called it a day. He began to walk away, only to be halted in his steps by the announcement of an upcoming exclusive weekend interview with a former clandestine government worker-turned-whistleblower. The woman pumped the story, promising proof that the government was withholding fusion and faster-than-light technology in a secret military base. Mykl shook his head at the thought. Faster than light? What a crackpot. Faster-than-light approached the speed of Santa’s sleigh. And fusion filled the holy grail of science. Together, they formed the cheap bubblegum that held together most science fiction. Fusion, really? If that technology existed, why wouldn’t they have implemented it already and gotten the world out of this energy mess?
The announcement ended, and Mykl shifted into invisible mode. No one ever noticed him when he put his mind to seeking solitude. Soundlessly, he glided across the dayroom in his ratty socks, taking care to avoid any movements noticeable by those watching television. He doubted the kids absorbed in their cartoons could be aware of anything but the mindless drivel pouring out of the ancient box anyway…
“Myyyyyklll?”
… except James. Mykl had never been able to hide from James. It baffled him to no end.
The hulking lump of man-boy called James shuffled toward him. A frightening mass of sleep-matted hair gave him the look of a madman. He came off as seventeen going on seven and made his way around the Box in a slack-faced slouch most of the time. If he ever stretched to his full height of six foot three, he would have been an imposing presence.
James’s gray eyes twinkled with child-like mischief. “Myyykll,” he drawled in a nasal twang as he flashed an impish smile. “Fixes shoes agains?”
As usual, the voices in James’s head had told him to tie his shoelaces into elaborate knots. His knotting skills approached Gordian art. At least he hadn’t tied his shoes together again.
“Sure, James, I’ll fix your shoes.” Mykl knelt to size up the latest knot puzzle. He soon realized it was going to take a focused effort to remedy.
“Where’s Dawn?” he asked.
“Dawn outside with kitteh,” James said.
“How about we go out there and keep her company while I work on your laces?” Dawn had lived on the planet two years less than James but exhibited much better conversation skills.
James nodded several times in agreement and trundled across the dayroom to the door leading out to the quad.
As Mykl followed him past the office desk, he ignored the chilly look Lori leveled at him as she industriously tapped away at the computer. She appeared to be installing new s
oftware. I didn’t know she was smart enough to do that, he thought with a shrug.
As stark as a penitentiary, the quad was a square patch of disintegrating blacktop, thirty feet on a side, enclosed by a weathered, twelve-foot, chain link fence. Tattered shreds of sun-rotted trash fluttered on long-barbed razor wire topping the fence, and rusty bolts penetrated deep into the exterior stucco to secure the fence to the Box. Reddish brown stains flowed from the bolts like battered children’s tears frozen in time. In the center of the quad, a lone pole of galvanized metal with a short length of rusted chain attached at the top—the remnant of some neglected entertainment device for children—listed at a slight angle, its use long forgotten. Some charity group had installed a rosebush planter against the building in an attempt to beautify the area, but its singular purpose now was to serve as a symbol of what happened to life in the Box: it was mistreated, flowerless, and struggling to blossom.
An old metal folding chair was the only other object in the quad. Dawn was sitting in the chair with a scrawny white purring kitten curled up in her lap and a soft smile on her lips.
The light morning breeze carried a noticeable chill as Mykl stepped outside. It was mid-October, and fall had finally decided to announce its arrival. Everyone had greeted the recent change in temperature as a much-welcomed gift after the sweltering summer that had ruthlessly taxed their tired air conditioner.
James lowered himself to the blacktop near the chair as Mykl peered over Dawn’s shoulder. “How is Teeka this morning?” Mykl asked.
The kitten made a stiff-legged stretch and yawned mightily. “Warm and happy,” Dawn said. “She wolfed down my scraps as fast as I pulled them out of the bag. Has James been amusing himself with his laces again?”
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