Reaction

by Seth M. Baker

  Amadeus watched him leave then set to examining the Pachyderm. A porthole was shattered, but it was small, no bigger than a paperback book. He wondered if he could duct tape a pressurized cabin. His biggest concern was the broken turbofan. If he would fly at all, he'd have to disable it and constantly adjust the others to compensate for the imbalance; he suspected this would be as easy as walking with a needle in your spine. He also suspected he'd find more problems after firing everything up. He did. The servos that controlled the pitch of the right front turbofan had stopped working. When he took the Pachyderm up, it flew with the grace of a drunken fruit bat, even with assistance from the navigation computer.

  He landed and called Jones. “Got problems,” Amadeus said.

  “Don’t we all. Go on,” Jones said, looking like he had just woke up.

  Amadeus explained what happened.

  “Poor bastard,” Jones said, his face turning away from the camera, as if looking down at the shoulder. “But you found what you need?”

  Jones nodded but said nothing more on the subject. He seemed untroubled by this news. Instead, he talked about the repairs, said he'd send the parts as soon as possible. Until then, Amadeus would need a better place to hide the Pachyderm. Jones gave him some coordinates far out of town, ten kilometers from any houses but only a couple kilometers from the highway.

  “You can hitchhike back into Prague,” Jones said.

  “Hitchhike? Are you kidding me? Nobody hitchhikes? You just can't...it's dangerous.”

  “You just flew an experimental aircraft over the Atlantic Ocean and you're telling me you're worried about hitchhiking? Kid, I used to hitchhike from the east coast to the west coast on a whim, no money, and this is back when the newspapers were full of stories about hitchhikers being murdered and raped, usually in that order. Plus, you're in Europe. Things are different there. You'll be fine.”

  “If you say so,” Amadeus said, not really feeling like he'd be fine. He'd rather walk all the way to Prague than hitchhike. Who hitchhiked, anyway, he wondered, besides old people and characters in books? Was Jones trying to get him, as he put it, murdered then raped? Who knows what these people are capable of? One of them had already made a holiday of smashing his craft.

  Jones double checked exactly what parts were required. Amadeus then asked about using duct tape to fix the window. Jones yelled at him.

  “Are you ignorant? If you're going to fix something, do it right. Don't duct tape it. Jesus. That's something your father would do, a half-ass quick fix. The parts are coming, and you're going to get everything back to tip-top shape.”

  Amadeus said nothing, just let Jones finish his rant.

  “Two days,” Jones said. “I’ll let you know later where you’ll need to pick up the parts. I’ll send all the tools you’ll need. For now, get to those coordinates and make your way back to Prague. Understood?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Amadeus said. “I still don’t know where I’m going next, but I’ve got some files from Vesely’s office that might be able to help.”

  “Figure it out,” Jones said. Amadeus thought he’d been strange, different. He assumed that Jones was upset that the Pachyderm had been damaged. As if this were Amadeus’ fault. He thought of the note, then Gravity. Jones isn’t what he seems. Was he paranoid, or was we really up to something?

  30

  He flew the wounded Pachyderm to the coordinates Jones gave him, covered it with the tarp, and set himself by the road with his thumb out. Within twenty minutes, he was sitting in the passenger seat of a middle-aged man's Peugot, listening to Liszt. The man had tried to talk to him, ask him a couple questions in halting English, but the conversation died soon after that.

  The green countryside blurred outside the window, like an old episode of the Twilight Zone. Amadeus wondered if this man had any murdering or raping tendencies, but decided he didn't. He seemed sincere enough. He said he was an engineer. That made Amadeus feel better.

  The man dropped him in downtown Prague, beside a tram stop, though Amadeus didn't know which one. He thanked the man offered him some money, but the man smiled, shook his hand, and drove away.

  Downtown with no place to go, Amadeus decided to do some sightseeing. He went to Wenceslas square, the Old Town Square, and the torture museum. After this last one, he decided that Europe, with all its sophistication, elegance, and class, was really trying to cover up for their barbaric past. But, he supposed, America had her own share of barbarity in her short history.

  He left the torture museum. The heat of the street, the crush of the people made his head spin. His stomach rumbled, and he set out for food. Like the restaurant before, the places here had menus in both English and Czech. He chose one at random, a dimly lit place, faux-rustic, with some classical piano playing on the sound system. The waitress handed him a menu, but he didn't look at it. Instead, he asked her what she liked to eat, hoping she spoke English.

  “The pickled cheese sandwich is very delicious,” she said, smiling at him.

  “Really?Pickled cheese?” Amadeus asked.

  “Sounds not delicious, but the taste is very delicious,” she said. Amadeus said that would be fine. His food arrived; the bread was crusty and the cheese oily, pungent and, Amadeus decided, very delicious. Shredded cabbage and cucumber gave the sandwich some crunch.

  After he finished, he checked his phone for affordable accommodations. He crossed a square where church spires tried to impale the clouds. He tried several guesthouses, explaining at each that he had lost his passport, and finally found one that would let him stay without it.

  In his dim room sat a small bed and a low wooden writing desk. He spread his pilfering from Vesely’s out on the table. First, he leafed through the folder marked investments. Lots of financial data, what he guessed were company profiles. While scanning one of these pages, all written in Czech, he found his father’s name. After that, he found Esther’s name, and two others: Quinton Laroux and Edward Ross. In his notebook, he wrote these names down. The second one seemed familiar. Out of curiosity, he typed the second name into his phone. His jaw dropped with recognition.

  Edward Maximilian Ross, 35, is the controversial American computer scientist, VC investor, and founder and CEO of Tivooki Systems. For the past eight years he’s been ranked as among the world’s 500 wealthiest people, though the exact amount of his fortune is unknown. Ross is best known for an advanced storage technology that allows free, unlimited data storage for all internet users. While admired by many, critics point out that seventy percent of the world’s digital data is stored on Tivooki Systems servers. He has a history of misanthropic statements. Last year, while accepting an award from the National Science Foundation, Ross caused an outrage when he said the human race was “like a plague of locusts upon the earth, consuming her resources and leaving nothing but a trail of empty shells.” Ross also maintains a small, highly-trained security force which insiders estimate numbers around fifty people.

  Anton Laroux returned no results. Who, he wondered, doesn’t even show up on an internet search? Everyone shows up searches. But the man had to be well-off if he was able to operate as an investor in his father’s research. It didn’t make sense, this Laroux guy, totally anonymous, unknown. Unless…he wanted to remain unknown. Amadeus had heard you could pay people for such a service. He searched for more but didn’t find anything. Laroux was a shadow, a whisper, totally invisible.

  Could he get access to Ross? If so, what would he do? And how could he find Laroux? Trying to answer these questions, he would stay up late and read through the indecipherable files, but first he needed some help. He called Grassal on his phone. Grassal’s tiny image answered on the screen. Amadeus saw crutches leaning against the desk beside him.

  “Agent Delgado here.”

  “I need all the information you can find on Edward Maximilian Ross. What he’s like, how to find him, whatever you can find. There should be plenty on him.”

  “The Tivooki Systems guy?”

&
nbsp; “That’s right, and there’s a man named Quinton Laroux. I couldn’t find a thing. Maybe you’ll have better luck. But I just want you working on this. Don’t tell Lilly or Jones.”

  “But...” Grassal said.

  “That’s the way it has to be right now. Just you and me until we know more. Any word from Gravity?”

  “Nothing.Like he just disappeared.”

  “Okay, I’ll contact you soon. And Grassal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks, brother.”

  31

  Amadeus was in a cold room that stretched into forever, but he could only see a few meters before everything faded to blackness. Metal beams supported an obscured ceiling. In the dark distance, he heard the clicking sound, like dog walking on hardwood. He called out, but the words from his mouth were foreign and undecipherable. A breeze blew, and his clothes waved like they were on a laundry line. When he looked down, his clothes disintegrated. His body had withered down to stretched grey skin pulled over extruding bones. The clicking grew louder, louder, more rapid. Amadeus ran his hands over his body, trying to assure himself he was still physical. His teeth felt loose. He pulled on his front teeth and they came out in his hand, followed by a spray of brown blood like chocolate syrup. The clicks became scratches. He screamed, sat upright in his bed, panting as if after a sprint. Around him, the familiar room of the night before, the little desk, the crisp white sheets bunched up at his feet. Their wrinkles reminded him of the stretched skin of his dream. He ran his hand over his torso, relieved that he still had a little pudge on his stomach. His face, though, seemed bonier than ever.

  He pulled himself out of bed, checked his phone, and found a message from Jones. He read the message. “Package arrives today. Lilly is bringing it. Meet her at the airport this evening, Lufthansa flight number 5321. She should land around seven p.m. your time. Don’t let her out of your sight. It’s a dangerous world out there for a girl like her.” A girl like her, Amadeus thought, surprised Lilly was making the trip.

  Excited, a little nervous, he set to work copying by hand everything he could regarding the partners, taking care to omit all references to Vesely’s name. During the night, he decided to find a translator, but only after he had finished his t ask. He didn’t quite all that he wrote, but at least he would be able to catch all references to Vesely’s name or address. In the afternoon, he went to the front desk and rang the bell. A guy came out, not much older than himself. He had auburn hair and thick-rimmed glasses. Amadeus noticed the glasses had no lenses. In English, he asked what he could do for Amadeus.

  “I need some business documents translated from Czech to English. Do you know where I can find someone that could do that? It’s just for me, so the English doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  The man smiled. “I study English for many years. I can do it.” Amadeus asked him his rate. “Three hundred and fifty crown per page, every fourth page is only two fifty.”

  “That’s good, because I have exactly four pages. They’re all handwritten, but the writing is neat. Can you have them done by tonight?” Amadeus asked.

  “I could do by tonight, but this makes hurry hurry job. Can you pay a little extra, say two hundred crown? Maybe then I could finish tonight.”

  Amadeus nodded and said that would be fine. He handed the man the documents. “What’s your name?”

  “I am Jan, just call me Jan, like January. I was born in January.”

  “Okay Jan, great. I’ll be back later tonight.”

  32

  On the way to the airport, the sky darkened and rain began to fall. The flight board reported Lilly’s flight was delayed. Amadeus bought a copy of the Prague Post, settled into a coffee shop, and read a feature article about the Manhattan Monster, but saw no mention of his name. When he sipped his coffee, it tasted like relief.

  Three hours later, he stood at the international arrivals gate holding a little cardboard sign he had made. Of course she would recognize him, but he thought it might be a nice touch. People streamed out, pushing luggage carts. He held the sign above his head and caught a flash of red hair. There she was, struggling to push a cart piled high with soft-sided suitcases. All around him, people embraced as if trying to prevent the other from floating away.

  “Lilly,” he said, waving his sign. She finally saw him. She strode over and threw her arms around him, pressing her body against his. His blood felt like honey. As he held her, the image of Vesely’s mutilated body crept into his mind.

  “Good to see you,” Amadeus said. “But I can’t help but wonder why you would come here.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? That’s the question. What better excuse to go to Europe than to deliver these parts? You need parts, I need a vacation, and Grassal’s mobile enough to help my father for a couple of days. It’s a perfect match. A win-win-win. And since I brought you the parts, you can show me around.”

  “You want to go sightseeing? Now? This isn’t the time for that. Someone got to Vesely. It’s bad.” Amadeus shuddered. “They could be looking for me as well.”

  “Come on, Amadeus. I’m only here a couple days. From the look on your face it looks like you could use a vacation, too.”

  They stood in silence for a few moments. The people around them had faded away and soon they stood alone outside the gate. Lilly waited with her arms crossed. Finally Amadeus gave her a noncommittal answer. They left the terminal, Amadeus pushing the cart and half-listening as she talked about the long flight, the singing stewards, the pig slop they passed off as food, and the weird feeling in her head. She said she was too tired to sleep and hungry enough to eat a goat or a sheep whatever they ate here.

  “We’ll drop this stuff off and then I’ll take you to a place I know.” After several attempts, they found a taxi that could accommodate all their luggage. They still ended up riding with heavy suitcases on their laps. At the guesthouse, Amadeus stopped by the desk, but Jan said he wasn’t finished yet, he needed until the next day. They left and went to the restaurant. On the street outside, a man bumped into Amadeus. “Excuse me,” he said in English. Amadeus looked into his eyes as he brushed past. The man’s eyes were almost entirely black: sclera, retina, and pupil, the only exception being a thin ring of pale blue iris.

  “You’re excused,” Amadeus said.

  33

  “Pickled cheese?” Lilly said after Amadeus ordered for her. He had the mustachioed waiter again. Jazz played on the stereo. A candle flickered on the table. “Sounds like heartburn.” He promised her she would like it. “And beer?”

  “Everyone else is drinking. I think I saw some schoolchildren with beer in their lunch boxes.”

  Lilly laughed then stopped herself and spoke. “This city, it looks amazing. I’ve never been out of the States. Well, I went to Canada once, but that doesn’t really count.”

  “Can I see your passport?” She pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him. He glanced at her picture and laughed.

  “Amadeus! Never laugh at a girl’s picture, you could give her a complex.”

  “You, you look so…young.” In the picture, she wore thick-rimmed red glasses and neon yellow braces. While he examined the passport, the mustached waiter brought two bottles of beer and glasses. Amadeus started to drink from the bottle but the ever-patient waiter wagged his finger at him, grabbed the beer bottle, and poured it into the glass for him.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” Lilly said.

  “No. Why would I try to get you drunk? Besides, you probably need the carbs after a long flight.”

  “Carbs, right. If you say so. But sometimes bad things happen when I drink.” Amadeus took a swig of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Is that why your father keeps you locked away?”

  “No,” she said, looking down at her hands, “that’s another reason entirely.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Amadeus wanted to ask her again. She lo
oked at him as if she were contemplating murder. He backed down. “Okay, what happens when you drink?”

  “Well, last time I drank beer I was ten years old. For some reason Daddy had left beer in the fridge, so I took a can, hid under the bathroom sink, and drank it all. I puked about a minute I finished it.”

  “Under the sink?”

  “No, in the toilet. I’m not an animal,” Lilly said, twirling a strand of her hair.

  Their sandwiches arrived. Amadeus was hungry, but he waited for Lilly to take the first bite. She picked up her fork and knife cut into the sandwich. The bread slid from the fillings. The waiter started to show her how to eat it, but Amadeus waved a hand at him.

  “Just use your hands,” Amadeus said.

  Looking exasperated, Lilly shrugged and took a big bite of the sandwich. Pieces of oily cheese and shredded vegetables slid out the end and onto the plate. A drop of oil splattered onto her white shirt.

  “Oh my god,” Lilly said, her mouth still full, “wonderful.” She took her time, sipping her beer after each bite. Amadeus ate fast, finishing his beer before his sandwich. As he chewed, his chest constricted and his hands began sweating and he thought he felt eyes upon them. He realized he’d been careless, just walking around like this was an ordinary night. Someone had seen him and called the police, maybe an American, maybe someone from near Vesely’s house. He tore off a piece of napkin, balled it up and rolled it between his fingers. Lilly caught him. He stopped.

  “We need to leave now,” Amadeus said. “Quickly.” Lilly started to protest but Amadeus’ look convinced her to guzzle the rest of her beer. He flagged the waiter down, paid, and left a generous tip. Outside, Amadeus looked around, but he saw no one looking at them. They hurried towards his guesthouse in silence, passing the Charles Bridge on their way. Lilly gazed at the statues as they passed.