Keystones: Altered Destinies

by Alexander McKinney

  Cay’s sensory disorientation faded without vanishing. In its place arose a new awareness of self and, seemingly, of direction. He began to be able to guess which hallways to take, and through trial and error his guesses started to improve.

  Day 4

  Slate

  Slate stood amid a pile of bodies in a dark alley. The men on the ground were either moaning or still. Slate hadn’t been trying to kill. Closed windows looked down on the scene, having slammed shut once the sounds of violence had begun.

  The leather jacket that Slate wore acquired a new battle mark with each confrontation. This time it was a bullet hole near the armpit. Questing fingers roved around the torn entrance and plucked the bullet from where it lay embedded in the microfiber liner.

  Slate sighed and drew in a deep breath. This new pale skin created such a contrast with the blood and grime resulting from a fight. It was the third interrupted gang beating in as many blocks. Violence had ramped up since The Sweep. Mangled bodies had become a common sight.

  A handful of other Keystones were opposing the gangs, but those who had developed abilities with violent applications, and used them, had also shown an inclination to join the criminal element. Slate found that it was impossible to watch people getting hurt when it was possible to make a difference. Slate did not fear reprisals.

  Having removed the bullet, Slate heard the sounds of another nearby scuffle and, tracing their origin, teleported to an adjacent alley and the predators it held. Slate honed in on three men grappling with a girl. Slate hated men who preyed on women. Needing no further encouragement, Slate entered the fray.

  Slate yanked a knife-wielding thug off his intended victim and threw him into the air. Teleporting to catch the unfortunate criminal, Slate whirled, holding him by the ankle and using him as a blunt weapon against the second and third attackers. The first man crunched with a sound of breaking bone as he hit the other two. All three muggers went down in a heap.

  Slate closed the distance to the cowering victim, a pretty girl in her late teens or early twenties. Disheveled raven hair splayed over her shoulders and framed a bruised, tanned, and terrified face that was struggling to process the events of the last few moments.

  Slate reached down to help her up and asked, “Are you alright?”

  The young woman didn’t accept the offered hand and backed away. “Who are you?”

  “You can call me Slate. Are you alright?”

  The girl did not respond.

  “Do you need help getting home?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then be careful in this neighborhood. It seems that the closer you get to the Elevator, the more dangerous it becomes. The gangs are getting bolder. Do you understand?”

  Seeming to gain some courage, the girl asked, “You’re not going to hurt me?”

  “No. I just want you to get home safely. Will you do that?”

  A single nod, somewhat uncertain, signaled the girl’s reply.

  “Go, but be careful. These aren’t the first gang members I’ve beaten up tonight, and they won’t be the last.”

  After the girl rounded the street corner, Slate relieved the downed men of their wallets and keys. Appropriating the wallets was an obvious side benefit. Taking the men’s keys was just to make their lives more difficult, assuming that their injuries hadn’t done that already.

  Noises from yet another alley indicated a fight in progress. Slate teleported to a rooftop with a convenient vantage point to get a sense of the situation before intervening.

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth sipped her coffee while reflecting on the fact that Boa Vista was a city in the early stages of its death throes. She didn’t see emergency response. She didn’t see a plan of action. She didn’t see how the city could save itself. Even she could only do so much.

  She looked out from the balcony at the once beautiful view of the city. There were still green spaces unaffected by The Sweep, but they’d be fewer by tomorrow, and the day after that they’d be gone. Fires and smoke spread out before her. She didn’t deal well with fire, so there wasn’t much she could do in an area that was ablaze.

  Part of the problem was that most people didn’t understand the threat. It was the poor and confused animals that had already exhausted their natural food supplies. The most powerful and dangerous Keystones, in turn, had eliminated many of their lesser brethren.

  Now the surviving creatures were angry and afraid. Unlike humans who, while ill-equipped to deal with this shift in society, were still capable of reacting to fear without violence, these animals responded to the situation in the only way they knew how—by hiding or striking out.

  A presence ghosted into place over Elizabeth’s shoulder, and a warm hand reached down to massage her neck. “How are you holding up?” Cheshire asked.

  “I’ve lost large pieces of myself.”

  “Are they recoverable?” His voice held just the right amount of concern.

  “Nothing permanent,” answered Elizabeth. “I’ll just need to eat a lot when the day is done. In fact, I’m eating a lot now.”

  “I’ve always thought that it must be strange for you to have dual sensibilities—the refined British lady and the stalking predator.”

  Elizabeth thought of the sprawling home in which she’d grown up. “It is, but I’m glad I can help. I do wish that there were more that I could do in England.”

  “So do I. It is my home as well.”

  “What about our families?” She knew the answer but still wanted reassurance.

  Cheshire stopped rubbing Elizabeth’s neck and stepped in front of her, crouching down on his knees and holding her free hand in his own. “They’re safe, remember? I moved them to the Terra Rings weeks ago.”

  Elizabeth clasped both of his hands in hers. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “It was the least I could do.”

  “Now what is so important about these people? Why did you choose them in particular?”

  “Our lives pivot around moments that are almost impossible to identify at the time they occur. History can also hinge on individuals. It is possible that someone’s entire purpose in life is to inspire someone else for just a moment, or sometimes to die in place of another.”

  “So why Deklan Tobin? Is he to die in place of another?”

  Cheshire paced over to the balcony’s edge before coming back to her. “No. We just need him to make his way to the Terra Rings without becoming broken in spirit.”

  Elizabeth still didn’t understand. “But why?”

  “Because he tries to make the right choices, when he understands what they are, and because he will be in positions where that matters, if we can get him there.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that he abandoned everyone to save his parents?”

  “Yes, and that guilt will drive him in the days to come. People will die that he could have warned. The survivors will hate him. He will carry that burden of self-recrimination for the rest of his life.”

  Elizabeth leaned back, holding her hands in her lap. “You want something from him, don’t you?”

  Cheshire’s face took on the expression of a small child caught doing something wrong. When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual. “There is that too.”

  “And the Imperial Grand Hotel?”

  “You can stop protecting it when he leaves.”

  “Good.”

  For a second he looked tired, and Elizabeth could see just how hard Cheshire was pushing himself. “I’ve been to Callisto, the Terra Rings, the Dyson Rings, at least a dozen habitats, and to some of the FAME stations.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Callisto and the others are in different solar systems.”

  After twenty years together she was still unsure of the full scope of his abilities, but those that he revealed always amazed her. “Are they having the same problems?” she asked.

  “No. Theirs are more human in nature. People are scared, but fewer animals live among the space
-born.”

  “Do you have other friends who are collaborating with you as I am?”

  “Sadly no,” replied Cheshire. “A hundred like you still wouldn’t solve the problem, but they would help. There are people of good heart who are helping, or will help, others. At the moment some of them aren’t taking the situation seriously enough and are just enjoying the rush of their new abilities. In this city Arc comes to mind.”

  “Who?”

  “Another Keystone, remarkably powerful in his own way.”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “No, but he’s going to save a lot of people. You know that I don’t explain things to people other than you. All of my real conversations are with you, and only with you. I couldn’t face this without you as a confidante.”

  Such compliments from Cheshire were rare and always made Elizabeth feel special. “A girl likes to be needed,” she said, “but I guess that I should go now. It’s hard to stay focused when I’ve taken this form.” She stood and turned to face him, the blanket draping her nakedness sliding off her shoulders. “It still amazes me how you can find me every time I put myself back together, regardless of how I look.”

  His eyes took in her beauty. “Even in a world filled with too many priorities, do you think I’d want to miss this?”

  “Perhaps not,” she said, kissing him, “but we both know that we don’t have time to waste.”

  “No, we don’t,” replied Cheshire. “Take care of yourself.”

  Elizabeth nodded as her form dissolved into a writhing mound of spiders. They scattered and in just moments the balcony was empty, a blanket and coffee cup being the only evidence that either of them had been there.

  Problems With the Taxi

  Deklan and Susan watched the news from the breakfast room at the Imperial Grand. Violence was rampant in Boa Vista. The broadcasts recommended that people stay home. More problematic was the lack of taxis. The evacuees were going to have to walk to the Elevator. Renting a car wouldn’t work when streets were impassable except on foot.

  “Perhaps today is a bad day for this?” Susan ventured, her voice lacking confidence.

  “Do you really think it’s going to get better? We also know that news reports are unreliable, almost as though information is being controlled. It isn’t only people who are causing the chaos.”

  “Have you wondered why things are so calm here?” she asked.

  “At the hotel?”

  Susan’s reply was an affirmative nod.

  Deklan couldn’t think of a single good reason, and that bothered him. “I have, and I think it’s only a matter of time before we find that the status quo changes.”

  “Why?”

  Deklan toyed with a croissant before answering. “Because I can’t think of a single reason why things should be so chaotic everywhere but here.”

  “Can you think of a safer place?”

  He could, but he knew she wasn’t going to like it. “Yes, the gang-controlled areas.”

  “What? Are you mad?” Susan ignored her food to stare at him across the table. “I came with you because I thought I’d be safer with you.”

  “Silly me. I thought it was because of my irresistible charm. No, they have a concentration of some of the most violent Keystones in the city. Threats will probably be eradicated with prejudice whenever possible.”

  “So you think that the gang-controlled areas will be safer because they’re more dangerous?”

  The edges of his pastry let loose a cascade of flakes that fluttered onto Deklan’s plate. “Essentially, yes.”

  “What bothers me is that it makes sense in the insane way that most of your ideas make sense.”

  “I like to think that I just see the world differently.”

  “You must have been hell as a child,” said Susan.

  “In fact, that point has been made by a number of different people, including my mother, but not my father.”

  It had been difficult to convince his mother of the necessity of leaving the hotel, but Deklan had succeeded. Walking outside, he almost wished that he hadn’t.

  It wasn’t the fires burning on the sidewalks. It wasn’t the overturned cars littering the roads. It wasn’t the shattered buildings or windows. It was the bodies and the blood.

  The corpses of animals were easier to bear than those of people. By not saying anything, had he condemned his parents to the same fate?

  Every street had its share of still forms lying there with glassy eyes and lost hopes. He could do nothing for them but move on and hope that he hadn’t made a mistake and that the three accompanying him wouldn’t join the people on the ground.

  Choosing which street to traverse was difficult. Under normal circumstances Uplink maps provided foolproof instructions on how to get anywhere in a city. However, the maps were not updated with details about fire-filled roads, collapsed buildings, or marauding animals. As such, the Uplink maps on which Deklan usually relied were useless.

  His party needed to head north, but should they go a block further west to see whether the route from there was safer? He needed a higher point of view, a better vantage point. An abandoned bus nearby looked like his best bet. Deklan strode over to the open door and jumped, catching hold of its frame. With a single hand he pulled himself up and onto the roof. He allowed himself a small smile. You had to take the victories when they came, and years of exercise paid the occasional dividend.

  He stood tall on top of the bus, which was a perfect place to survey the street ahead of them. Below, cowering behind some cars as cover, Tricia, Brice, and Susan waited until Deklan returned from his reconnaissance.

  “I don’t know how you convinced me to do this,” Susan said, her face covered in dirt and sweat.

  “I told you,” replied Deklan, “that the hotel was an oasis in the storm. Sooner or later it will be invaded by some dangerous people, and then we’d be part of a mad scramble to leave. As things stand now, we’re a small group and less likely to be targeted.” Deklan hoped that his assessment was accurate, but he couldn’t afford to show uncertainty.

  “Why couldn’t you have just left us in Afton? Life was simple there!” his mother said on the verge of a wail.

  “Mom, it will become like this everywhere unless people evacuate. The hotel wouldn’t have been safe for much longer.”

  Brice, just as ragged as the rest of them, tried to calm his wife. “Tricia, if he’s right about these animals, then you’re asking him why he didn’t leave us to die.”

  “Brice Tobin, you stay out of this conversation,” she snapped at her husband.

  “I didn’t see anything ahead,” said Deklan, “so we might as well walk the next block, but at the slightest hint of trouble get behind something solid, and don’t forget that cats and small animals can go under cars.”

  The group plodded ahead, a grim silence hanging over them. Things were far too quiet for Deklan’s liking. The desolate street offered mute testimony to the danger that had stalked through there just hours earlier.

  Stalker

  From the shadows Stalker watched the group of four people wind their way through the debris of the street. The one who had climbed atop the bus was serving as either a scout or leader. Either way, Stalker knew all that he needed to know, which was that the Void had chosen this one to be the next sacrifice.

  The Void’s hunger for sacrifices was growing each day. Stalker had lost track of the number of bodies he’d left in his wake.

  Stalker himself was a shadow on the wall. For the moment he’d chosen a non-threatening shape to assume. He slunk alongside the four tourists, pacing them, tracking them, hunting them. It was now time to make things interesting.

  He willed his shadow to grow. From an indistinct patch of darker grey on the wall, it expanded to a demonic shape twice the height of a man. No longer easy to miss, Stalker was a gigantic figure, albeit two-dimensional, of sharp edges and threatening teeth. His voice boomed over the street, “Stop!”

  The group f
roze and searched for the source of his voice. They tensed when they saw his form. His voice had a menacing edge: “You pass no further without my permission.”

  “Who, or what, are you?” asked the man that the Void had chosen. He tried to hide his fear, but the words came out too high and too fast. He faced Stalker’s shadow, placing himself between Stalker and the rest of the group.

  The Void thrilled in Stalker, an icy joy running through his shadow. Brave prey was tastiest once it succumbed to fear. Brave prey always stood firm at first before giving in and breaking.

  “Call me Stalker. It is only right that you know me before I seize you.” These were words taught him by the Void, words meant to inspire fear.

  The sacrifice stepped forward, a well concealed flinching his only concession to fear. “You’re a shadow,” he said.

  Stalker peeled one shadowy arm off the wall and smiled at them. His toothy silhouette opened wide, a tongue flicking over his teeth. The arm, while still two-dimensional, reached across the ground toward them, stretching further and further.

  The chosen sacrifice looked at the approaching arm and stepped back. “We don’t want any trouble. We just want to pass through this street,” he said while looking around, perhaps searching for the source of Stalker’s shadow.

  Stalker’s prey didn’t understand that he was the shadow.

  Moving his entire body from the wall, Stalker angled toward them. His shape grew more indistinct, the edges more uneven, while in motion. He did this to be less threatening to his prey. Fear renewed was twice as powerful, twice as enticing, for the Void.

  “Let them know fear!” instructed the voice in his head.

  Within meters of his target Stalker shrank, all threatening aspects of his shadow vanishing. He became a small blob of darkness on the road. He then suddenly became hemispherical and then an elongated cylinder before morphing into his three-dimensional human form of a young man in a torn coat.