Rogue Ragtime

by K Alexis

  Agra felt her fingers grip his shoulder. Elia's cabin faded from his vision. Looking around, he noticed that Steh and him were back in their cabin.

  Steh collapsed onto the lower bunk and put his hands over his face. "How much do you know?" he asked.

  "Enough to suggest that you and Mea have a long chat after we get off this airship," Agra replied.

  * * *

  MEA HEARD THE alarms go off on Nucia seconds before Jetta and Elia crashed through the magically reinforced barricade separating the relaxation lounge from the main hallway. The hole they had made, despite Elia's size, was larger than Mea had expected. It was three times as wide, in fact. A normal result of giants fighting, not humans.

  Jetta waved at her. "Don't go anywhere. I need to give you a present." The widower caught Elia's blade between her palms and kicked the captain's shoulder. Elia did not flinch when the attack connected, but could not withdraw her weapon from Jetta's hold on it.

  Slowly, the captain's cutlass liquefied while in Jetta's hands and slid through the widower's fingers—splashing onto the floor. A heartbeat later, it reformed as it had originally been but lay on the ground. Jetta kicked the weapon up, caught it and pointed it toward the captain. "Did you ever tell Stehlan you murdered a few folks for one of his creations?" she asked.

  Elia hopped backward and out of the range of the cutlass. "I been taking their lives in self-defense, same as I be doing now." The captain touched her fingers together so they formed a sphere. "Stehlan be knowing how I came upon it. He ain't as naïve as you be believing."

  "The lies of a pirate," Jetta replied. "I'm surprised any of us find happiness." She retreated from Elia and headed toward Mea. "Navigator," she said, throwing Mea the weapon, "Steh's in his cabin. Prove me wrong about your race and be his friend, not his executioner."

  "This ain't yar ship to be giving orders on," Elia said. "I be done with lavishing pity on yar soul." She pulled her hands back, revealing a large, expanding, silver orb. It fizzled and popped while fast gusts of wind circled it. "Ya best be getting," the captain said to Mea. "Yar kind ain't be living through this one either."

  Mea needed no second reminder. She gathered up the cutlass and her books—and tried to think how she could finish her mission before Tath had finished showering.

  * * *

  WHEN TATH ARRIVED back at her cabin, she was not surprised to see Mea had left. Over the years, she had endured plenty of spats with her lovers, and the first one had always been the hardest. The tiffs had felt like a thunderclap on a sunny day. What was once perfect had become fractured, and the two of them had always needed time to assess what the rupture had meant for their relationship. The real issue for Tath was whether her quarrel with Mea had been a fight or the fight. She had never been lucky at determining that.

  Tath's cabin shook, and people started to scream. She could hear a distant rumble, as if two lightning clouds were in the middle of colliding. She regarded the faux-military top and Egyptian-blue, slim-fitting, midi skirt she had grabbed earlier. They were not the attire she would have purposefully chosen to go into battle with. "We wouldn't want things to be too easy," she mumbled, picking up her quiver. "Couldn't the ship have been boarded after Ras Al Khaimah?"

  Tath was halfway down the hallway when she saw Mea sprinting in the direction of Agra's cabin. Her friend was carrying the Hemi ngèr series and Elia's cutlass. Tath was about to holler at her to slow down so they could go together, but then Mea disappeared—into Steh's portal.

  Tath's jaw tightened. "Oh, you fucked me good." She flicked her right wrist down and summoned her knife. "Let's see how you bleed, traitor."

  * * *

  "AGRA," STEH CALLED out when Mea reached the doorway, his monotone voice providing no hints as to how he felt about seeing his murderer once more.

  "Get out of here," Mea commanded Agra. "Let me finish this."

  Agra limped between them, grunting as he held up his hands. "I know what he is. I know what you are."

  Mea's eyes burned yellow. "Then you understand he's a threat to this entire universe. He's nothing more than an insane and sadistic professor's failed research project. And he needs to be eliminated before he blows up and kills Tath."

  "I don't care," Agra replied. "We made a promise after Lara to never abandon one of our group. You can't renege on your word because it's inconvenient."

  Mea banged on the door. The room shook, and the tops hanging in the closest fell down. "Convenience has nothing to do with it. You don't understand what he's connect—"

  A large explosion, followed by Nucia abruptly tilting to the left, cut her off. Each one of them reached for something sturdy: Agra used the mirror to steady himself, Steh grabbed the bunk's frame and Mea clung to the doorway. As the Nucia returned to an even-keel, the three of them reverted to their former positions. For the intent and purpose of continuing their conversation, everything was the same—except for the blade underneath Mea's throat.

  "He's connected to what? The devil?" Tath challenged, her usual sharp but jovial tone all gone. Her speech was flat and dead, a slow rumble that hinted at an inevitable outcome. "I want to hear what's the going excuse for slaughtering our friends."

  "None of you understand," Mea replied. "He can't control it. The Sacramento bomber drew their power from a dying star. Steh's Punch is connected to the heart of this universe. He has the power of a galaxy flowing through him."

  "So, he'll finally be a useful mage," Tath said, drawing blood from Mea's neck.

  "That's not what sh—" Steh interjected.

  "STAY … THE FUCK … OUT OF THIS," Tath warned. "You've controlled it for ten years, at least. Agra and I only learned about his condition at Kekeriwai's. That can't have been the first time he lost control."

  "Of course not," Mea said, wincing as Tath's blade inched farther along her neck. "We were very careful around you and Agra. Steh tried not to overtax his powers, and I knocked him out if things spiraled out of control. We had a good system."

  "So, he's getting worse?" Tath asked.

  "No, I am." Mea swallowed and closed her eyes. "I love you."

  "The fuck you do," Tath snapped.

  "I stopped paying attention to Steh when we were fighting … and started following you. I was always rushing to your side if you were in danger. I was constantly fighting off enemies who I thought were stronger. And Steh was left to deal with his problem as best as he could … until Kekeriwai reminded me of my priorities. If I don't remove Steh, there can be no us. There can never be any us because there will be no universe for you or me to exist in."

  Tath's blade-hand began trembling. "You're lying."

  Tears flowed from Mea's eyes. "I did it to save you. Yes, I'm a Navigator, but I wanted to travel the universes with you by my side. I wanted us to create our own story while free from the burdens and pains of this nightmare orb. All Earth brings is misery and death to its inhabitants. You deserve more than that."

  Tath ground her teeth and clenched her free hand. She pulled the knife a fraction farther along Mea's neck and then pushed her away. "Fuuuuuuuck! Why did you fall for me? I'm no-one. I'm an archer and a book snob. Why didn't you do your demon-ass job in the first place? Why did we even have to meet?" Tath kicked the door. "Why couldn't you have grown a tiny pair of balls and told me sooner? We could have found a solution. Nothing's impossible if friends work together."

  Elia's shadow fell over Tath, covering her. "We be arriving at Ras Al Khaimah in a few hours," she said. "That be the last I wish to be seeing of ya, friends of Kekeriwai or not." Elia pivoted to leave.

  Agra shoved past Steh, Mea and Tath. "Did Jetta live?" he asked.

  Elia stopped and peered down at Agra. Her left eye twitched and she pursed her lips. "Aye," she said after a moment. "She be living. She wants ya to be knowing that she be owing ya a ride of some kind."

  9:00pm: Junko [Channel 37A4R]

  No, I won't because the Assembly won't allow it and because you didn't tell me Steh was Stehlan Ehrans
. I had to find out from some encourager hack that's been talking with my advocate.

  Recovering him is a top priority for any Corsair. How did you fuck that up? (–_–)

  Make you sure you do your job right this time. I need him to help me with a golem we have to fight.

  Sat, 25 Oct 65 P.C.T., 8:07am: Azra [P. Watcher 18034568X]

  Steh's safe and a Starfire. He's not the inventor you're looking for. Leave him alone.

  What type of golem?

  Twenty-five: The Interrogation

  RAS AL KHAIMAH'S fortunes had changed drastically since the Cataclysm. Far from its days of being the sleepiest emirate and being constantly overshadowed by Dubai and Abu Dhabi, it had become the premier technological hub of the Middle. Its transformation had been brought about by two main factors: the Ara's unified resistance to Neomer control and its population's ninety-five percent post-Cataclysm survival rate.

  After the incident, the brightest remaining minds and wealthiest survivors searched Earth for a safe haven that would allow them to live through the revolutionary fervor gripping the globe. The Aras commitment to preserving its pre-Cataclysm governmental and economic structures—despite raids by Neomer harmonizers to encourage compliance with their new philosophies—made the emirate the perfect magical safe-zone for techno-capitalists. To show gratitude for the safety they were granted, the immigrants developed every grain of sand within a fifty-kilometer radius of Al Nakheel into science-fiction superstructures. Single-road towns that had been comprised of two-story, concrete residences disappeared and were replaced with glass and steel complexes that radiated the tides of power. No piece of soil was left unexploited, and over the next few decades, Ras Al Khaimah became the research capital of the globe.

  To protect their golden egg, the United Arab Emirates fabricated a vast shield to encompass the most critical two hundred kilometers of the emirate. Its spherical shape stretched up as high into the sky as it did under the earth and was constructed from modular hexagons that could be activated or deactivated as its controllers saw fit.

  For areas deemed to have not been as essential, but fell under the protection of the country, magnetic-powered trains provided a responsive and speedy way to ensure weapons, agricultural supplies and labor arrived at their required destinations almost instantly. Allies and outposts in the region flourished as they knew any supplies or reinforcements that they needed were mere minutes away. With the introduction of a passenger train, more people flooded into satellite towns and the Middle prospered.

  However, the prize jewel of Ras Al Khaimah came two decades after "the Middle Miracle" and had nothing to do with metal, wood or electricity. The inventor had called it "climate tampering," but for everyone else it represented raw and unmitigated power. With the power of the elements firmly under humanity's control, the biome inside the sphere was transmuted from a hazy, sand-filled existence into a watery wonderland with lush wildlife and fauna everywhere to be found. Rain, sleet and snow that should have only been experienced in more temperate climates now existed in Ras Al Khaimah, as if technological prowess had finally overcome Earth's natural laws.

  The discovery also had unintended consequences as it shattered the self-control of Ras Al Khaimah's most powerful leaders. Understanding the potential weaponization of such a technology, factions within the leadership began to take extreme steps to ensure they were the only ones who could access it. Seemingly overnight, the once safe-haven became a place of intrigue and endless betrayal. Neomers, Corsairs and Leaguers, eventually, poured in and attempted to wrest control of the emirate's vast informational wealth from the Aras, while the original techno-capitalists sought to maintain their independence during each successive power grab. Within two short decades, Ras Al Khaimah had shed its utopian past and gained a reputation as the city an ambitious and savvy person could make their mark in—if they lived long enough.

  The Nucia calmly floated toward the metropolis of idealists, exploiters and double-crossers as if nothing perilous lived underneath its glistening, glass towers. As per normal, air-traffic control lowered the orange shield without asking any questions of their pre-approved client. And twenty minutes later, the zeppelin anchored itself to the end of a pier.

  The first group of passengers to disembark contained only six members: the gondola's driver, Elia, Steh, Mea, Agra, and Tath. For the full minute it took to descend, they remained mute. The loudest noises on the journey were the spinning of the gondola's motor and the rustle of Steh searching his bag. He fumbled around in it, picking up and discarding several items until he pulled out what he was looking for, a worn blueprint bursting with squiggles and pictures. He put it in his breast pocket and closed his pack.

  When they arrived at the pier, Elia opened the door and signalled for them to leave. Mea was the last out, and before she exited, she opened her mouth to say something but then closed it. With a sigh, she hung her head and hopped onto the concrete jetty. Elia slammed the door shut and turned her back to them, staring upwards and toward the zeppelin.

  "I guess it'll be boats from here on out," Agra said. "A little sea air never hurt anybody."

  "Ag, maybe this isn't the fucking time or place for a peppie," Tath hissed. She nodded toward the dock.

  There was nothing casual about the reception awaiting the group. The pier was lined with harmonizers. Unlike Clarke, who had been undercover, the men and women were there to show the vastness of the Neomer reach and so they wore their on-duty, pink and purple uniforms. All of them stood upright with their arms at their sides. The row of harmonizers ended at a tiny wooden booth. It had a large sign that read, "Immigration," in Common and was manned by a large man who was aggressively filling in paperwork on the cabinets at the rear of the stall.

  Flanking the exit turnstile behind immigration were two harmony administrators: twins painted in white and black. They wore a light-cotton outer-garment, which also covered their heads in a similar way a do-rag might have done. The color of their eyes—blue and brown respectively—were easily apparent as the rest of their faces were milky white. A black streak that looked like the remnants of a single tear sat under each of their left eyes.

  "I don't know if this is bad," Agra commented. "It's the best welcoming committee we've had in a while." When no-one replied, he continued, "It's for our legendary inventor, obviously. They must have found out how I saved him from an eternal prison."

  "I forgot how annoying you are after someone blows your confidence stick," Tath said. "You should let an expert handle it next time, you might become a president." She hobbled past Agra before he could reply and did not stop until she had reached the makeshift cubicle. When she banged her N-Comm on counter, all the harmonizers turned their heads to watch her.

  "Entry for four," she said.

  The man swiveled and smiled—revealing all his teeth. "Ma'am," he said, "my name's Clarke, and all I can offer is a dungeon for one."

  * * *

  TATH PUT HER feet on the table in the interrogation chamber and scratched her sternum. Her shackles clinked and clanked as she pressed down on the stress-induced lump in the center of her ribcage. Staring at the one-way mirror, she mouthed, "Fuck you," to the people on the other side.

  The door clicked open, and a tall man wearing an immaculate light-blue suit over a pink shirt walked in. His black, red-tipped hair had been combed to the right in such a way it curved gracefully down and blended with his full-beard. Despite the climate, he was extremely pale and Tath would have written him off as a born-in-the-whiteness colonist if he had not had full-bodied lips. As he sat down, she could make out more of his non-Aryan heritage in the color of his eyes. One of them was forest-green and the other was ash-grey.

  "Mixter Morehouse?" he asked, looking at a larger version of a N-Comm that was about the size of a standard drawing-pad. "Telia Morehouse?"

  "Yes," Tath replied.

  "My notes indicate that you were reported missing around five years ago."

  "I'm almost thirty. I th
ink I can wander off without my father's permission."

  "Yes, that's true," the interrogator agreed. "Although, it is unusual for a Morehouse princess." He shot her a disapproving glance before returning to his N-Comm. "It also states that you requested the notice be removed from the system … at our Roseau consulate. That's our only diplomatic post in Corsair territory."

  "You say that like I shouldn't be enjoying the benefits of our peace-seeking efforts. I was there for sights." Tath looked at her fingernails.

  "I see. You go by 'Tath,' correct?"

  "Sure, but you can call me 'Telia.' Whatever makes you feel more awakened. I don't want to get in the way of you escaping the mind-prisons of the past."

  "Can you read?" he asked.

  "No."

  "How did you know the booth was for immigration? The sign was written in Common."

  "It was the only thing on the pier. What else would it fucking be? A taco stand?" Tath shook her head.

  "Can Stehlan Ehrans read?" the interrogator persisted.

  "Am I supposed to spy on all my grou—"

  "What is your best guess?"

  "No." Tath rolled her eyes. "Mea, no. Agra, no. Anything else you'd like to cover before letting us go?"

  "Only a small thing." Her interrogator made a quick sketch on the pad and clapped his hands. Two burly guards hauled in Mea's bag. They dropped it on the floor, ensuring its "thump" reverberated around the tiny room. "Why do you have these books?"

  Tath cursed at herself. She had borrowed a novel from the bag last night to avoid talking with Mea and had never considered the dangers of openly carrying so much contraband. The group had gotten so used to Steh double-checking everything illegal was hidden from sight before arriving at a new city that the moment he had been distracted … "I'm carrying them for a friend," she answered. "They enjoy the feel of paper."