Rogue Ragtime

by K Alexis

  Clarke stiffened. "How do you know this man?" he asked, seemingly trying to shift the topic away from his own life.

  "We're a couple." She leaned in. "He's my other interest, as you might have guessed. Or maybe you're not that astute. You did mess up all the A17 filings in your department, including your supervisor's."

  "Ma'am—"

  "Look, Clarke, I have a name. Even someone clinging to the sexist pronouns of yesteryear, like yourself, should have enough common decency to use it." She tapped the N-Comm hanging from her lanyard. Steh was certain it had not been there when she had run over. "Jetta. My name's Jetta. Remember it when you get demoted, again, for questioning an aware."

  "You said you worked for Zander?" Clarke said, persisting with his skepticism. However, small beads of sweat had started to glisten on his forehead.

  "Obviously," she replied. "You can imagine what kind of hullaballoo would've happened if my supervisor, or my family, had discovered I was dating a lapsed writer. Even the greats have their weaknesses." She staggered backward. "Dawkins, my mother, what would she think if we end up in a bulletin after all of this? What am I doing?"

  Clarke's defiance appeared to crack, and he began to shuffle nervously. His hand went forward and then back, seemingly torn between comforting Jetta and remaining suspicious. "He said it wasn't his handwriting," Clarke disclosed.

  "Well, it'd better not be." Jetta looked at Steh. "You told me that you'd already quit penning romantic operas. If you've taken up writing in another form … I'll lose my above-basic income. My friends will renounce me, and I'll have to work as a menial. And for what? Love?" She flicked her eyes to Clarke's N-Comm and started to whimper and bawl in equal measure.

  Steh got the hint and slid the encourager's communicator off the table and up his sleeve. He replaced the device with one of the cards he had packed earlier. It burned off all the writing on the designs. After it had finished, and Steh was certain Clarke had not seen him, he glanced around to try and glean the overall mood of the lounge. A number of the other passengers had shifted their attention from what they had been doing to the trio. One of the servers quietly slid out of the relaxation lounge. No-one seemed deeply antagonistic toward Steh or Jetta. Most of the other fliers appeared more confused and uncertain about the events unfolding than anything else.

  "Ma'am," Clarke said. "Please take a few breaths. I am not placing Mister Ehrans in assistance. We simply wish to ask him a question or two about this diagram."

  "About the writing?" Jetta said, wiping away the snot from under her nose.

  "Yes."

  She moved around the table and held Steh's hand. Her eyes sparkled with different colors, each hue flashing only for a few seconds. "Blueberry, is there something you want to show me? I gave up everything for you. We have to be honest with each other."

  Steh pointed to the schematics. "I have nothing to hide," he said. "Of course, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you." It was a line he had thought Agra would have used, but his flattened delivery made his savior wince.

  Jetta leaned in and peered at the blueprints, going over them section by section. As she traced the etchings, she would tap areas that could be problematic for the project's successes—even if Steh had not highlighted or circled those components. After she had inspected every page, she said, "I don't see any writing." She peered up at Clarke. "Are you really a harmony encourager? Or are you one of those lost valor types, refusing to give it up even after being resynched?"

  Elia stomped into the lounge and interrupted their conversation. "I take me eyes off ya for a moment, and ya be getting hot and bothered with the law," the captain said to Steh. "What ya done this time?"

  Clarke adjusted his lapels. "He's a writer and a reader. I have to hold him at the assistance office for questioning."

  Elia put one hand on her cutlass and motioned with the other. "And where be yar comm? This ain't me nineteenth loop-a-loop with the scamming kind."

  Clarke patted down the table where his N-Comm had been and then checked his pockets. When he could not find it, he pointed at Steh and Jetta. "They took it," he said. "They took it while I was dealing with her." The fat on his arm wobbled and quivered as he repeatedly jabbed a plump finger toward Jetta.

  "Aye," Elia said. "Aye. There be anyone else seeing this 'authority' of yars?" She gestured to the group of onlookers. "Well, waggle yar tongues. He be an encourager or a fool?"

  When there was no response, Elia shook her head. "Ain't that be an oddity, no-one be loving an 'encourager' when they being handed a choice." She took a step toward Clarke, making him appear small in comparison. "The room be against ya. So, best ya be showing me this writing ya be babbling about if you wish to stay out of me irons. They be hiding that too?"

  "It was right there," Clarke protested. He held up the designs, but there was no hint of any letters or figures to be found.

  Elia extended her left index finger and shoved it right at Clarke's nose. "Whatever game ya be playing, I be favoring the other team. We be one day from the next stop, till then ya be under room lock. There be a problem?"

  Clarke's face went bright red, and Steh thought he seemed on the verge of saying something profoundly idiotic, but instead he replied, "No. I was getting off at Samarinda anyway. Be warned, however, you will hear from my superiors."

  "And what a threat that be." Elia turned to Steh, apparently dismissing the encourager. Her nose twitched. "It be eight on the wheel, don't ya be having a place to be?"

  Steh did not need to be told. He grabbed his documents and scurried out of the lounge, hoping the news of his inevitable ear lashing from Elia did not reach the rest of the group.

  10:35am: Azra [P. Watcher 18034568X]

  Sure. You still need help? We're heading to Ras Al Khaimah on the Nucia. Apparently, there are two missing Navigators on Earth.

  9:37pm: Azra [P. Watcher 18034568X]

  On second thought, you're not looking for the same Navigator, are you? I don't want this to be another Newcastle.

  Twelve: The Fall

  STEH RAN A hand over his stubble as he leaned on Nucia's outer railing. With minimal effort and magic, he burned off his facial hair until he was clean shaven. If this was his time to pass beyond the void, he wanted to be ready.

  A cloud sild across the hull of the zeppelin, dampening the air around him. Its vapor scattered the illumination provided by the external lights and left everything along the outside footway with a faint glow. All the other passengers had gone below. Once again, he had to face his visions alone.

  Steh spun one of his cards through his fingers as he took in the cosmos. It was not as awe-inspiring as Tyson or the fairytales had claimed. There were only non-discrepant stars above him and a looming emptiness between them. The oft-promised Southern Cross lay hidden either somewhere to the rear, or on the other side, of the airship. He banged the railing and began to move farther down the desolate gangplank. The deepening darkness indicated it was well past eleven and winding its way to twelve, the hour the universe wished to reclaim him.

  As he headed to the stern of Nucia, he tossed his card toward the clouds. It never made it. Rather, the card bounced off an orange shield three feet from the guardrail and boomeranged back. He caught it and repeated the action over and over to generate a metronome of sparks and thuds. By focusing on the constant thumping, he was able to shift all of his doubts and fears to the back of his mind until they had blended into an indecipherable hum.

  Part of the cloud encompassing the zeppelin pulled away to reveal a shadowy figure blocking his path. They had a rectangular woman's shape, the hips slightly wider than the chest. He guessed she was taller than him, but not by much—perhaps an inch, all up.

  "Mea?" he said.

  The figure shuffled, not stepping forward nor running away. As Steh closed in, he could smell his team member's jasmine perfume on the wisps of the wind.

  "So, it's tonight," he said. He dropped the card he had been throwing against the shield onto the ground. I
t clattered against the metal. "Please remember: it's one push to open the portal, two to close," he said to Mea.

  The Navigator stepped forward. Her shambles of a hairstyle was flatter than normal, a sign she had spent a lot of time lying on a pillow. "I'm tired, Stehlan," she said. "I want to go home." He could not see her eyes because of the light reflecting off her glasses.

  "I know," he said.

  "If there was any other way …"

  Steh struggled to believe, on tonight of all nights, he was hearing self-pity from his cosmic assassin. Whatever sympathy she might have earned from him with her act of mercy all those years ago, she had already traded it in. She had exchanged it for his apathy toward her endless and insatiable rampage against mankind. Four hundred and fifty-three people lay butchered at her feet. Four hundred and fifty-three living beings had been snuffed out so Mea could search for five novels and fantasize over Tath. Yet, despite this, she wished to paint herself as a victim. Steh found himself disgusted with her.

  "What book were you reading earlier?" he asked, cutting off her rambling.

  Mea's eyes shone yellow before cloaking themselves behind her reflective lenses. "It was one from my bag," she replied. "I haven't read all of them yet."

  "Elia didn't give you the last Hemi ngèr, then?" Steh pressed. "She's had it in her cupboard for years."

  He could see Mea stiffen despite the distance between them. She rose to her full height. "You knew too?" she snapped. "You chose her over me, your friend?"

  "She's been kind to me." Steh pulled at his hair.

  "And I haven't? When I found you on that road, I could've killed you and been free. I could've spent a decade living what I have to imagine on this watery hellscape. I could've visited a dozen fictional worlds and travelled to a thousand dream spheres while listening to Mother's arias. You took that from me."

  "Perhaps." Steh stepped forward.

  "How many times have I rescued you?" Mea asked. "How many times have I leapt in to keep this universe from atomizing? I told the Council you could control it; I promised them you would find the strength to master your Punch's power. I believed in you. I rebelled against my mother for you. But you've turned out to be just another white man, only making an effort when you can benefit."

  Steh took off his glasses and put them into his coat's inner pocket. He could no longer make out Mea's face. It was a blur within a blur. "I made an effort when you needed to find a book."

  The yellowness in her eyes penetrated the faint light and mist. "Don't do this," she pleaded.

  He chuckled and looked above her to the merging lights of the stars. "Is that how you remember all of our years together? Your altruism sustaining my life, not my ability to find rare novels? You still believe that you would've let me live if I hadn't been clutching the second Hemi ngèr when you stumbled on me?"

  "It wasn't about that," Mea said as spittle flew from her lips. "It was about our shared pain. We'd been mutilated for our society's laws and overcome. We were family. You changed."

  "Fratricide, not murder then," Steh commented. "So much better."

  "You butcher humans to test toys. Lecture the bandit in Aotearoa how righteous you are. Lecture me when I've murdered a Navigator."

  Steh snorted. "So, here we are, again, debating who deserves the compassion of the almighty dimension dabblers. If we're not a Navigator, we're inconveniences to be swept away, all so your race can play at living." He inched closer. "I'm sorry I'm not a perfect friend ripped from the pages of a novel and brought to life for your amusement. I'm sorry that I'm only human, broken and doomed by the stars." He hesitated; the Punch numbed the anger he could feel mounting inside of him. He could stop. What gain was there in hurting his once-friend? She had saved him; she had given him ten more years, but if he did not challenge her one last time, who would be next? Tath? Agra?

  "Gods and dark fire," he said, attempting to lace his parting shot with the same venom as he had been able to summon as a teenager. "What was the point of all those nighttime talks and moonlight rants about how you were not your mother? Your morals didn't even last a decade. The moment I'm an inconvenience, I have to be erased. That's all Navigators can do: take and steal without remorse. "

  "You know nothing about us," she spat. Steh could not make out how Mea's posture had shifted, but he felt the air around them change. It was a sign her void magic had started to leak out, disrupting the shield. "We keep universes safe," she continued. "We're not your ancestors dabbling with forces they don't comprehend. I'm not Clarice, desperate to create living bombs. I have kept my powers in check. I have endured wolf whistles, unwanted dicks squeezed between my thighs and taunts from beings half my stature all so we could stay together. There's no other Navigator who has been so humiliated and mocked in our history. I spend my life pretending to be mutant—a dimwitted, mind-altered sub-human—and for what? Your scorn?" There was a break in her tirade. Steh knew they were past the point of no return. She was simply trying to justify the next step. "How much more penance do I have to pay?" she asked.

  Steh shook his head. "Only that due for Lar—" Mea punched him in the jaw before he could finish. He had seen the attack coming and braced for it as best as he could, but his neck and head exploded in pain anyway. Its force lifted him from the platform, and he flew toward the gaping void of his destiny. Without his metal graftings, he would have been dead. They had saved him for their last and final time.

  As he approached the barrier, it sparkled and disintegrated due to the residue of void magic on his body. He could see Mea clambering over the rail, clutching at the air to try and grab him, but her hit had been too strong and too powerful for any last-minute rescue.

  Reaching into his top pocket, he pulled out his glasses and put them on. The stars were clear again, and as his body shifted into a downward descent, he spread his arms. Nucia grew smaller and smaller until it was nothing more than a faint point in the sky. The airship became so distant that Steh was no longer able to tell if he was looking at it or a passing meteor.

  Closing his eyes, he prepared for the inevitable impact and abrupt end to his journey. Unexpectedly, he felt the atmosphere around him change and start to swirl. He shook his head and opened his eyes. Underneath him was a spinning circle similar to what Kekeriwai had summoned. Flopping around in the air, he tried to cast a spell but was too slow and fell through the portal.

  "Took a bit of a tumble, did ya?" Elia said, peering at him through, what looked like, a rectangular window. "Me guessing Meagh be more akin to her mommy than she be letting on to the rest of us lifefolk."

  9:37pm: Azra [P. Watcher 18034568X]

  On second thought, you're not looking for the same Navigator, are you? I don't want this to be another Newcastle.

  11:53pm: Junko [Channel 37A4R]

  Come on, Newcastle was fun. I wore the red dress you liked … until we found a better way of using it. Remember? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

  And maybe we are searching for the same one. I won't know till I learn more.

  Thirteen: The Lovers

  TATH SAT ON the bed and held the pineapple-colored dress she had bought earlier in her hands. Its rich, vibrant hue took on a regal demeanor under the warm lighting throughout the cabin. She still had not decided on the best way to probe Mea's intentions. Being honest about what she wanted was a possibility as she could sit with Mea, dress on, and explain why she thought her friend was interested in her, and how they could proceed from there.

  Tath also believed it was a lousy approach if she hoped to overcome Mea's insecurities. It was as likely to make her friend retreat behind denial as it was to allow them to be open about their desires. Another tack, and one that was as impious as it was sensual, was to trespass into Mea's personal space. Tath could find reasons to be a half-step closer until their hands and bodies intermingled as they searched for clothes or dressed for bed. Tath hoped Mea would deduce her intention, and Mea's mutant-side, wild and erotic in nature, would take over—assuming a best-case scenario
. However, it still meant Tath would have to disrespect Mea's boundaries and personal space. A prospect that made her feel uncomfortable.

  Tath stood up and smoothed down her bra and panties so they were as flat as they could be against her skin. She slid the dress on. Grabbing the hem, she tugged it down until the material clung to her body and accented every aspect of her physique that she loved. Her breasts peeked slightly over the top of the yellow and hinted at their magnificence but did not distract from her face. Farther down, her thighs highlighted the hours of discipline she had put into toning them and did so in a way that lead the eye up to her tight ass. It had a nice semi-circular curve to it and showed no signs of flabbiness. Picking up a wide-toothed comb, she began to run it through her hair to get out any last tangles. As she continued to mull over the best way to proceed, a knock on the door interrupted her.

  "Agra?" Tath called out. There was no reply. "Mea?" Again, her question went unanswered. Placing the comb on the counter, she rolled her eyes and pulled down the last few rebellious strands. "If you're fucking with me, Ag, you have to pay for tomorrow's dinner."

  Mea stood on the other side. Her hair and clothes were damp, so they hugged her frame. She said nothing even though the air around her was infused with pensiveness and yearning.

  "You coming—" Tath could not finish because Mea yanked her close. They stood frozen in the moment; their hips pressed against each other. Mea's eyes lit up like a green-and-yellow fireworks display. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breathing was short and labored. With every inhale, Tath could feel Mea's chest rise and fall against hers.