by Jack Heath
The SARS canisters were gone.
The warhead was gone.
Sammers was gone.
Vanish was gone.
It was all over.
Six couldn’t see the Seawall, but he knew which direction it was in. The sky was stained darkest to his left – that would be the City, about 9 kliks away.
Six paused a moment longer, breathing slowly and deeply and waiting for his heart to wind down. And then he started swimming towards home.
OBSOLETE
It took Six four hours to swim back to the Seawall, and paddle parallel to it until he found a rusted old ladder. In that time, the other Six was rushed back to the Deck, unconscious, examined by Ace, woken up, treated for burns, and given his next mission. Find the last nuclear warhead in existence.
By the time Old Six had climbed the ladder to the top of the Seawall and walked along it until he came across a viewing platform, Young Six would have gone to the cocktail party with Ace, been chased away from it, and arrived back at the Deck. Old Six wished there was something he could do to make the whole process easier, but he couldn’t interfere. Could he?
Six plodded slowly towards the viewing platform. His legs were rubbery after the 15-kilometre swim. He was still visibly wet, and a trail of water stretched from his feet back along the Seawall all the way to the horizon. His acid burns throbbed, glistening in the daylight.
The tourists on the viewing platform stared at him. Some parents covered the eyes of their children. Six ignored them. He climbed over the safety rail, resting one hand on a mounted pair of coin-operated binoculars.
‘Does anyone have two credits?’ he asked.
Most people just kept staring, but a couple went through their pockets, and someone tossed him a coin. Six caught it. Turned to the stairs, and started walking slowly down them.
When he got to the bottom of the Seawall, he followed the signs to the nearest train station. It wasn’t far. He threaded his way through the masses of the lost and confused until he found a payphone.
He inserted the coin. Dialled.
‘Yes?’
‘I know she’s watching,’ Six said. ‘So it’s very important that you keep a straight face when I tell you this.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘The Queen of Spades is Vanish,’ Six said. He hung up, and collected his change.
Six stopped at a café on the way to King’s house. He drank water out of a tap in the bathroom and used the rest of his money to buy an apple. It was the first thing he’d eaten other than soup in years, and at first the taste was overpowering, electric. He munched on it slowly, ignoring the uncomfortable glances from the other patrons. He knew he smelled as bad as he looked.
When he’d finished the apple he left the core oxidising on the table and stared out the window. He sat and waited. Right now, the time-soldiers would be killing Grysat and the other agents. Now, King would be beating up the prisoner. And now, Six would be planting explosives on the ceiling of the cell block.
It was over, but it didn’t feel over. Six was not reassured, only numbed, by the fact that there was nothing more he could do.
Choice is an illusion. And Tiresias takes the illusion away.
Six glanced at his watch. The Deck would explode in five, four, three, two . . .
The moment passed in silence. No distant boom, no difference in the atmosphere, nothing to indicate that the City was now the closest to lawlessness that it had ever been. No sign that the world had changed.
A waitress approached. ‘Would you like to order something else?’
The meaning was clear. If you want to stink up the place and horrify the other patrons, you’d better buy more than just an apple.
‘No,’ Six said. He stood, and left.
TRANSMISSION ENDS
He’s sitting at a bus stop, looking at his watch. It’s been hours. He’s tired, and still hungry.
Two more minutes, Six thinks. That’s all.
The Square is deserted. Silent. Scrunched-up balls of newspaper scuttle past on the breeze.
He’s not far from King’s house. Right now, Young Six and Ace are there, sharing their first kiss. Old Six smiles at the memory.
The sun rises over the wall of skyscrapers, slowly bleaching the fog above. It’s a sunrise he’s seen once before, but he doesn’t mind.
Despite the insulation from the Gomorrah’s hull and the seawater, he was probably exposed to some radiation when the bomb went off. He’s not feeling sick yet, but he knows he’s likely to need medication, and recovery time. No missions for a while – just bed rest while his doctor looks after him.
The seconds flick away. Young Six would be walking away from King’s house, Ace watching him go.
He wants a phone. He knows he’ll see her in a minute, but he wants to hear her voice now, for real, not just in a daydream.
I’m back.
You only just left.
He skips to the good bit, the simple bit.
I can’t wait to see you.
You too.
Something snaps Six out of his fantasy. A quiet sniffle from behind him.
He turns. His sister stands in the shadows of a nearby building. She’s crying, arms crossed over her stomach.
Six gets up, walks towards her. Makes his footsteps louder than they have to be, so she’ll hear him approaching – although she must already know he’s there. He watches the tears flow, saying nothing.
She’s finally come to see him. He remembers his promise.
Anytime you’re ready, I’m here for you.
Nai says, ‘You were right.’
He’s not sure how to respond. Right about what?
‘Father doesn’t love me,’ she says. Her voice wavers. ‘He . . . sold me.’
Six’s relief is drowned out by his pity. He says, ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘I’m nothing to him,’ Nai continues. Snot leaks down her lip.
Her sniffles echo across the deserted Square.
‘Move in with me,’ Six says. ‘Or Kyntak. We’ll be glad to have you.’
‘He doesn’t love me,’ Nai says again. ‘But he loves you.’
The gun is up before Six realises what’s happening. The impact of the bullet is surprisingly light, like being poked in the chest with a single finger. He looks down, sees the circle of blood.
‘Now I’m all he’s got,’ Nai whispers.
Too surprised to fight back, Six staggers, falls, feet and hands already feeling cold, skin slicked with icy sweat.
He knows what this means. His heart has stopped beating.
Nai never misses.
The ground doesn’t feel as hard as it should. Nothing feels how it should. I’m dying, he realises. And no-one knows I’m here. No-one will ever know what happened to me. Not Ace, not King, not Kyntak, not anyone.
Of all people, it’s Sammy whose voice drifts through his mind now.
Have you ever heard of the multiverse theory?
Six felt the cold spreading inwards from his extremities. Like when a limb goes to sleep, but all over his body, creeping inwards towards his brain. The pain is fading, slowly.
The idea is that there’s an infinite number of universes, side by side, each slightly different so that everything that is possible exists in one of them.
Nai says something. Six can’t hear what. Her voice is distant, unimportant, like the first few beeps of an alarm clock heard from across the barrier of sleep.
He thinks, maybe there are other universes out there. Maybe there’s one where Nai isn’t a murderer and I’m not dying and Ace and I are together.
Maybe not every universe is this screwed up.
Six can see Nai, vaguely, but it’s like seeing her from under water. Tears stream down her cheeks. Her jaw is set, resolute. His sister, strong and tough and proud.
She doesn’t need his pity. She aims the gun at his head.
I’m already dying, Six thinks. Can’t she wait?
It seems like such a small death. No w
itnesses except his executioner. No lives at stake but his own. No mission to succeed or to fail.
How you die isn’t as important as how you live.
Who was it who said that? Six wonders. It’s all so confusing. Everything is –
Nai pulls the trigger.
And it’s over.