Eyes Love & Water

by Pamela Foland

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  Chapter 8

  An Expression of Weariness

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  Ben followed Tina down the hall to Gene's office. He was fairly certain he knew the way there but he felt better about letting her lead. It made her feel better too. It was certainly better than if they had gone down the hall side by side, with the awkwardness hanging between them. Tina had been unusually quiet since Ben had let her down softly. That awkward silence was what finally drove them through the halls to their appointments with Gene. Tina stepped through the doorway into the clinic the minute she reached the threshold.

  “Ahh, good, you're back! I've been swamped, we have an entire refugee group to do health surveys on. Did you bring him?” Gene began effervescing the second he spotted Tina.

  “Yes, she brought me.” Ben answered for her on entering the room.

  “Good, you are drafted too. Gather round class I don't want to have to go over the scanners too many times.” Gene waved at the counter where three sets of identical gadgets sat. He lifted the first of the gadgets and waved it display out at his two pupils, “This is an infectious agent scanner. It's a tertiary backup to the general quarantine procedure, but don't let yourselves skimp on the scan because of that fact. Any ugly buglies that made it through the filters aren't anything we want wandering loose in our population.”

  Gene's caused Tina's eyes to widen, “You mean that things can get through the filters?”

  “Relax, nothing has so far. I just don't want lax procedures on your part to let the first thing to do so to get past us. We are the final checkpoint.”

  “Excuse me, but what filters are we talking about?”

  Gene glared at Ben briefly as though he were an idiot. Then he obviously located a memory of who Ben was and realized it was reasonable ignorance. “We have a layered system of spatial-temporal filters which keep out dangerous organisms. The first layer keeps out anything obviously polarized by the dark ones. The subsequent ones screen out parasites and pathogens. All of them act passively, allowing 'safe' organisms in and bouncing unsafe ones back out away from Sanctuary.”

  “How?”

  “They are out of phase with normal matter just enough that normal matter can pass through them, except the things being filtered away.”

  “So if a person was sick would they get bounced back?” Ben asked.

  “It depends on how sick they are. If it is a mild illness just the pathogen is passed back, but a severe infection, or parasite case would probably be bounced away.”

  “Did I go through the filters?”

  “Now that is a stupid question! Everyone in Sanctuary, with the minor exception of those born here like Tina, has been through the filters at least once.” Gene scolded.

  Ben picked up one of the devices matching the one in Gene's hands, to show he was satisfied by Gene's explanation. Then another question hit him, “Does it leave any sort of a trace? I mean, am I different because of it?”

  Gene went from handing a scanner to Tina to holding an expression of deep thought on his face, which for Gene distinctly resembled a blank look. Then he stirred to answer, “That question almost makes up for the stupid one. Yes, I do believe that there is a trace left by the filters, actually two traces. There are two distinct energy patterns one for each direction through the filters. They are faint though, and fade quickly.”

  “So they wouldn't be useful to say, help find Tina's sister.” Ben asked offhand. Tina went from a semi-sulk to intent interest in two heart beats.

  Gene's eyes went dim, Ben could practically see him scratching around at the back of his brain for the answer. “No, I don't see how. Wait, due to her age and the strength of her abilities, there might be a ghost trace left in the sutures holding the bones of her skull together. It might be just what we need to identify her.” Gene absently set down the scanner and tottered off towards another cupboard for a different scanner.

  “Uh, Gene, I'm all for finding my sister, but I thought we needed to run health surveys on some new refugees.” Tina piped up at Gene.

  Gene shook his head and returned to pick up the scanner, “You are absolutely correct! Thank you Tina, keep up the good work. When we are done remind me of my eureka please.”

  Tina nodded and picked up her scanner, “Yes Sir!”

  Gene went back to going over the functions of the scanner kit he had assembled. After a forty-five minute tutorial covering all of the scanners in depth he finally summed it up. “Remember take their full name and birth date, key it into the scanners, make the scans, and then move on to the next person. We will collate the scans by name after we've finished. Any intelligent questions?”

  “When do we get started?” Ben asked with some confidence in his new knowledge.

  “Two hours ago,” Gene answered and led Tina and Ben to a group sized transport booth located in a closet. He sealed the door and held down a button near a speaker, “Room 51, time key oh-nine-fifteen, activate.”

  Ben was just beginning to get that Gene had literally meant two hours ago when the transport booth activated and he was nowhere. The next he knew he was standing in a large white room, occupied by about a hundred grungy down trodden people. The room was furnished with two sets of long waiting benches, one set to either side of three examination tables. A desk sat near a door beneath a clock which read nine-fifteen, about the time that Tina had arrived at Ben's door.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I realize that you have been through a great deal, but if you will bear with me we will get through this quickly. We just want to run some medical scans to make sure you aren't bringing in any contagions, and so we can address your immediate medical needs. If anyone is ill or injured please feel free to step forward first so we can tend to you first.”

  A shriveled, old woman carrying herself with dignity despite the tattered rags she wore spoke up, “That is very much like what the Germans said to my parents before they took my mother off to the 'showers' because she had consumption. Why should we trust you? How do we know you are any better than the army we flee from?” The rest of the assembled refugees waited silently to hear Gene's answer.

  “Madam, I once stood hunted, as you were less than five minutes ago. Your rescuers didn't know of my troubles, because of that I stood until I fell in the hands of the enemy you flee. Your rescuers, belatedly, were my rescuers and I would not be standing here offering you help right now if what they promised to you weren't the truth. You are safe here; we are safe. That is all the assurance I can offer.” Gene answered, reflecting her dignity back at her, and showing her in his eyes the horrors she had escaped.

  She stood and walked up to Gene, revealing a limp, “I was hit by some kind of laser beam or something.” Gene tenderly offered his arm and helped her to one of the examination tables. The woman's submission to Gene's medical authority set the refugees forming lines behind each of the examination tables.

  “Tina, Benjamin, you go ahead and begin scans, if you come across any major injuries let me know I will handle them,” Gene said beginning to treat a nasty burn on the woman's left calf muscle.

  That began the longest several hours in Ben's life. He had thought that the aftermath of the cult murder was enough to chill his soul, but on hearing the tales of the refugees he really began to see just how bad things could get. The refugees talked about the horrors they fled. They chattered on and on at him, but theirs weren't the superior blatherings that he'd heard from everyone since he arrived in Sanctuary. After the first few he didn't want to listen anymore, but he didn't have the heart to tell any of them to shut up. The children were the worst, telling him in their ways of scarred innocence of why mommies or daddies couldn't tuck them in any more 'cause they went to heaven, or asking if their dollies were dead cause they got shot. Ben was more relieved than even he could put into thought at not having to face the situation with telepathy absorbing the emotions and pains behind the eyes which passed b
y him.

  Slowly the mass of refugees shifted from one set of benches to the other, through the exam tables. In the end the casualty list was not as long as appearances might have hinted at. There were several more cases of weapon burns, but nothing serious, and thankfully the scans revealed no infections of any note. The filters had worked properly.

  “Thank you all for your cooperation, We're going to hand you all off to one of our housing services people. She will take you all for a good hot meal of real food and then help you get settled in your quarters. If in future any of you need anything medically, or just to talk and work through some of what you've been through, my name is Gene and you can contact me through medical services.” Gene led Ben and Tina through the door past a woman waiting outside. “They're all yours Mickey.”

  A few paces further down the hall Gene stopped to address Ben and Tina, “Thank you both for all the help. Ben, you've gotten a lot done already today, feel free to take the rest of the day off.” The verbal dismissal apparently dismissed Ben from Gene's mind because he then turned to exclusively addressing Tina, “What was it I was going to do earlier?”

  “You were going to try and find a way to identify my sister,” Tina answered, beginning to lead Gene off through the corridors.

  Ben tried to follow but they managed to elude him. He wandered aimlessly off in the direction in which they disappeared. Eventually he came to a transport booth. He stepped inside, set his destination for his quarters and activated the booth. He had a lot to think about, and his quarters were probably the best place to do it.

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  Covered in travel filth, Miranda's tall figure left much to be desired in the realm of femininity, yet somehow she radiated her femininity from every pore. As she approached the check in desk, the casual loiterers in the lobby began to whisper about her. “She stood too tall, she wore trousers and carried only a small bag slung over her shoulders. It was disgraceful.” Miranda heard the whispers and disregarded them. Her mind's inner ear told her they weren't a threat.

  “May I have a room?” Even as dust choked as she was there was no way to mistake the control she had over her voice, control earned over several months. Neither her inner nor her outer voice gave anything away without her conscious intent.

  “Yeah, sign in,” the clerk's voice rang sour in the room, out of harmony with his thoughts. Miranda alone noticed, not even the clerk knew he had given his affiliations away. Unable to suppress the shiver that passed visibly up and down her spine, Miranda shook her head. In the general lethargy no one seemed to notice. She knew. She checked. The clerk tossed, perhaps threw would be a better term, the keys at Miranda's eyes. The clanging jingle of her whip-snap catch silenced all of the whispers, for the length of a disbelieving stare.

  Miranda strode to the stairs, pointedly ignoring the malicious intent of the clerk, not even uttering a breath of protest. As she passed the lounging guests, they stopped their idle patter long enough to glare at her with disapproval. She ignored them and passed in silence. They after all had every right to shun her, she wasn't exactly following the code of appropriate attire or behavior, for young ladies on this world.

  Miranda found her room to be far less than luxurious, yet a far sight better than many of the accommodations she had endured during her travels. It was small and contained only the minimum of furniture. The bed was positively minuscule. Thankfully it seemed long enough to accommodate her height, despite the lower average height of the people of this Earth alternate. The night stand was the only other furniture in the room. They obviously didn't expect their guests to stay long enough to bother unpacking.

  When Miranda's surveillance brought her to the bathroom she was pleasantly surprised. In one corner sat an old claw foot tub, the kind that actually allowed for her to stretch out and relax. She quietly double checked that the door was locked and bolted. Then she returned to the bathroom and ran herself a bath. Slipping out of her clothes, she slipped into the warm water and let it massage away her worries and her pain. After a while she noticed how dirty the water had become and she drained the tub. She filled and drained it twice more before she was sufficiently relaxed and clean to slip beneath the sheets of the bed and enjoy the greatest luxury this room had to offer, sleep.

  At an hour approaching midnight, Miranda was awakened by the sound of marching feet. They were coming down the hall towards her room; coming for her. Her first thought was to teleport away, but she didn't want to offer those tracking her the advantage of knowing her exact point of departure. Her best bet was to put some physical space between them. She swung out of bed, was dressed, and out the bathroom window before she had completely blinked the sleep from her eyes. She hung by her fingertips from the window ledge. She looked down to see nothing but a two story drop to break her fall.

  The militia burst into the room. That decided her, and she let go of the ledge. In the landing she wrenched her right ankle badly enough to rule out any kind of quick getaway. Her mind moved quickly, and she whipped the cloak of an old woman out of her knapsack. She had no trouble contorting her facial features to match the cloak, thanks to the pain in her ankle. She hunched her back and bent her knees giving the impression of a broken and humpbacked old hag. Miranda hobbled to the entrance to the alley and then reversed direction and hobbled back towards the window. She was still hobbling when one of the soldiers finally looked out of the window.

  “Old woman, have you seen a girl in trousers run through here?”

  “Yes, she shoved past me a few moments ago!” Her voice came out pained and quivering, giving the impression of age and bruised pride. The soldier scowled down, convinced of her account.

  “We will find her and make her pay for that disrespect!” The soldier's voice rang true and sweet, indicating his honest commitment.

  “Thank you my dear boy,” Miranda wondered if the poor man even knew who his masters really were. She shoved the passing thought away, it didn't matter.

  She began limping down the alley as quickly as ankle and character would allow. With each step she alternated between a curse and a prayer that her ankle would heal properly and quickly. She couldn't afford to be slowed down for long. Miranda hobbled deep down into the shadows of the alley to find visual cover for her real escape.

  Miranda set about using the new technique for teleportation the woman had taught her. It took far less effort than the method Miranda had learned from the dark ones, and was far less traceable. In reality the talent for teleportation was firmly hardwired in her brain. Years of dark training had only inhibited it. It was only when the un-Ben, with the fence post, had injured her brain that she began to show her potential, more so than when fully in command of herself. What took only a whap to the head then, required months upon months of critical unlearning on Miranda's part, with the old woman's help.

  To begin, Miranda focused her mind on a more pleasant world. One far away from this one. Then she did the odd mental half juggle the woman had taught her. Less than a heartbeat later she stood on the soil of a new world. Her senses shot out hunting for the pervasive taint of the dark ones. Finding it absent, she relaxed, but only briefly. She couldn't afford a long rest. Just because there wasn't a dark base on this world didn't mean they were absent, in truth there were few worlds where they were entirely absent. She had begun to accumulate close calls to remind her of that fact.

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  Ben sat in his room for an hour, until he had worked himself into a frenzied sort of boredom. Given anyone to wager with, he would have bet a year's salary that he had worn a rut in his carpet by the time he decided to go out. “Hey Bea.”

  “Yes, Ben. Inquiry has my name been officially shortened?” Aunt Bea answered in a tone of subdued effervescence.

  “Sure, look I am going out, can you like forward my calls if anybody wants me?”

  “I am capable of transferring messages through my remote.”

  “N
ext time a yes or no will suffice,” Ben said poking his head into one of the closets looking for informally formal attire, “Where do I get some clothes for just going out?”

  The media screen flashed on and filled with pictorial examples of clothing styles. “Right here.”

  “Can I get this shirt, with these pants, and some of those shoes?” Ben tapped the screen, pointing at the outfits he meant.

  “In those colors?”

  “Yeah sure,” Ben answered. The food processor cupboard pinged. He opened the door and found the outfit folded, stacked and wrapped in cellophane.

  “Return the wrapping to the delivery box.”

  Ben unwrapped the outfit and followed Bea's instructions. Then he tried it on. The clothes fit better than most he bought off the rack, being an awkward between size. He was too tall for some clothes and too slim for others, but these fit him with exact perfection. “Nice, Bea. What is there to do around here during the day?”

  “There are a variety of shops and entertainment facilities located on the main level.”

  “So, I pretty much can go hang out at the mall.”

  The computer hesitated briefly. “I believe so,” its synthetic voice came out in the monotone of uncertainty.

  Ben smiled, fixed Bea's remote to his collar and left. He strode purposefully down the hall and was halfway to the elevator when he heard a female voice coming from the end of the other hall.

  “Detective? Are you Detective Benjamin Kindel?”

  Ben contemplated ignoring the voice then decided not to, “ Yes, do I know you?” He yelled back in the direction of the voice.

  “Well, sort of, it's been a long time. I don't know if you'd remember me. My name is Erica. You were one of the policemen that helped rescue me. You see I was kidnapped-”

  Ben recognized her the minute she came into view. She had matured into a pretty young woman, but there was no mistaking the girl from the cult case. “Yes, I remember. You are doing much better than when I last saw you.”