Within the Water

by Kelly Fallows

  ‘So, I’ll be two completely different people in one body then?’ Zhe asked, thinking she was already having enough trouble with the conflict of two personalities and didn’t want to make it worse.

  ‘You will be whoever you wish to be, that’s for you to choose, but you can never just be who you were before. You can’t go back as if all this never happened, but with your real memories you could find that family and that life you lost.’

  ‘And lose the one I have.’

  ‘You’ll always have a place with us; this isn’t an either-or deal.’

  Zhe stared down at the vial in her hands, rolling it back and forth between them. ‘What if I don’t like who I was? What if there’s a good reason, I don’t remember?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s something only you can decide,’ Ben told her gently, ‘but I’m certain that whoever you were before, you were a good person, just like you are now. They can’t change the fundamentals, of that I am certain.’

  ‘You didn’t see what I did to those men,’ Zhe muttered quietly, still staring at the vial.

  ‘The three men you killed in that alley, you mean?’ Ben asked her, causing her head to snap up, with her eyes wide.

  ‘You saw that?’

  ‘Yeah, I saw that, and you know what it was I saw? A woman defending herself.’

  ‘But it was murder – I’m a murderer.’

  ‘Then so am I.’

  ‘No, you’re a good man,’ Zhe protested.

  ‘Am I? I’ve killed far more people than you.’

  ‘But… they were… you are…’ Zhe stumbled, trying to put her thoughts into words; she was convinced he was a good man, despite what he had done. ‘You are a good man,’ Zhe declared forcefully, ‘nothing can change that.’

  ‘Then you have to allow that you are a good woman then, despite having killed those men,’ Ben reasoned. ‘You can’t have it both ways.’

  ‘I…’ Zhe trailed off.

  ‘It’s not something you have to decide now anyway, little darling; it’ll keep until you are ready.’

  ‘But I’ll be more use to you if I remember how to do those things.’

  ‘Zhe, I’m glad to have you here with me, with or without those memories. Don’t do this for me. It has to be for yourself that you do this.’

  Zhe nodded slowly, staring again at the vial. ‘I’ll… I’ll think about it.’ She finally decided.

  ‘You do that. Now how about we rustle up some food.’ Ben changed topic with a deliberately upbeat tone. He had agonised over how and just what to tell Zhe about this. Estelle was convinced this was the case, and the more he thought about it, the more he was certain she had been brainwashed. It was a lot to take in and he wasn’t sure Zhe was ready for it, but he knew he couldn’t conceal it from her; she'd had enough of that, and he'd be damned before he'd do anything to abuse her trust and faith in him.

  Zhe followed Ben down into the galley on the Requin and couldn’t help comparing it to the Coelacanth; it didn’t come off well in the comparison. It was strange how, in such a short space of time, the Coelacanth had become more of a home than she'd ever known, and that feeling stayed no matter what else shifted and changed. The Coelacanth was her home now and its crew were her family. She watched Ben as he strode down the gangways, wondering exactly where he fitted into all of this. But one thing she was certain of was that he wouldn’t desert her, and they had plenty of time from here to the West Waters to figure it all out, together. Not to mention figuring out a plan of attack as they went as well.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Simon and Ash didn’t have the luxury of time to figure out their own plan. The Coelacanth set them down at the docking bays on the west side of Brant, the first and largest of all the Colony cities, and then they were on their own.

  ‘So, you recognise anything?’ Ash asked as they moved cautiously into the main docking area, which was a hive of activity.

  ‘A few years doesn’t change all that much, Ash,’ Simon replied.

  ‘Good, then you know where we’re going.’

  ‘I didn’t quite say that, though.’

  ‘What?’ Ash hissed. ‘That was the whole point of you coming here and not staying on the Coelacanth!’

  ‘Relax, Ash; I’ve got a general idea.’

  ‘And just what does this general idea entail?’ Ash demanded.

  ‘Finding somewhere to lay our heads for a day or two, while Dunc and Ben make it to their destinations.’

  ‘Then by all means lead on.’

  Simon didn’t bother to try and antagonise Ash further, but simply stepped into the lead and forged a winding path through the dock workers, who were about their daily grind of loading and unloading supplies from the cargo subs.

  ***

  After a couple of rejections, they found a room to rent for a couple of nights from a wizened old man, who shuffled about, bent double over a walking cane. He eyed the duo suspiciously, but credit was credit.

  ‘Here you go,’ he coughed, unlocking the upper room for them.

  They stepped through into a sparsely furnished, ten-foot-square box room, which consisted of two narrow bunks, a washstand and a decrepit chest of drawers that looked ready to collapse should the slightest weight be applied to it.

  ‘Washroom’s down the passage that way and the kitchen is opposite it; if you’re wanting food, that’ll be extra.’

  ‘This’ll be fine,’ Simon told him, handing over the credits, eking out the process as though it was his last few and he was loath to part with them.

  The old man re-counted the credits once Simon had finished, and merely grunted in acceptance, before turning and shuffling back out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him.

  Ash pulled the flimsy door shut and tested the lock, ‘This wouldn’t stand up to a pack of fleas,’ he declared in disgust. ‘Nice place you’ve found us.’

  ‘We need somewhere to lay low; these houses see a lot of through traffic of out of work dockers. We’ll blend in. Every time we leave for the day, the old man will assume it’s to go and try to find work down at the docks.’

  ‘And what will we be really doing?’

  ‘Searching for the broadcast station,’ Simon told him in exasperation, although he took care to keep his voice low.

  ‘I thought you knew where that was too!’ Ash hissed back.

  ‘Contrary to popular belief, I don’t know everything,’ Simon shot back. ‘Look, there are only a few places it could be. We’ve got a couple of days to kill anyway, so we might as well have something to do during them.’

  ***

  True to Simon’s predictions, the old man paid them no mind at all when they left the next morning, an hour before the start of shift down in the docks. To be on the safe side though, they travelled to the docks and mingled with the other men looking for work before slipping off into one of the side passageways.

  ‘Now where?’

  ‘Eastern quarter,’ Simon replied shortly and set off at a brisk pace.

  ‘Okay, I give up!’ Ash threw his hands in the air, ‘Why not that one?’ he demanded after Simon had shaken his head at Ash’s tenth suggestion for a building to search. They had been wandering around the eastern quarter all morning and had found nothing, and it was trying Ash’s patience.

  ‘It doesn’t fit the part, Ash.’

  ‘How doesn’t it?’

  ‘It just doesn’t.’

  ‘Look, Doc,’ Ash began as he pulled Simon around to face him, ‘this would go a lot faster if you told me just what exactly we’re looking for.’

  ‘I can’t explain; look, I visited the broadcast centre once when I was a kid, and I’ll know it when I see it, but I can’t really explain what it looks like. It’s more an impression than anything.’

  ‘But if you visited it, then why can’t you remember where it is
?’

  Simon gritted his teeth, ‘It was right before I was bundled off to school; I was passed from this place to that to the other, and it wasn’t exactly a fun experience.’

  ‘Fine,’ Ash conceded, and they continued their search, with him trailing after Simon acting more as a look out for any suspicious characters than anything, and there were certainly a few of them.

  ***

  They returned to their digs empty handed, and their search of the northern quarter the following day went exactly the same as the day before and turned up the same level of results.

  ‘We are running out of time, Doc!’ Ash said once they returned from the second day of searching. ‘Are you sure it’s in Brant, and not in Colton or Hucks?’

  ‘I’m positive,’ Simon said as he threw himself down on his bunk.

  ‘Then we need a new plan; we’ve got one more day’s searching at most and we’ve only covered half the ground. We’ll have to search tonight as well,’ Ash decided

  ‘That’s pretty risky, Ash,’ Simon said sitting up and leaning back against the wall.

  ‘And not finding the broadcast station isn’t? We still don’t have a plan for entry and transmitting the damn files, and we are running out of time,’ Ash said again.

  ‘You are aware that the power goes down to minimum at night, right? That means lighting and air goes down as well.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They cut the power to the non-living areas. Conserving it, they say, but it’s just another means of control.’

  ‘Shit. Can we still move around?’

  ‘I don’t think the patrols really run anymore – they want to stay in their nice cosy barracks, not huff and puff through the passageways – but it’s still a risk.’

  ‘You’ve done it before though, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but not like this,’ Simon conceded the point.

  ‘What, so because this is more difficult, you’re going to give up?’ Ash baited him.

  ‘No! Of course not!’ Simon fought to keep his voice low.

  ‘Then we go tonight.’

  ‘Fine, we’ll go,’ Simon agreed reluctantly.

  ‘We'd better get some shut-eye while we can,’ Ash declared, settling down on his bunk.

  ‘Yeah.’ Simon tried to relax his body enough to sleep, but it wasn’t a skill he’d acquired, unlike Ash, whose snores were filling the room. Every creak and groan had Simon looking anxiously at the door and reaching for his gun. To him, it seemed like every sound originated from right outside their door, which set his mind running on ambushes and men listening at keyholes. When he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, it was filled with dreams of being pursued through the passages, with eyes watching from every crevice and ears hearing every whisper. Needless to say, when Ash shook him awake a few hours later, he felt far from refreshed.

  ***

  In the end, getting past the old man and out of their lodgings was harder than getting into the southern quarter of the city. But the age-old ruse of throwing something in the opposite direction to make a noise worked a treat, and as the old man’s back was turned they scurried out into the passageways.

  ‘Stop,’ Ash gasped pulling at the back of Simon’s murky brown waistcoat to get him to stop. Simon turned around to find Ash bent double and gasping for breath.

  ‘Slow, deep breaths, Ash,’ Simon counselled, a little out of breath himself, but a lot better off than Ash. It would seem all the practice he got in before was coming back to him.

  ‘Hell Crippen, you could’ve warned me, especially before you started running full pelt,’ Ash complained.

  ‘I thought I did. What part of low oxygen levels did you not understand?’

  Ash glared at him but made no verbal response.

  ‘Come on, we can’t linger here. You got your breath?’

  No sooner had Ash nodded, than Simon had moved off again, although at a markedly slower pace this time.

  Moving through the passageways was slow going compared to their movements during the day when they had full illumination and air. The hatchways in particular, which stayed mostly opening during the day, were tricky to open and close quietly when every noise seemed to reverberate throughout the entire city.

  ‘This is really beginning to feel like the blind leading the blind,’ Ash muttered after an hour or so of this tortuous pace.

  ‘Oh no, that would be far more entertaining,’ an unfamiliar voice came out of the darkness to answer him, which sent Simon and Ash spinning in opposite directions with their guns drawn until they were standing back to back, looking into the darkness of the passageways.

  ‘Now, don’t be like that,’ the voice laughed as a light shone directly into their faces. ‘We only want to play.’

  ‘We need an arena for that,’ Simon responded in an even tone, deliberately foregoing the obvious question of “who are you?”.

  ‘Ah, a man who knows the score.’

  ‘Or how to keep it at least,’ again Simon’s tone showed no hint of waver, nor did his gun.

  ‘Looks like we have a player on our hands, boys,’ the man declared, stepping forward from the semicircle of men that were now clear to see from their torches, as were their guns. ‘You know the rules as well then,’ he stated, holding out his hand for Simon’s gun.

  ‘Yeah,’ Simon agreed, reluctantly handing over his gun. ‘Ash, hand it over.’

  Ash, for his part, fought back the urge to demand what Simon was playing at, but the subtleties of the conversation where not lost on him; Simon had been giving preformed answers to those questions, so it stood to reason that he knew what he was doing. So, it was with that thought firmly in his mind that Ash surrendered his weapons and allowed himself to be herded through the passageways.

  Simon barely looked at Ash while they were being marched through the passageways; he knew he had to steel himself for what was to come and he hoped he could rely on Ash to follow his lead. He wished now that he had warned Ash about this, but it hadn’t seemed likely earlier and now it was too late. And, as the dull throb of noise grew louder, he could only pray that, for once, his past would be of use to him.

  Ash covered his surprise admirably when they were at last pushed into the square that was their destination. Flood lights, linked to diesel generators, were littered around the edge of the square, giving it an eerie, half-illuminated quality: not day and not the imposed night. However, it was the number of people, all milling around the square, that was most astounding. Rickety trestle tables had been set up selling black-market food and liquor, bookies and gamblers were clustered around more tables, and the whores weaved among the crowds, pulling their clients into the shadowy patches for a quick tumble. In the centre was a roped off square: a boxing ring.

  ‘Move it.’ Ash felt the flat of a rifle pushed across his shoulders propelling him forward into the square. This time when Ash chanced a glance at Simon it was returned with a small shake of the head. Wordlessly, they continued on their way through the square, down the path that parted for them through the crowd to a red-headed man leaning against the wall on a slightly raised platform, who appeared to be running the show.

  ‘Where’s the boss?’

  ‘Taking a leak,’ came the irreverent reply.

  ‘Well, I’ve got a player and his mate here,’ their captor continued.

  ‘Really? Doesn’t look much,’ Red commented disdainfully, barely glancing up from the paper held in his left hand.

  ‘He’ll make quick entertainment then.’

  ‘Ha! You reckon he’ll fight?’ Red laughed contemptuously.

  ‘I’ll fight,’ Simon cut in.

  ‘Will you now?’ Red asked, finally looking up and assessing him slowly; a lesser man would have flinched under the scrutiny, but Simon just stood there, unconcerned.

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Wel
l, if you’re in such a hurry to die, let’s send him in.’

  ‘But the boss…’

  ‘Ain’t here. Send him in.’

  ‘The score.’ Simon resisted any move to pull him towards the ring.

  ‘Well, if you knew how things were done, you wouldn’t have to ask.’

  ‘I’m changing it.’

  ‘Ha! Really?’

  ‘Yes really. My share for our safe passage through,’ Simon bargained.

  ‘You really think you can just come around here and demand your own terms?’

  ‘As you said I’ll die quickly, so what have you got to lose? Or were you wrong before, and are not such a good assessor, perhaps?’ Simon taunted.

  ‘You’re going to die in there,’ Red hissed as he pushed away from the wall and got up in Simon’s face. ‘So you’d better kiss your boyfriend goodbye and move your scrawny arse.’

  ‘The score,’ Simon said again.

  ‘Safe passage, your highness,’ Red mocked.

  ‘Safe passage for a fight,’ Simon repeated, spitting on the palm of his right hand and holding out for a shake.

  ‘So, you do know then, boy,’ Red said scornfully as he repeated the gesture and they shook.

  ‘Ash.’ Simon acknowledged his friend as he brushed by.

  ‘Doc.’

  Ash found himself watching Simon’s passage to the ring with a gun in his chest and another in his back.

  ‘Just in case you get any fancy ideas,’ Red told him with a smirk, as he moved back to his post against the wall.

  Simon rolled his shoulders and flexed a little to warm up before the fighting could begin; he struggled not to touch his injured left arm. It was healing and wasn’t anywhere near the liability it had been, but very little rest had slowed the healing process down somewhat, so he was going to have to work hard to deflect blows from his left side as much as possible.

  Ash watched as a brute of a man was selected to be Simon’s opponent; the doc had really rattled Red for him to provide such an unequal match. There was a flurry at the bookies’ tables as the two men stepped into the ring. They met in the middle and bumped fists, before backing up two paces and waiting. At some signal that Ash couldn’t quite perceive, Simon dropped into a fighter’s crouch as his opponent swung a meat fist at where his head had just been moments before.