by Sue Perry
Should I tell Hernandez about my lanyard and its warnings about Anwyl? Hernandez was trustworthiness incarnate, but Anya had said to tell no one about the lanyard. I needed time to brood about that. "Can you do those clap–your–hands–while–suspended–by–your–belly–muscles push–ups?"
He could.
"Should I confront Anwyl? What would you do?"
"What we've been doing. Go with their flow." He pulled up the bottom of his t–shirt to wipe his forehead.
"How come you don't need answers?" I didn't ogle the smooth taut skin on his stomach; only Jenn could do that now.
"I've learned to need what I can get." The push–ups segued to squats and lunges.
"Now I feel like I can't trust Anwyl."
"Maybe you can't."
"Stop zenning me!" But he was right. If I focused on uncertainties I'd lose the ability to proceed.
Jenn emerged from the bathroom, which helped me return to here and now. Hernandez and I flipped for the next shower and he won. When it was finally my turn to clean up, I stuck my head out the bathroom door and advised, "Don't go anywhere while I'm in here. I need your help on a special project."
"Turn the water off and tell us what the project is," Jenn demanded. "Don't you laugh at me, bitch."
I warned Hernandez, "She's not good with surprises. If you put her Christmas present out early, she'll peek. Every time. Except for one year."
She laughed, "Ben is such! An asshole!"
I explained to Hernandez, "Ben put her gift out way early, wrapped in duct tape. She needed a scalpel to open it."
Jenn took the high road with her subject change. "Today's museum closes soon. Hurry up or we'll go without you," she threatened, but I knew they wouldn't.
Later I had to wonder what might have ended differently, had we gone to museums that day.
72. WE'RE JUST A BUNCH OF NEUTRALS
Traveling with Hernandez is like dancing ballet in a suit of bricks. I took him to my apartment in Frivolous Bedlam and stumbled my way home for Jenn. I was weaker than a politician's backbone and, back on Ma'Urth, I collapsed on my couch, panting.
Jenn was stern. "What did you do with my guy?"
"Give me a sec and I'll show you."
I took so many slow deep breaths that Jenn got bored with being impatient and opened her suitcase. "Will we be indoors or out?"
"Mostly," I inhaled, "out," I exhaled.
I dragged myself into the kitchen to swig orange juice with a chaser of antique coffee then I held out my hand and took Jenn to her guy. It was much easier to Travel with Jenn; she was almost as light as a grannie.
In Frivolous Bedlam, Hernandez stood looking out my front window. Jenn threw herself into his arms; over her head he appraised our surroundings. "You have new skills."
"We're in a different Frame, right? Everything looks the same but different and Godzilla's fucking me again. I need air." Jenn opened the window, stumbled back in the blast of noise from a thousand buildings talking at once.
"Welcome to Frivolous Bedlam. Of all the Frames I've visited so far, this is my favorite," I said to them, and reminded Jenn, "I brought you here once before but you were too disbelieving to see it."
"I want to explore," Jenn said and headed for the door.
"You're such a Frame–hugger now." I followed her downstairs, and called back to Hernandez, "Leave the window open."
We stood on Julian's front stoop, acclimatizing to the decibels. A knock–knock joke made its way along the block. Jenn gaped at the buildings. Hernandez divided his attention among the surroundings, Jenn, and me.
I said, "I brought you here because I need your help with an investigation." I called above us, "Books. To me."
A dozen books flew out of my opened window, sunlight glinting on dust jackets. Hernandez had only seen books fly during the genocide of the Gumby people. He jumped Jenn to the sidewalk and threw himself on top of her. As if his flesh or bones could protect her, should these books be foes.
"These are my books. They won't hurt us."
I had to repeat to be heard through Jenn's spluttering: "What the fuck, get off me, I want to see."
Hernandez stood and gave Jenn a hand. I circled my finger above my head. Lose Twenty Pounds led the books to circle us. The covers flapped as though to metronomes, with smaller books flapping twice as often. "At ease," I said. The books hovered behind me.
"Fuckin' A, flying books." Jenn clapped her hands.
The buildings' jokes had turned to mutters. "Don't be afraid," I called to the buildings. "These are the books of Cat Shaver. I will never let them hurt you. They are trained to obey me."
And trained they were. I'd left Lose Twenty Pounds with instructions and now they moved like an award–winning dance troupe: graceful, swift, with mesmerizing control. We walked around the block with the books in a V formation flanking us. Jenn and Hernandez kept turning to watch the books.
I stepped into an intersection, pulled a carrot and a pebble from my pockets and tossed them as high as I could. "Books, stop these."
Summer made authoritative noises I recognized as orders in Refrencian. The Blue–Eyed Shan and Farewell, My Lovely shot skyward and rained narrow columns of text. The carrot hit the ground minced, the pebble became a hail of sand. The books had released text sparingly, leaving scattered characters impaled in the street.
Asphalt heals quickly from text cuts and neither harvested carrots nor eroded pebbles have sentience, so my demonstration caused no harm. Yet the buildings had gone silent. Jenn's "Did we just see that?" resounded in the quiet.
A shadow covered the minced carrot and pebble. Above the books a pelican circled, an enormous bird with a scarred beak. He showed up the last time I had the books outside in Frivolous Bedlam, too. His presence must have reassured the buildings because soon they chattered normally again.
Maybe I could find a Frame where I could converse with that pelican. Or maybe he could understand me here. I called up to the pelican, as much as I said to Jenn and Hernandez, "Books are not inherently evil. They have been enslaved by our enemy. However, these books do my bidding and I will someday free other books. I believe the information exists to tell us how to free them, and I am on a quest to obtain that information."
I don't know why I put it like that, like I'd yet to visit the Halls of Shared Knowledge or Party City; but, after all, I didn't know this pelican, even if the buildings seemed to trust him. Anyway, it never hurts to play close to the vest. I've confirmed that, all two or three times in my life that I played that way.
The buildings started a chant. Can be FREED. Find out HOW! and that morphed into Knock–knock. Who's there? Free! Free who? Free the books.
Maybe not the best way to keep a secret. Fortunately, within seconds the meaning was lost. Free books. Book sale. Sailboat sale! Book boat! Maybe all the nonsensical building chatter started as sensical conversation somewhere; maybe some of it was important. Could it be decoded? How many people and hours would that take?
"Nica, sometimes you suck! This is no time to take a thought vacation!" Jenn shouted, which brought me back to my street in Frivolous Bedlam, where my books cowered in the pelican's shadow. Hernandez's look said waiting–for–a–download–over–dialup.
I leaned my head back to address the pelican. "We need your help. We fight with the allies, and oppose those who would enslave the free Frames, just as they have enslaved books and subverted their nature."
I hadn't seen that level of admiration on Jenn's face since I convinced our moms that earning a certain detention should be rewarded—but if I inspired the pelican, he showed no sign. He resumed circling above my books.
"Books, shelve yourselves," I said softly, and they flew into my apartment through the open window.
As soon as the last book was inside, with a powerful flap of wings, the pelican headed west toward the Hudson River.
"Do you think he understood you?" Jenn asked.
I shrugged to hide my disappointment and channeled Ke
lly Joe. "Time will tell."
Back inside my apartment, Jenn asked, "Were the cats here before?"
I ran to the patch of sun on the front room floor, scooped one of the masses of fur that was lounging in the sun, and straightened with Dizzy in my arms. I checked her front paw to confirm it had Dizzy's markings, but I already knew this was the real Dizzy because Leon sprawled beside her, grooming her—an act of love.
Dizzy's coat had clumps, much like Leon's when I'd first met him. But unlike some other cats I could name or reach out to pet, Dizzy was fastidious and was already working out the kinks in her fur. Which was fortunate because I would never be stupid or drunk enough to try to shave Dizzy.
Leon broke into one of his mondo purrs. I exchanged cats, careful to bend my knees before I hefted Leon. The purr got louder. I set Leon on the couch for inspection—he was a mess of scratches, punctures, gouges, but they seemed to be healing. He must have caught up with the fake Dizzy.
I warned Jenn and Hernandez about the fake Dizzy incident, then said, "Now I need to explain why I brought you here." I shared a summary history of book enslavement. I talked fast because we needed daylight for our next endeavor. I concluded, "It's unusual, my affinity with books. I don't know how deep it goes or whether Maelstrom can steal their loyalty from me. But I think he can't. I think freeing the books is why I'm important to the allies, a role I'm meant to play."
The books flew around the kitchen, pivoting, diving—playing. We watched them like they had the future written on their covers. I hadn't asked Jenn and Hernandez for help in destroying the press, but the request was all around us.
"The imprinting press. It's important. It will have guards, whether you saw them or not," Hernandez said.
"Kelly Joe said the guards won't know what they're guarding. Maelstrom trusts no one. In the Frame on the other end of the conveyor belt, workers who load books onto the conveyor belt probably die at the end of each shift, supervisors every couple days."
"All procedures will change if Maelstrom finds out someone is after the press."
"Yes. Absolutely. We won't have much time. I say 'we' in case you agree to help me."
"We already agreed," Jenn replied.
Hernandez looked at her a long moment then grilled me. "What's your plan? In detail?"
"Er. Destroy the imprinting press. Use explosives, probably. My friend the war vet could help with that part or the plan."
My friend the war vet grunted.
"When Maelstrom took control, he made sure no one could make another press. He killed the twin geniuses who created it. By all report, the twins' understanding of physics made Einstein look dim so a replacement might happen but not tomorrow."
"Anyway we have to try to get rid of that fuckhead thing," Jenn said.
Hernandez shook his head. "Agree that somebody needs to try. What do Anya and Anwyl say about your plan?"
"I—they. Only Kelly Joe and you know."
"And that pelican," Jenn reminded. "And the Halls of Shared Knowledge."
"Why the secret?"
"At first, because I thought they'd stop me. Now," I caught myself rubbing my waist where the lanyard was hidden. "My gut tells me that as few people should know as possible. Anwyl is having problems with traitors."
"That's to be expected in a guerrilla war."
"We should be the ones to try this because we're more expendable." We reacted to Jenn's pragmatic blandness. "Listen, girlfriends, we're just a bunch of Neutrals."
"I can't buy in until I've had a recon look," Hernandez said.
"How about now?" I stood.
Jenn jumped up from the couch, wavered, gasped an inhale.
Hernandez reacted, "Nica and I got this. We'll do the recon, you stay here and rest up."
Jenn stopped wavering. "Rest won't help. I'm getting worse. But I'm part of this mission and I need to see what I'm getting into, too."
They stared each other down. Impasse, meet standoff.
I said, "The recon should be relatively safe. There's a building with windows that look out on the press and the conveyor belt. We can Travel inside the building, stay inside it."
Hernandez didn't say no.
"I'll take you one at a time." I held out a hand.
Hernandez held Jenn's arm so she couldn't take my hand, and his voice was frozen steel. "I'm first in, last out."
"We agree," Jenn hugged him.
"Alright, girlfriends. Let's take a look," Hernandez said.
73. WE PLOTTED DESTRUCTION
For me, it's the unhappiest place on Ma'Urth. Times Square. Remember the neutron bomb? Destroys life, ignores structures. In Times Square I feel that alone, the sole survivor of a neutron bomb blast. Yes, those streets teem with people. Something about the way they teem.
The candy store was packed with tourists. I led Hernandez and Jenn to the second floor, back aisle, where the reconnaissance windows were blocked by displays for chocolate colored confections. I took Hernandez' hand and, as we wound between shoppers, I Traveled us to Maelstrom's Frame. We left Jenn with the merchandise, scoffing at nutrition labels.
In Maelstrom's Frame, the room was quiet except for the rasping squeak from outside as the conveyor belt released a crate of books. The room was empty except for a heap of dusty tattered clothing in a corner. I hadn't noticed that last time.
Outside, crates appeared from the Connector and moved west along the conveyor belt toward the press. The crates appeared at a regular rate but then, for a time, the far end of the belt was empty. After the empty stretch, from out of the Connector came six lumpy bundles that leaked bright orange fluid. The fluid lost its glow as it spread over the conveyor belt. The bundles were corpses, the fluid must be the blood of crate loaders who had finished their shift.
Workers. Corpses. I communicated this to Hernandez in gestures. Kelly Joe had talked in this room without tripping eavesdropping devices but that didn't mean talking was safe now. On our way to Times Square, I'd given Hernandez and Jenn lessons in erratic walking and Hernandez had picked it up fast. Now he moved erratically from window to window, checking the Square from every angle the windows allowed. I leaned my forehead against the glass and rested my eyes. It hurt to blink. Travel with Hernandez was not getting easier.
I strung a quick line of barbed wire around my thoughts but some doubts jumped the fence. Why didn't I wait for Kelly Joe to come with us? I didn't know when he would be available and speed remained of the essence. What if I have to Travel us all out of here pronto? I had to assume that in an emergency, I would muster whatever reserves it would take to get my beloveds to safety.
Below us, the six corpses piled up at the near end of the conveyor belt. The mechanical hands swept the corpses aside like leaves from a drain. The corpses landed atop heaps of cloth that erupted in motion as a thousand rats and a million roaches ran from a feast of older corpses. The cloth heap on the other side of this room was more sunken and tattered than the heaps outside, so the feast was probably long over. My curiosity did not provoke me to poke the tattered pile.
I tapped Hernandez' arm, waved bye–bye, and went to fetch Jenn.
Jenn wasn't in Maelstrom's Frame half a second before she plugged her nose and pantomimed barfing. She was right, the smell was horrific. Brains are good at hiding bad news and mine had blocked the sour pungent stench of rot and torture. I could only nod in reply. I couldn't figure a gesture to convey you think this is bad, wait'll you smell outdoors.
Jenn struggled with the erratic walking, so Hernandez carried her from window to window for her look–see. She clung to his back like a koala.
We repeated the end–to–end viewing several times. I tried to see through their eyes, then pretended I was Anwyl, then Anya. I memorized the scene outside. Whatever we missed could kill defeat capture us.
Jenn pulled out her phone to take photos and I exchanged a look with Hernandez. Nope, neither of us had thought of that. Great idea, but she gave up in frustration. She showed us the phone screen—the image wo
uldn't save. It was like the whole Frame was a vampire. I took Jenn's hand and Traveled her away from that place where despair was the happiest sensation.
On Ma'Urth, none of the candy shoppers noticed when we returned to the store and made their aisles a bit more crowded. I left Jenn with a quick hug. Easy peasy return Travel. But not for long.
When I went back for Hernandez, I couldn't budge him out of Frame. I tried to go fetch Kelly Joe for help, but I couldn't Travel myself away, either. I was out of Travel oomph. We were stuck in Maelstrom's Frame. Not here please not here. I wouldn't have thought it possible to panic when so low on energy, yet hysteria broke, a stampede of lunatic horses. Against my will, I sank to my knees on the floor; it was layered in stains, caused by acts too dreadful to contemplate. I contemplated them, until Hernandez touched my shoulder and nodded. He trusted me to make it happen, to take us home.
I closed my eyes and I breathed. In out. In out. The hooves ceased to pound in my ears. My shoulders ached with the weight of my backpack straps. My backpack. Heavy with books. In my haze, I'd nearly forgotten an essential part of the plan. My books had their own mission to complete here.
I set my backpack on the least stained part of the floor and unzipped it. With erratic pulls on the zipper, unzipping the backpack seemed slower than smoking a cigarette, which I fantasized doing. I felt like I'd smoked half a pack at once. I stifled a snicker, imagining my mouth bristling with ten ignited cigarettes.
Delirious, maybe. And/or dreading what had to come next.
I reached inside my backpack, touched each book spine. Each book had its own feel. I slipped my books out, one by one. When we'd first arrived they were hyperactive, bumping and jiggling inside the backpack. Now they were as inert as if in a Neutral Frame. With a silent kiss to each cover, I placed each book around me on the floor.
I might never see them again. Or if I did, they might attack me, possessed by the other side. Nonetheless, I had to leave them here. They had a vital role to play.
Piecing together information from all my sources, I'd learned that book enslavement is a two–step process. Going through the imprinting press primes a book for takeover and control. But at that point allegiance is still fluid. Subsequent training finishes the imprinting, commits the book to a particular master. That training hadn't started for the books outside this room. In that long tent were thousands of books with fluid allegiance. Some of the books already belonged to Maelstrom because he controlled earlier editions. But most of them were winged pit bull puppies: how they turned out depended on their treatment.