by Piers Platt
“You slept on the couch?” he asked.
“I guess so,” Vina said, frowning. “I was up late.”
“So I gather.” Rauno jerked a thumb at the vidscreen, where the video was paused on a frame of the prosecutor standing in front of the jury, pointing at Weaver. “Still doing your own investigation?”
“Yeah,” Vina said. “What are you doing here?”
“Your mom needs her sprinklers turned on for the summer. She’s covering the store this morning so I could take care of that for her.”
“Ah,” Vina said, stretching. “Did you eat breakfast already?”
“It’s eleven a.m.,” Rauno said, a hint of disapproval in his tone.
I’ll take that as a “yes,” Vina thought. She stood up. “Well, I need some coffee – you want a cup?”
“Maybe when I’m done with the sprinklers,” Rauno said. He disappeared down into the basement, and Vina brewed herself a cup of coffee. She was on her second cup, having read through all of her notes from the night prior, when her grandfather came into the kitchen.
“All done?” she asked.
“Mm,” he said, washing his hands in the sink.
“Want that coffee now?” Vina asked.
Rauno checked his wristpad. “I’ll take it to go,” he decided. “I better get back to the store soon.”
Vina stood and pulled a travel mug from the cabinet, and then set about brewing him his own cup. “You know, Mom’s been running that store with you for nearly all her adult life,” she commented. “I’m pretty sure she can handle it for a few hours without you having to worry about her.”
“Your mother’s name isn’t the one hanging on the building,” Rauno said. “When something goes wrong, it’s not her they blame.”
What’s going to go wrong in an antique bookstore? Vina wondered, mentally rolling her eyes. But she bit her tongue, and poured sugar and cream into the mug, before handing it to her grandfather.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Can I come with you?” Vina asked. “I wanted to ask you a few things about Dad.”
Rauno frowned, eyeing her rumpled clothing. “You don’t need to change?”
Vina glanced down. “I mean, I guess I should … but I don’t care if you don’t care.”
He shrugged. “Come along, then.”
They locked the house, and Vina sat in the passenger seat. In the driver’s seat, Rauno overrode the car’s autopilot function, and took the wheel in both hands. His driving was rougher, more erratic than the car’s would have been, but Vina had become used to it over the years.
“What do you remember about that time?” Vina asked.
Her grandfather raised an eyebrow. “I remember being very scared for you. I remember wishing I could have had a good, stiff drink, from time to time.”
Vina nodded. “That’s right – you had just come back from one of your surgeries.”
Rauno nodded. “Mm. The last one.”
“… getting your artificial kidneys implanted,” Vina finished. Because Grumpy Gramps used to have a problem with alcohol. But we don’t like to talk about that … and anyway, he’s been clean and sober since then. “Did Mom and Dad run the shop while you were gone?”
“Your father did,” Rauno said. “Your mother was busy raising you and your brother.”
“He must have run it for a pretty long time – I remember you had a few surgeries, it was touch and go for a while.”
“I spent the better part of eighteen months in the hospital,” Rauno said. “Just before you were kidnapped.”
“Did Dad do okay running the store?”
Rauno shrugged. “I was a bit worried – your father’s strength was always appraising books, not dealing with customers or running a business. But the store survived. It was still standing when I came back.”
“How was his mental health after we were kidnapped?” Vina asked.
“Frayed,” Rauno said. “It was a very difficult time, for both of us. I was just as worried as he was, but I think in some ways, I was better able to cope. Your father … it took a heavy toll on him, from the start.”
“What about the murder? Did you ever get to talk to him about it?”
“Once or twice, while he was on trial,” Rauno said. “He didn’t share much with me. I wouldn’t say we were ever that close.”
“Why not?” Vina asked.
“He was a private man,” her grandfather said. “I always found it tough to get to know him, even after he married your mother.”
“Did he tell you he killed Tevka?”
“No, never,” Rauno said. “He denied it, ‘til the end. I think that was ultimately what led the jury to convict him, sadly.”
“Mom says she had trouble believing he did it,” Vina observed, watching through the windshield as the car drove through the rolling grasslands. Her grandfather didn’t answer, so she turned to him. “What do you think?”
“I think she’s trying to protect herself,” Rauno said.
“You think Dad’s a murderer, then?”
Rauno nodded. “I saw him on the day of the murder. He seemed very distracted, even more distant – and very upset. He wasn’t himself.”
Vina frowned. “You saw him that day? I didn’t know that. Did you get called as a witness in the trial?”
“I testified about it, briefly,” Rauno said.
I must not have reached his testimony in the court recording yet. “Tell me about it?” she asked.
Rauno sighed. “There’s not much to tell. I came over to your house, I just wanted to check in on him. I was worried about him. He was leaving as I got there. I offered to take him to dinner, something to take our minds off the whole situation. But he refused, he kept insisting that he had to leave, immediately. So he left, and I went back to my own house. The next thing I knew, the sheriff’s deputy was knocking on my door, wanting a statement.”
“Did you see anything suspicious when you were at our house?” Vina asked.
Rauno shook his head. “No. Just that your father was acting very alarmed. But he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. I assumed he was just agitated about the kidnapping – he didn’t tell me about the message from Tevka.”
“Did Dad ever have a run-in with Sheriff Buckniel before that?”
“A ‘run-in’?” Rauno asked. “Do you mean, was he ever in trouble with the law?”
“No, with Buckniel in particular,” Vina said. “Or his brother.”
Rauno frowned. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Did they know each other?” Vina asked.
“I imagine,” her grandfather said. “It’s a small town. They’d probably met, a few times.”
“Did they ever get into an argument about something, maybe?”
“I don’t think so.” Rauno turned the wheel, turning off of the rural highway and pointing the car toward the buildings of the town center. “Why?”
“It just seems odd to me that the Buckniels were on opposite sides of the law,” Vina said. “The sheriff and the public defender. And I don’t think Tarpon did a very good job of defending Dad.”
“You think the Buckniels had it out for your father?”
“I think it’s possible,” Vina said. “I don’t know why, yet. But I’m working on it.”
Rauno slowed down for a stoplight. “Well, if your father had a disagreement with the Buckniels over something, he never told me. But again, he was a very private man.”
The light changed, and Rauno pressed on the accelerator again. Vina could see the bookstore ahead, nestled between the bank and the florist’s shop.
“There were rumors, years ago, about Sheriff Buckniel,” Rauno said, after a moment.
“Rumors?” Vina asked.
“He had a reputation for being heavy-handed,” he said. He guided the car into a parking spot in front of the store, and shut the engine. “Some people complained, early on.”
“Really?” Vina asked. “That is interesting.”
Chapte
r 16
Falken crossed the plank back to the balcony, where he found a grinning inmate waiting for him, holding a knife. Falken held his arm out, and was surprised to find three old scars – the hash marks from his first three fights – on the back of his forearm.
I don’t have those in real life … but I do in Oz. I forgot about them, but the program remembered.
He let the man carve a fourth cut next to the first three, wincing at the pain.
“Nice fight, man,” the inmate told him.
Falken felt someone clap him across the back – he looked up to see Archos standing next to him.
“Impressive,” the warden said, smiling broadly. “I won’t make the mistake of underestimating you again.”
“Have I earned the right to talk to Weaver?” Falken asked.
Archos nodded. “You can stay for the rest of the day.”
Falken craned his neck to look around the balcony. Cadellium and Auresh had disappeared, and he could see no sign of Weaver among the other inmates.
“Where is he?”
Archos pointed upward, and Falken thought he saw a hint of sadness in the warden’s eyes. “You’ll find him on the roof, most likely. That’s where he spends most of his time.”
Falken pushed his way through the crowd, and found the nearest stairwell. He climbed to the top, then opened a metal door and stepped out into the sunlight. Over the edge of the roof, the ocean stretched into the distance – he could see a thin strip of land far away, the small island he and Weaver had visited years ago. In the middle of the roof, not far from the great hole the disk had torn open, he saw a man crouched amidst a jumble of computer consoles and scavenged parts. Cables, circuit boards, and cracked vidscreens littered the rooftop around him, and he wore a makeshift tool belt around his waist. His hair was streaked with gray, and he was much slimmer than Falken remembered – he looked as worn and threadbare as the uniform on his back.
Jesus. He looks like he’s aged decades.
Weaver looked up when the door closed behind Falken, but his eyes seemed to look right through Falken, and he turned back to the circuit board in front of him straight away. Falken frowned.
“Hi, Weaver,” he said. “Sorry I scared you last night.”
Weaver pried something off the board and dropped it into a cardboard box. Falken walked closer, and stood watching for a moment. What is all this? It looks like he’s trying to build something.
“It’s me,” Falken said. “Falken. Your friend.”
Weaver rummaged through another box, and pulled out a chip, then tried to fit it into a slot on the circuit board.
“I know it’s been a long time, but I was hoping you’d remember me,” Falken continued. He cleared his throat. “I went to a lot of trouble to come see you.”
The silence was broken only by the sound of Weaver’s hand rifling through the box of parts.
Falken sighed. “Weaver, I don’t remember what happened all those years ago. So I don’t know if I did something to make you mad at me. But if so, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I just want to talk to you. I want to help you find a way to get back to your family.”
Weaver paused for a second, and then turned and began unscrewing the access panel on a stack of servers.
He definitely heard me, Falken thought. He reacted when I mentioned his family. So he’s listening. He just … doesn’t want to talk to me.
“Weaver, did we find the sensor node on the island?” Falken tried. He waited a moment, but there was no response. “What happened over there?”
The bookkeeper put his screwdriver back in his tool belt, and carefully laid the access panel on the rooftop. Then he slid a server out of its tray and set it on top of the stack.
“Damn it, Weaver!” Falken swore. “I’m trying to help you! Why won’t you talk to me?”
“Don’t take it personally.”
Falken turned in surprise – Archos stood behind him on the roof, arms crossed over his chest, watching them.
“He doesn’t talk to anyone,” the warden said. “Never has, not since he came here.”
“When did he come here?” Falken asked.
“Years ago,” Archos said, walking over and sitting on top of a large computer terminal. He watched as Weaver continued to tinker, a sad smile on his face. “It was years ago. And not a word from him since. The only reason I know his name is because it’s stenciled on his uniform. Most of the boys just call him ‘the Ghost.’ ”
“Because he doesn’t talk?” Falken asked.
“Because he haunts this place,” Archos said. “Doesn’t sleep much, only eats occasionally, spends his nights hunting for spare parts downstairs, and every daylight hour up here, working while the light is good.” Archos sighed and shook his head. “He’s an odd fellow, our Weaver.”
“Why doesn’t he talk anymore?” Falken asked.
Archos shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he lost his memory. Maybe he was just traumatized by what happened. Maybe it’s just his way of coping. We all have to deal with Oz in our own way. I’ve tried to get him to talk myself, many times. I come up here, most days, and I talk, and he listens … and then the next day, we do it all over again. It’s become our little ritual.”
Falken frowned. “You talk to him? What do you talk about?”
“Whatever’s on my mind,” Archos said, somewhat defensively.
This is … a different Archos from the one I knew, Falken realized. Maybe this is the Archos that Oz thinks Weaver needs, rather than the Archos I needed. Falken eyed the warden suspiciously. But … I still don’t trust him.
“What happened to him?” Falken asked. “Why did he come here?”
“We brought him here,” Archos explained. “We found him lying on the shore after a bad storm, too weak to move. He was holding a map in one hand. He’s got it still, it’s in his back pocket there.”
Falken looked, and saw the folds of a faded piece of paper sticking out of Weaver’s pants pocket.
“As best I can tell, our friend here spent the better part of two years sailing out there, on the ocean, looking for land,” Archos said.
“Two years?”
“If you believe what’s written on that map, two years. In eight different directions from that little island, for miles – months – at a time. He’s seen more of this planet than all the rest of us combined.” Archos pointed at Weaver’s back. “And he’s got more balls than the rest of us, too. Think of what it must have taken to spend that long at sea, on his own.”
“Determination,” Falken said.
“You and I have no idea,” Archos agreed. “When he was healthy again, the boys wanted to put him on the disk for a full initiation. You know how that goes.” Archos smiled knowingly. “But when I figured out what the map meant, what he had done – nearly killing himself to try to find a way out of here – I put a stop to it. That crazy bastard’s faced more tests than any man here in the facility. Except perhaps me.”
Falken thought of Archos’ confession to him in his own simulation. Archos was born here – he was here the last time the moons aligned, and the island flooded.
“So he’s been through a lot,” Archos continued. “We had him on suicide watch for the first few months he was here.”
Falken’s eyes widened. “He tried to kill himself?”
“A few times,” Archos said. “Came pretty close, once.”
… but you stopped him. Oz wouldn’t let him do it. No wonder he’s become so withdrawn … he’s spent years trying to escape this place, and he couldn’t even do it by taking his own life.
“Did he find anything?” Falken asked, changing the subject.
“Over the ocean? I don’t know,” Archos said. “But I imagine not. The map’s blank, except for these two islands. And he’s never tried to go back out again. He gave up on that plan, and focused on this little project of his.”
“What’s he working on?” Falken asked.
“This,” Archos said, gesturing at a computer terminal t
hat sat near the middle of the mess, “is a long-range radio transmitter. Or it will be, if we give him enough time, I think. He found a rusted-up one down in the facility, and a pile of repair manuals in the basement, and he’s been trying to fix it up ever since.”
“I didn’t know he was so technical,” Falken said.
“He wasn’t,” Archos said. “At least, I don’t think he was. He’s been teaching himself as he goes, from the manuals. At first I thought it was a fool’s errand, but a few years back he managed to power it up using a solar charger and battery pack he took out of one of the disabled trucks.”
“It works?” Falken asked, incredulous.
“It has power,” Archos corrected him. “But something’s broken still. It won’t transmit.”
“He’s trying to call Earth,” Falken realized, with sudden clarity. “He’s trying to call his family.”
“He has a family?” Archos asked.
“A wife, and two children. They were kidnapped, when he was first arrested – that’s what was driving him to get out of here. He wanted to find them.”
“He told you all of this?” Archos asked.
Falken nodded. “We were close, years ago. Before he came here. I helped him build the boat, and we sailed together on his first voyage.”
Archos considered this for a moment. “Why did you come here, Bird-man?” he asked, eventually.
“I thought I could help,” Falken said, watching as Weaver pulled another server out of the stack. He shook his head. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
Archos studied Falken in silence, his piercing eyes searching Falken’s face. Then he stood up and cleared his throat. “I changed my mind,” he said, and his gruff tone was that of the warden once again. “You can stay more than a day.”
“How long?” Falken asked, surprised.
“We’ll see,” Archos growled.
Chapter 17
Falken carried two bowls of lukewarm blue-ball stew up from the facility’s mess hall at lunch time. He set one next to Weaver on the roof, and then sat down with his back to one of the computer terminals.
“I brought you lunch,” Falken said.