by Tim Dennis
"Norte... if Norte disapproved..." corrected Pig
Shut up. thought Myles.
The morning's events made Legong seem more distant in time than in space. He kicked at a pile of socks and underwear under the unmade bottom bunk, dressed himself in some of Peto's oversized kit and tried to guess which bunk had been used by whom. The sheets of the upper were tucked tightly, corners flat. Myles ran his hand across the smooth surface. He took a harmonica from beside the pillow, sat on the only chair and gave it a blow. A discordant wail echoed through the ship followed by a clang as the harmonica hit the wall and rattled down the stairs.
In the kitchen Myles rifled through cupboards and drawers. He assembled the makings for tea, lining up the various components beside the sink. Leaving them unused, he stood by the pilothouse hatch. After an eternity Myles felt a warm breeze carrying scents of soil and grass.
Myles descended through the basement, dropping out of the ship onto the sand below. The grasses were thicker, the rocks more varied and worn, but otherwise the atoll laid out before him was a passable facsimile of Caldera. A moment of doubt crossed his fogged mind, clearing to a certainty that he was still on Earth. The town that trickled down the slopes of this atoll included no City Center, only brilliant white buildings with domed roofs the color of the sea. It made his own settlement look dirty, cheap. He did not like it, and quickly climbed back into the ship. For a moment he was uncertain if he had been outside at all.
He stood over the open hatch, staring down at the shrinking island as the ship lifted away, moving west over a great inland sea. Before reaching the tiny gap through which the sea communicated with a great ocean beyond, the ship turned north, cutting across farms and forests and mountains before setting down.
The gravel immediately below the ship felt familiar enough through the thin soles of his shoes. Perhaps that's why Myles so quickly stepped into the boulevard of dense green grass, where he stood contemplating the rows of ships lined up along either side, some spherical like his own, others silver ellipses on edge. Too many to count and too great a variety to catalog, some were as large as Traveler's. Most were smaller.
The gravel crunched behind him, heavy footfalls like a Legong Cab. He turned. A beast, much larger than Pig and covered with fine, short hair, walked towards him dragging a two-wheeled cart made up of a seat and barely anything else. Myles quickly stepped out of its way, but it stopped beside him, shaking its massive head and snorting. It was the only living creature visible. The two stared at each other for a while, then Myles climbed aboard the seat, sat back, and waited.
Within a few minutes they were beyond the collection of vessels, passing neat rows of stone and wood houses, each different while remaining the same in some undefined way. Myles wondered if he were dreaming, or perhaps sitting in the pilothouse watching the walls, but with the sites came smells and a light breeze, things he'd never experienced inside the pilot house. The streets became denser with buildings, never too tall, but closer to each other and to the road. The people he passed mostly ignored him, although on occasion a child smiled and waved. Pedestrians kept mainly to the tree-studded paths skirting the buildings either side, leaving the road to Myles and his beast. The animal trotted along, oblivious to the occasional other vehicles appearing on the road. A double chair, like the one he sat in, moved around him. Without beast, it must be self-propelled. There were cars of the type Norte had commandeered as well as simpler, sleeker versions, with and without wheels. Traffic increased. Almost half of the vehicles had no superstructure at all, being just chairs or frames all of handles and footrests, on which single individuals flitted along through the air without aid.
The animal dragged Myles's cart alongside a park and then down a quieter street running perpendicular, finally stopping in front of a little cafe. The building itself was one of a row of multi-level, mostly stone structures. At street level open doors and large windows with painted wooden frames gave an impression of lightness. Myles worried for a moment that the stone above would suddenly come crashing down, splintering the delicate supports.
"Idiot," said Pig. "Probably been like that for eons."
Or not... You don't know.
Despite the stone and wood the cityscape left Myles with a feeling of unreality. The beast huffed and dragged its conveyance away, leaving him on the pavement. A row of chairs and tables of black latticework stood outside, reminding Myles of Harry's deck, overlooking a tree-lined street instead of a harbor.
Harry's deck...
The open doorway split the outdoor seating into two equal groupings. Furthest from where he stood sat two gentlemen, pink and aged. Myles thought for a moment about the extremes of pigmentation he'd seen on Earth. It seemed to relate to climate.
A young man in black pants and pressed white shirt came cheerily out of the building and stood by the two gentlemen, nattering back and forth in some nonsensical language. Another blathering creature stole his focus. The tree in front held a bird, smaller than his desert companion. It leapt from the tree and fluttered down at Myles's feet, exploring the ground with its curved, snapping spike until it found a wriggly pink tubular thing. Myles held up his hands and checked his fingers. Sensing the gentlemen's gaze he looked over, turned his hands towards them, palms-out, and coughed up a laugh. The two men smiled indulgently. Myles took a seat and before long the fellow in black-and-white was standing beside him.
"Oh. Hello." Myles said.
"Est-ce que l'oiseau vous derange?"
Myles and the man stared at each other.
Gibberish.
"Language," said Pig. "Earth used to be full of them."
"Um, I'm sorry, I don't speak your language. I'm not from around here, I'm a- a Traveler."
The man listened, examining Myles's face minutely. He turned, walked back into the shop.
You think they'll accept Legong credits?
"Oh sure," offered Pig. "Earth models its economy on diaspora worlds."
Myles looked over at the two gentlemen. Their cups were empty and they both looked as if they wanted to be anywhere but where they were at that moment.
Another man came out from the building, dressed much like the first, and addressed Myles. "Puis-je vous aider?"
"ah. I'm sorry, I don't speak your language. I'd like a tea please." Myles mimed lifting a cup from a saucer. "Tea?"
The new waiter tried again. "Je suis désolé aussi, sorry."
Myles leaned to see around the man, trying to determine what the two men had been drinking. The waiter turned to follow his gaze. The two gentlemen stood up from their table and walked away.
"Yes, oui. mais which thé? Peut-être que you prefer café?"
Myles shrugged. "Just bring me whatever they had."
The man turned and went back into the cafe. Myles got up and as nonchalantly as possible rifled through the remains of the gentleman's table. He found nothing resembling money.
Must have some implant linked credit system. Like Legong.
"Duh," chided Pig.
The road was a familiar width, enough for one stream of traffic to pass in either direction, but few were using it. He saw no animals, except of course for the people themselves, and then only on the opposite side of the street. They had a confidence, an ease about them that Myles rarely saw on Legong, and they were all so beautiful.
Harry.
"Harry's not beautiful," said Pig.
No, but he has that same air...
Yes, it was like a world of 'Harrys.' No one seeming to have a care in the world, no one rushing, no worried faces.
"Harry's the most worried person you know." said Pig.
The people seemed a mirror of their city, clothes a little brighter than expected, air a little more clear. The buildings looked both new and old, as if they'd all been crafted that morning and made to appear ancient. They showed wear but lacked patina. This was no Central Command. Myles turned back to his cafe. The other table had been cleared. A tiny cup sat on his own table next to
a delicate little plate, an equally delicate pastry positioned artfully in its center.
Myles returned to his seat and tested the pastry.
Yes, a world full of 'Harrys.'
Pig peered at him.
Never a great fan of coffee, today Myles tasted in it nothing at all. A bite of the pastry was equally unrewarding. He tried again, sipping the coffee and nibbling the pastry. They each possessed all the qualities expected but he could take no pleasure in them. He spent the next five minutes, or perhaps a hour, gazing mindlessly up the now deserted street, letting his coffee cool and his pastry dry out.
To his right, across the open doorway, the street continued for at least thirty meters before so much as an alley turned off. To his left there was but one shop between him and the corner, a busy intersection that had not slowed its traffic in the time he'd been there. After an indeterminate period Myles awoke from his numb repast, got up from his table and briskly walked to the corner. Turning a quick left instantly put him out of view of the cafe.
...bill me.
As he walked Myles's spirits improved, and his focus drifted from architecture to fashion. The variety of dress exceeded the variety of vehicle, and he felt certain that Peto's drab, ill-fitting Legong threads would go unnoticed. Hadn't the cafe staff accepted him as unremarkable?
Every constructed surface on Legong was flat and featureless or curved and metallic. Here the very structure of the buildings was visible, or at least discernible, by the shape and material of their walls. Each was made of many pieces of stone, wood and glass assembled together, sometimes in complex joints, sometimes in unsettlingly simple stacks. The effect was beauty, delicate or imposing, and almost always different.
On one street corner a steady stream of people passed through an archway made of colored glass set within a black framework of curled metal bars. Letters inset into the arch meant nothing to Myles but obviously imparted relevant information to the Earthers, for occasionally one would stop and look up before passing through. Beyond the arch, in a vestibule decorated the same way, people hustled themselves down a stairway leading underground. He watched. As many seemed to be coming up as going down.
"So. It's not an abattoir." quipped Pig.
Myles joined the stream of people and at the bottom of the stairs was faced with a choice. The passage, and the streams of people, split in two. He wavered a moment and chose the busier route, leading him along a short corridor and down another set of stairs. He arrived in the center of a large underground room, a tunnel leading off in either direction.
A Launch Rail station!
Myles felt a mild panic. He was about to be shot into space, or maybe to another city thousands of kilometers away. How would he get back to the ship? He was about to head back up the stairs when a draft of air came from one of the tunnels. A shuttle followed, stopping at the station and disgorging several dozen passengers. Those waiting began filing in.
"Fool," said Pig. "Not a Launch Rail, just a local transport, an underground multi-cab."
Myles let himself fall in with the crowd, trying his best to memorize the string of symbols repeated on the walls of the station. With luck he'd find his way back.
The trip was less smooth than a multi-cab, but much better than Krykowfert's new elevator. The underground shuttle rocked from side to side, accelerated and slowed, and made an unsettling clattering sound. Although the car had been fairly full when he joined it, at each station more disembarked than entered and within five stops it was just him and two large men at the far end. And Pig, if you count him.
Must be reaching the end of the populated area.
Myles decided to alight at the next stop and, as he stepped onto the platform, noticed that it was only his car that had been depleted, the others seemed to be as full or fuller than when he got on. He joined the stream of people leaving the station and soon found himself on the edge of a large plaza filled with trees and little, geometrically laid out patches of grass.
This must be the city center marker.
A tall framework of reddish girders reached more than three hundred meters into the sky. To the southeast a broad avenue split by a wide grassy lawn led away to an imposing stone building, to the northwest a string of low stone arches carried a wide road over the river. A stone beast, like the one that had towed him to the city, stood guard at either side.
Myles wandered about the plaza, eventually falling in with a stream of people that led him to an elevator, and the top of the structure that dominated the plaza. By this point the sun was low, and as others came and went Myles stayed, looking out over the city from teh obersavtion platform, overwhelmed by the variety and beauty of buildings laid out before him. Most were low, roughly the size to those in the newer quarters of buildings back home, except here they were interspersed with trees of similar height. Occasionally one climbed higher than the rest, but nothing from here to the horizon resembled a Legong City Center. As he marveled the sky turned from pale blue to deep and dark purple with streaks of crimson. Tiny lights appeared in the windows far below and by the time the sun had gone his own perch had illuminated itself. The show was for Myles alone, for all others had left. His stomach gurgled. It could have been the hunger, or the view, or simply the passage of time, but it became impossible for Myles's brain to continue suppressing the events of the previous twenty-four hours. A pressure built in his sinuses, his mind fogged. He stood erect, holding the railing for support as he took a series of deep breaths. Nausea. Vertigo? He stepped away from the view and clung to column of cold steel and rivets. His limbs fell limp. Myles let his back fall against the column. A cough and a shudder quickly grew into a torrent of tears punctuated by barely audible squeaks and whines. The force of the Earth below overcame his weakness and dragged him to the decking. He wanted to grab, he tried to reach out, but instead simply fell on his side, knees curled up to his chest. He lay shaking and limp. Squeaks gave way to wails and beyond sorrow, Myles suffered not guilt, not regret, but a debilitating sense of loss.
He awoke in much the same position, a heavily built man gently shaking his shoulder. The man stepped back. Myles sat up, relaxed and calm. After a moment's contemplation he stood. The man watched him, but left him alone, disappearing once Myles had regained his feet. Myles took another look across the city of light and found his way back to the elevator. It was time to go home.
30
Mallick snapped his head back, away from the tingly orange spray. "What the fuck was that?" He drooled.
A man in a gray jumpsuit dabbed at the excess that dribbled from Mallick's nose while an elder assistant tightened the straps holding Mallick's head still. Across the dark, empty room a grey-haired woman stood by a window, peeking out through heavy curtains. The streets were empty. Anyone with somewhere to be was either already there or watching the clock, waiting for the implant-alert to freedom.
The man in the gray-jumpsuit sprayed a second dose of the orange stuff on the back of Mallick's neck.
"Hey! Thaz code!"
Grey-jumpsuit put the spray bottle back into a FloaterBag and removed a set of steel rods and fittings from around Mallick's head. Now free, it lolled from side to side.
"You gave him too much." Said the assistant.
"It's not like I do this every day." Said Jumpsuit.
Assistant held Mallick's head still while Jumpsuit took the rods and fittings and shoved them into the bag.
"OK. You can let go now." Said Jumpsuit.
Mallick looked around at the dark, foggy room. When he first sat down he had known exactly where he was and who the three people were with him. Now he barely knew his own name.
"Is that it?" Mallick asked, followed immediately by a sneeze.
The assistant unhooked the restraints and helped Mallick stand, but he pulled away, preferring to stand under his own power. The four conspirators looked down at the tiny computer chip on the table.
"What do we do with it?" Mallick asked.
Jumpsuit, known now to Mall
ick as Cokely, knocked the chip to the floor and crushed it with his heel.
"They can still read that." Midgfet, the woman, drew her pistol and waved Cokely away. She fired, the projectile embedded itself in the concrete floor. She popped out the ammo clip and fired five bolts of pure energy, leaving five charred divots in the concrete floor, and no chip.
"They can't trace that!" She said.
"That's everyone, right?" Cokely asked.
The three others nodded. Midgfet went back to the window. The street was now filled with commuters. "It's time." She said. Cokely and Fernstrom, his assistant, hefted a medium-sized Maker box off the floor onto an UpBuggy. Midgfet first let Mallick slip out, wiping his nose, then Cokely and Fernstrom with the Maker. Satisfied that no one noticed, or cared, she slipped out herself, climbing into a Cab waiting behind the building.
Mallick walked a few blocks from the empty storefront towards Plateau's City Center. As the buildings became more dense so did the people. He pulled his hat down over his ears, turned up his collar and stopped beside a crowd waiting under a MultiCab-Rail. After a few minutes he heard the clickedy-clack of a MultiCab's dozen legs, racing hand-over-hand along the underside of the elevated rail. Slowing as it reached Mallick, it grasped the rail firmly and lowered its belly to the ground. Mallick and the crowd boarded. As the Cab pulled itself up a woman leaned over his shoulder for a better look at the tiny hole at the base of his skull.
"Ooh. That looks sore."
The wound itself might have gone unnoticed, but an angry red welt had raised around it.
"No, no. It's fine." Mallick said.
"You've had your implant upgraded. And they made you go back to work the same day? At your age? Tsk."