by Vicky Savage
“Yes, of course. It’s more than I dreamed possible. Thank you for everything. Both of you.” I flash Ash an appreciative smile.
I can hardly believe it. I’m really going home.
TWENTY-ONE
The next few days pass in a dull fog. Asher and I do a little shopping in the Urban Bazaar and a local galleria, but I feel a little like a zombie just going through the motions. I’m not really into buying pretty things. Eve brings by some decorative pillows and a colorful throw for my couch to give my apartment a homier feel. Still, I end up spending a lot of time in the common areas of the Chateau or out on the serene grounds. It’s not that I feel like socializing, I just need other people around me.
During the daylight hours it’s easier to keep my mind on other things—familiarizing myself with my new home, figuring out the voice control system in my apartment, and preparing for my trip. I even eat a few meals in the main dining room with the other Transcenders. Everyone has been kind and sympathetic.
But at night it’s impossible to keep the demons at bay. After dark I sit at my window hugging my knees, engulfed by a loneliness so profound it seems to fill my entire apartment. My sleep is sporadic and fitful.
Narowyn stops by frequently. Sometimes she brings baked goods or drops off things I’ll need when I get home, like applications for a passport and a student visa. To the outside world it will look as if I’m traveling back and forth from London the normal way. She watches me closely during her visits, concern etched on her brow. On Monday afternoon she delicately broaches the subject of my mental health.
“Jaden, with all you’ve been through, I wonder if you would consider having a few sessions with a therapist—someone who can help you cope with your grief and assist you in adjusting to your new life?”
“I’ll be okay,” I tell her. “A few weeks at home is exactly what I need, and once we find Ralston, I know I’ll feel much better.”
Her brow softens, but her eyes remain doubtful. “Even though I’m a trained psychologist myself, when I separated from my first husband, I found it beneficial to speak with a grief counselor—a professional. She helped me sort through my feelings of sadness and guilt.”
Her words strike a raw nerve. Even though my rational mind knows I’m not responsible for Ryder’s death, part of me still believes I could have prevented it somehow. I replay over and over again those horrific last minutes before Ryder’s fall. What could I have done differently? Maybe if I’d reacted more quickly we’d both be alive and well in Domerica right now … or maybe we’d both be dead.
“Listen Narowyn, I appreciate your concern, but I’m going home soon. If I’m not feeling better by the time I return to Arumel, I’ll arrange to see someone.”
This seems to pacify her. “Very well, dear. But I will give you one piece of unsolicited advice—take it in small bites. Don’t try to swallow the enormity of what has happened to you whole. It is too much for the human psyche to process all at once.”
* * *
On Tuesday evening, Narowyn and I are in her office going over the final details for my trip when Captain Watterson and Urick walk in.
“We found your man, Ralston,” Watterson says to me with a satisfied smile.
“You did? Fantastic! When can I see him?”
“Well, it’s not all good news, I’m afraid. He’s been partially disassembled. His limbs are missing. We don’t even know what condition his components are in or if his memory module has been corrupted.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means he may no longer be the Ralston you knew,” Watterson says.
“Where is he?” Narowyn asks. “Are we in a position to acquire him?”
The captain rubs the back of his hand across his jaw. “He was transported two days ago to a remote automaton parts facility IUGA maintains on Earth Z772. It could be a bit of a tricky situation locating him. Urick and his team will go in tonight and evaluate the advisability of a rescue. If the automaton’s no longer viable, we won’t risk bringing him out, since what we’re doing may not be considered exactly within our jurisdiction.”
“Wait a minute. I want to go with you,” I say.
“Out of the question.” Narowyn replies. “You have no training for such a mission, and you have important business to take care of tomorrow.”
“If someone’s going to decide whether or not Ralston’s worth rescuing, I want to be there,” I say. “I’m the only one who can know if he’s still himself.”
Narowyn presses her lips together firmly, clearly wishing I wasn’t always such a pain in the ass.
I change my tact and focus on Watterson. “Please take me, Captain. I promise I won’t get in the way.”
“It’s Urick’s mission,” he says. “It’s his call … assuming the chief approves.”
We all turn to Urick who lurks unobtrusively in the corner.
He gazes at me a thoughtful moment. My eyes hold steady with his.
“She can come,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Narowyn exhales loudly and checks her watch. “We still have much to go over,” she says with slight annoyance. “Your shift to Connecticut tomorrow needs to be specially orchestrated and carefully controlled by Dr. McDonald since you are traveling back in time.”
“Fine, I’ll get up as early as you like.”
“All right. Then you’d best go now and get a uniform.” She turns to Urick. “Jaden has no firearms training as yet, but she can handle a sword, and she’s an expert in Tae Kwan Do. Please be careful, both of you.”
“Thanks Narowyn,” I say, following Urick to the door.
“Jaden, we’ll reconvene at seven a.m., sharp,” she says.
“Yes ma’am.”
I hurry to keep up with Urick’s long strides as we take the short hallway to the kitchen and exit through a back door. Once outside, Urick places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m taking you to the barracks.” Zzzt.
A fraction of a second later, we’re standing in what looks like a locker room.
“Oh,” I say, a little shaken. “I thought we were walking.”
“We have no time to waste.” He shuffles through a closet of black uniforms. “Here, this should fit you.” He holds out a hanger on which a plain, one-piece uniform identical to his is hung. “Change in there.” He nods to a door with a woman symbol on it.
Inside the women’s locker room, I quickly put on the uniform. It’s close-fitting but made of light, stretchy fabric that gives with my every movement. I drape my dress over the hanger and slip my feet back into my ballet flats.
Urick waits for me outside the door, holding a pair of black boots and a short sword in a scabbard. He squints at my shoes.
“You have large feet,” he says, shoving the boots toward me.
“Uh, thanks.” This guy’s got as much personality as a bowl of warm spit. I kick off my flats and shove my feet inside the boots, then buckle the scabbard around my hips.
“The team has received its instructions,” he says. “I don’t have time to go over them again for you. Just follow my lead, and if I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute him stiffly.
He turns and strides down a dimly lit hallway, and I scamper along behind him. We enter a room that looks vaguely like a classroom. Several people in similar unadorned black uniforms are present inside. They all wear side arms instead of swords. I wonder if that means they’re expecting a fight. When they see Urick, they gather around the long table at the head of the room.
“This is Miss Beckett,” he says to the three men and two women standing at the table. “She is Ralston’s master. She will help us determine his condition.”
They stare at me. Some nod soberly. I haven’t met any of them before. I consider taking issue with Urick’s description of me as Ralston’s master, but I sense these people don’t give a crap about such subtle nuances.
The men look distinctly like special ops—tall, br
oad shouldered, closely cropped hair, hard expressions. The women are as different as night and day, but both gorgeous in a kick-ass way. One has blonde hair, clipped short on the sides, long and spiky on top. Her cheekbones are so high they seem to want to crowd her blue eyes right off her face. The other has skin dark as midnight, pale gray eyes, and long, dark hair pulled back into a cruel ponytail showcasing her perfect features.
Urick doesn’t bother giving me their names. Instead, he goes to a shelf and takes down two boxes. “Security level is plus-five. We need gloves and mesh.” He places the boxes on the table, and people reach inside pulling out gloves and things that look like black bags made out of mosquito netting.
I slip on a pair of stretchy fabric gloves—one size fits all—and take one of the mesh bags. “What’s this for?” I ask.
“The facility has facial recognition security,” the blonde woman says. “The mesh blocks the camera’s ability to record features.” She places the bag over her head and draws the mesh down to completely cover her face.
The rest of us do the same.
“This is our destination.” Urick jots some numbers on a whiteboard, and we all flip open our TPD bracelets and plug in the coordinates.
“Are we ready?” Urick asks.
“Yes, sir,” the team members say in unison.
“Let’s go.”
We click our bracelets and Zzzt.
The seven of us land simultaneously in front of a large security fence surrounding an enormous darkened warehouse.
“Search the perimeter first,” Urick says.
Two piles of debris as tall as houses sit on a strip of land adjacent to the fence. “Roper, Travis, Nila, take the far pile,” Urick says. Two men and the dark pony tail quietly jog off.
Urick removes an instrument from his belt and flips it on. The readout lights up, but I can’t make out what it says. He studies it for a second and silently gestures for the rest of us to follow him. We stand at the foot of the junk heap. At first glance, the mound appears to be composed of a grisly assortment of human body parts. Closer inspection and tell-tale protruding wires reveal that they’re actually robot limbs. I don’t know how we’ll ever find anything in this mess.
“Kai,” Urick says to the guy standing next to me, “use your illumometer and you two go that way.” Kai unclips a similar instrument from his belt and fires it up. He and the blonde woman inch their way around the pile. Kai swipes the instrument up and down over the debris as they go. Urick and I do the same walking in the opposite direction.
After we’ve gone several yards around the perimeter, the guy named Roper quietly appears next to Urick and whispers something to him.
He turns to me. “They found him. Let’s go.”
I latch onto Urick’s arm. In an instant, we land next to the second scrap pile. It also consists mostly of worn out robot parts, but there’s other stuff here as well—old shoes, soda cans, beat-up computers, and something that looks like it might have been a bicycle at one time.
My heart pounds low and hard as Roper leads us to an armless, legless torso that’s been pulled away from the heap. It’s clothed in a stained, white undershirt. The face is obscured by the darkness, so Urick holds his lighted instrument near the head to give me a better look. I move closer and push a wisp of hair away from the robot’s forehead.
Oh my god, it’s him! The sight of Ralston’s battered face and broken body is like a kick to my gut. I crash down on both knees and raise the mesh covering my mouth a split second before vomiting violently into the grass.
Urick moves next to me and sweeps the hair away from my neck. He applies pressure to the base of my skull with his thumb and forefinger. The nausea quickly recedes, and he helps me to my feet.
“Him?” he asks quietly, tugging the mesh back down around my chin.
I nod.
Urick unclips a thin metal rod from the side of his hand-held instrument. He leans over Ralston and inserts the rod behind his ear.
After he presses a few buttons, Ralston’s head begins to rock slightly. His eyes flutter and flash open. He stares blankly at the sky.
“Ralston?” I say crouching beside him. I graze his cheek with my fingertips. “Ralston, can you hear me?”
He blinks twice and rotates his head toward me. “Is that you, old girl?” His voice is reedy and feeble.
“Yes, it’s me. We’ve come to rescue you.”
His mouth forms a broken smile. “Not much of me worth saving, I’m afraid. But thank you, my dear.”
I turn to Urick. “He sounds fine. Let’s get the rest of him and go.”
Urick shakes his head. “This is enough.” He pushes a button on his polycom and summons the remainder of the team. They land beside us at the scrap heap.
“Found him,” Urick says. “Time to go.”
Roper and Travis lift Ralston from the ground, while Urick removes a nylon harness-looking thing from his belt. The men work quickly to strap Ralston’s torso onto Urick’s back.
“We’ll shift as a team,” he says to me. “Hold on to someone.”
Urick’s people gather behind him. The three men clamp their hands on Ralston’s body. The rest of us grasp onto each other and the men. In an almost blinding flash of light—Zzzt—we land back inside the barracks once again.
The team efficiently unharnesses Ralston from Urick’s back and places him on the long table. Seeing him in the stark light of the classroom is even more disturbing than finding him at that macabre body parts warehouse.
“What can we do with him in this kind of shape?” I ask, suppressing another bout of nausea. “Why didn’t we get his arms and legs? He can’t function without them.”
Urick focuses his golden eyes on me. “Miss Beckett, please change your clothes while I debrief my team.” His voice is strained.
I get the impression Mr. Etiquette has just chastised me for speaking out of turn. “Okay, but I’ll be right back. And I need to know what the next step is.”
He doesn’t respond, and the rest of the team stares at me like I’m an insolent brat. I skulk out the door and head back to the women’s locker room.
I change back into my dress, rinse out my mouth with water, and finger comb my hair. After ten minutes or so, I figure Urick’s had enough time to dismiss the others, so I find my way back to the classroom.
Urick’s tilted back in a chair, hands clasped behind his head, feet up on the table next to what’s left of Ralston. It strikes me as a disrespectful pose, and though my chest burns I don’t comment. We never would’ve found Ralston if it hadn’t been for this surly Viking.
I sit in the chair facing him, averting my eyes from the pathetic heap on the table. “Look Urick, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your team.”
“I’m not that easily embarrassed.” His eyes focus on some distant point in the room.
“Well, thanks for finding Ralston. I owe you a solid. What’s that instrument you used?”
“An illumometer. It tracks imprints.”
“Oh yeah, I heard about those. I think IUGA used one on me.”
He continues to gaze ahead.
“So what about Ralston?” I say. “What happens now? Can we get him new arms and legs?”
“Not my issue. My assignment was locate and rescue.”
“All righty, then.” I push up out of the chair. “Is it okay if I leave him here until I figure out what my next step is?”
“Sit down.” He aims his full golden stare at me. “Narowyn will be here in a few minutes. She’ll decide what we do next.”
“You told her we have him?”
He nods curtly.
I flop back down in the chair. Oh joy! I’m stuck here with the Mute Brute until Narowyn shows up.
We sit in uncomfortable silence until I can’t stand it any longer. “So, Urick, where are you from originally?”
After an extended pause, he replies. “Earth M238, a country named Demonstadt.”
“Asher told me it’s a warrin
g planet. What exactly does that mean?”
“It means a state of constant war exists among the major countries.”
“Constant? You mean like there’s never been peace?”
“Not for more than a month or two.”
“But why? Why do the people put up with that?”
“It’s all they’ve ever known. Entire national economies are driven by supplying the wages of war. The major world powers would collapse if peace persisted for any significant period of time.”