by White, Gwynn
He thrust his arms out to clutch the counter, missing with the first swipe but the second finally catching the still surface before vertigo forced him to the floor. His forearms tensed as he squeezed himself toward the sink, an attempt to stop the room from spinning. The inside of his gut wrenched. With what forearm strength he could muster, he maneuvered himself to his left and above the bowl of the toilet. Vomit burned into his throat and filled his mouth, held back by his tightly clutched jaw. The bowl slipped back and forth beneath him. He began to choke, fighting to hold back the vile fluids. With a thrust to his side, he threw his left hand down onto the bowl then let his upper body fall forward. He caught himself with his other hand then, with a hand on each side and his head hovering above, he released all that he was holding back. The hot, sharp, acrid, and unpleasant-tasting bile spewed from deep in his gut.
Abby had gained a slice of control. He took advantage by forcing himself to shift up spectrum to sobriety.
The music had stopped.
The world calmed. A tremor, an aftershock, quivered through his bowel. Safe from the stench of the now full bowl, he raised a hand to trigger the vacuum flush. He wiped the back of his wrist across his mouth then made his way to the small sink. He tied a towel around his waist, wet a cloth, dampened his face, then without letting his eyes meet the mirrors again, lumbered out to his living room.
“And that was Paris. You would’ve loved it,” Jazz said. His foot was on the table and the sax on his knee. “Hey, Abby. I was just telling the captain here about the battle of the Seine.”
Leta stood. Her eyes were wide and her smile cordial. “Abby. You’re… um.”
“Sorry, I only have one robe. I left it for you on the bed. I’ll dress out here.”
“Yes,” she said. “I should get ready. Thank you, Jazz, for the splendid music.”
Jazz had already returned the sax to the corner stand and was retrieving the aluminum case he’d brought with him. He placed the tall thin case flat on the table then pressed his thumbs against the bio-readers. A rapid series of buzzes went off around the edge of the case, followed by a number of clicks and a slow hiss as the vacuum seal was released.
Leta leaned forward as Jazz lifted the lid.
Within the case, a milky white translucent material covered something darker below. Jazz slipped his hand into the case and lifted the end of what appeared to be a tall thin package. He pressed his thumb against a small oval black button, which released a recessed hook. A hanger. He pulled the hanger to remove first one, then a second, black garment bag.
“This is yours,” he said to Abby, offering him the first, “and Captain, this is yours.”
Leta gave Jazz a half-smile. The milky bag he’d handed to Abby held a full black rectangle while hers had a thin silhouette of a garment within. “Thank you,” she said as she took the hanger from him. She held the hanger up close and peered through the translucent material, slowly rotating the bag side to side.
Jazz was uneasy. “I told them the measurements Abby sent over, so…” He wobbled his head side to side and shrugged.
Leta smiled again and went into the bedroom.
30
With Leta out of the room, Abby was free to drop the posturing. He was wiped out from whatever had happened coming out of the shower. The echo was something he’d become accustomed to. Not comfortable with, but accepted as something beyond his control. But whatever had just happened was something more, and the nanos battling to heal up his system were against the wall. The odd thing was that while he felt exhausted, he also felt great. The full physical blast to the molecular level had released a heavy amount of endorphins. The room was crisp, far more vivid in hue and detail than he’d seen it in years. Not that his vision was sharper; rather, his attention to everything was, and everything was responsive, alive. The fabric of the sofa, the shine of the glass table, the indigo glow through the white panel curtain. Even the hum of the scrubber five floors below was less noise, more music. He was young.
If that was a new form of echo, then life was about to become life again.
Then a thought as clear as crystal: what had happened outside of the steam shower was a new echo, the resonant effect of another new occurrence—the fall from the spectrum.
Jazz was giving him that ‘are you okay’ look again.
Abby’s face had gone blank. He smiled, winked, hustled to put his pants on, then grabbed the bottle of scotch Conrad had left for him. He plopped onto his sofa, lifted a rock glass from the small table, and poured two fingers of the amber elixir.
“You know I have to ask,” Jazz said.
“I feel fine,” Abby said.
“Yeah, there’s that too. That’s not what I was askin’, though. Her.”
“What about her?”
“Well, she’s a Shadow.”
Abby let out a closed-mouth sigh. “Captain Serene is a Bureau agent and, yes, she happens to be an Umbra.” He rested back and let himself take a long draw from the glass. “Thank you, Conrad.” He chuckled, then added, “Prague.”
Jazz, scotch in hand, sat down next to Abby. He too stole a draw from his glass, pursed his lips while he swished around the aged liquid, then swallowed. “I don’t think that’s what I was asking.”
“Let it go. The wars are over,” Abby said. He stood and slipped his arm into the black shirt. “They were over years ago.”
“Then why are you so set on Valon?”
“That’s personal and you know it.”
“And rounding up countless Shadows for the camps wasn’t?”
Abby buttoned his shirt up.
“We were hunters,” Jazz added. “That meant something once.”
“We were a lot of things, which means nothing at all.”
“You’ll always be a Bureau Boy, Abby. You and me both, we can’t escape that.” Jazz stood and crossed the room. Under his breath, he said, “She tried to scan me.”
“Yeah,” Abby said. “She does that.”
“Do you think she likes me?”
“I don’t know if she likes men.”
“You mean mortals?”
“I mean men, in that way, men.” He bent to grab the long tie from the table, dropped a brow toward Jazz, then wrapped the fabric around his neck and fastened a knot. “This feels like real silk.”
“It’s synth,” Jazz said, waving him off. “Nice, though.” He tugged at his own tie. “Mine’s real.” He gestured toward Abby’s jacket. “You have a scarf. That’s silk,” he said.
“Did you find the other thing?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jazz stood up and reached into his inside pocket. He fished around then, finding nothing, put his hand into the pocket of his own slacks.
“There it is,” he said. Pinched between his finger and thumb was a small silver wand, ornate with a blue sapphire, red ruby, and green emerald.
“A tie clip?”
“Yeah.” Jazz pulled the jewelry close for inspection. “You may not be impressed, but I think this baby is a bit of a masterpiece.”
Abby held out his hand. “I can’t believe you picked me up a clip that’s only Bureau grade. This thing is going to get me sliced.”
Jazz handed him the jeweled clip then raised his hands into the air. “Please. Do you not know me? This shimmer is better than Bureau grade. That little device, my friend, was designed by none other than Stetz himself.”
“Stetz? Really?” Abby shrugged his mouth and clipped the wand into place. “How do I…?”
“Already on.” Jazz scanned the room. “Don’t you have any mirrors in this place?” He removed the crystal decanter from the silver platter on the counter and held the disc up in front of his old friend.
The warped image was clear enough for Abby to tell that his appearance had been altered. His light hair had gone dark, as had his eyes. He shifted his ocular optics and the shimmer held. He went further and the disguise was still there. Then he returned. “Wow,” he said. “Stetz is good.”
“The gems,” J
azz said.
Abby glanced down at his chest. “What about them?”
“They’re crystals surfaced with gem chips. Ingenious really. You even smell different.”
Abby turned his head and sniffed. He was unsure if the shimmer had hidden his scent or was masking his pheromones. He sniffed again.
Then his eyes darted up.
The door to the bedroom had opened and in the frame stood Leta. Except the svelte woman before them didn’t appear to be Leta at all. Not in the way that she was disguised. Quite the opposite; the black gown she wore was far more revealing. Her uniform was designed to be form-fitting, but in comparison it was somehow far demurer in at least that the leather covered her.
The backless top of the black dress draped around her neck as a sash, forming a V neckline that dropped all of the way down to her waist, where the material crossed to snuggly wrap around her upper legs. Her long legs, now absent of pistol and blade, glistened with floral net stockings. In one hand, she held two delicate shoes by their tiny straps, and in the other arm, she held her uniform, boots, and weapons.
There was no doubt that Leta was a beautiful woman. There were many beautiful women in a perpetually young world, but she was elite there as well. Still, Abby hadn’t been prepared to see the smooth inner curves of her breasts, the drop of her shoulders, or the perfect nape of a neck.
Leta was staring at him. How long they shared that awkward, gawking gaze, he wasn’t sure. A pang of guilt wracked him, then Leta spoke.
“You’re wearing the shimmer.”
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
She tilted her head to the side. “I can’t seem to shift past it.”
From his side, Jazz said, “It’s a Stetz.”
“A Stetz? Really?”
“Really,” Jazz said.
Abby nodded his head. “Looks like he picked out the right size.”
Leta glanced down and shuffled her body around. “I guess.” She lifted her head and raised her brows, what Abby imagined was a roll of her eyes if they weren’t coal black. “You need to adjust your voice.”
“Huh? Oh, right.” He cleared his throat. “Test,” he said, then at a different pitch, “Test.” Again and again, his accent shifting to that of a Germanic citizen of the Nordic Meg.
Leta crossed the room.
As she passed, Jazz said, “I don’t see any lines. Are you wearing—”
“The fang?” Leta asked. “Yes. Thank you. Conceals perfectly, but I would prefer my blade.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t think a blade strapped to your side produces the…well, the desired effect.”
“I disagree. In fact, I really don’t see how this is necessary. We’re Bureau agents. We should just haul the guy in.”
“Not Bronson,” Jazz said. “He’s too high up. Literally. He’s upper syndicate. This is the only way we’re going to get close.”
31
Flying from one point of the Meg to another was no easy task. The easiest way to maneuver the black chrome glider to the Marquis uptown was to fly out over the barge-infested harbor, and from there, make reentry up into the appropriate flight path. The initial launch from the Low City was brutal, a sixty-foot vertical blind thrust upward through patches of shadow, drizzle, and mist. The flight lights that beamed from the top, bottom, and side angle of the limo lit the fog solid and did more to hinder visibility than help. Still, Jazz didn’t hesitate to accelerate forward as soon as the instruments read cruise clear.
Wafts of mist enveloped the canopy, blinding their path and hiding their speed.
The blind canyon flight jarred none of the three. Using the pink glow of the dash for light, Abby sorted through the empty liquor bottles in the console, searching for a forgotten drink. He glanced up at Jazz. He appeared contented. Abby was sure his old friend was pleased to be of use. He hummed along to the music that flavored the interior as he tapped responses to subtle signals, following each set of taps with a gentle tug of the yoke to dodge an unseen obstacle.
Near the bottom of the console, Abby caught a glint of light. “What’s this?” he asked as he held the third full transparent cylinder up to the canopy. “Would you look at that?” he said. “You devil.”
“Oh.” Jazz grinned widely. “You found something good.”
“Looks purple in the light, but I’m guessing this is Harmon Blue.”
“I think you’re right.”
Abby glanced up into the mirror. “Leta?”
Leta was in the vast back compartment of the limo, digging through the bag Abby had given her to stow her weapons and uniform. “Yes, Abby?”
“Interested?” He shook the bottle.
“No, thank you,” she said. “How did you get a limousine on such short notice?”
“Oh, this baby’s mine,” Jazz said.
“Really? This glider is huge.”
“Her name is Dexy. Say hello to the captain, Dexy.”
A smooth, seductive, feminine voice filled the interior. “Hello, Captain.”
“Hi, Dexy.” She stretched her arms far to her sides and reclined back on the wide sofa seat. “You could live in here.”
“You could,” Jazz said under his breath.
“What’s that?” Leta said.
Abby covered for his friend. “You heard him play in the apartment.”
“Yes,” she said. “Wonderful.”
“Yeah. Well, Jazz had no interest in lying low after the war.”
“We were heroes then,” Jazz added. “The Bureau Boys were untouchable.”
“Yeah,” Abby continued. “Anyway, Jazz here became a bit of a celebrity as a musician after the war.”
“A celebrity?” Leta asked. “You, Commander?”
“Life was grand, Captain. Expiration dates…” He turned his attention to Abby. “What are you looking for now?” he asked.
“I don’t suppose you have any glasses?”
Jazz shot back a half frown. “In the side bar in the back, but you’d have to ask the captain.”
Abby nodded, unscrewed the cap, then poured a measure of the thick syrup into his throat. He winced a second after he pulled the bottle away.
“That stuff still holding a charge?” Jazz asked.
“Yeah,” Abby said, handing the bottle over. “The bite’s still electric. Those Harmonites have a long shelf life. In fact, I bet those nanos can probably hold a charge for millennia.”
“Good for the blood.” Jazz swallowed too big a gulp and choked. “Merdo!”
“I told you.” Abby gestured outside the canopy. “Here we go.”
Bright lights twinkled and sparked, then large chunks of sky appeared as the mist of the city core fell back behind them. The night view flying out of the island was vast. At one thousand feet, the distant sprawl of the Meg was a velvet blanket of sparkling lights suspended across a flat, blackened void. The cloud ceiling that coated the Earth hung low above the distant superstructures far along the coast. And only upon careening back toward the island did the enormity of the city core become profound. The superstructures that appeared to be sedate beacons in the distance were intimidating up close. From the edge of the island, the tiered glassed gardens and landing zones of the inner structures soared ever higher, each a great step closer to the heavens. Massive ziggurats of ten thousand lights emanated from one of the thousands of rooms up hundreds of floors.
“You know,” Abby said, “if I’d never traveled out to the planes, been on so many planar digs, if we hadn’t discovered the Bubbles, I would’ve gone my whole life thinking that these were just the constructs of logical architecture.”
“What do you mean?” Jazz asked. He lifted his knee up to his side and adjusted his shoulders deep into his seat. “How else could they build so high?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. I never thought anything of it until we learned of the Elders and their cities.”
“If you’re thinking those little grey Omni had something to do with how the Megs were built, you’
re probably right.”
“Something more than that.”
“Like what?” asked Leta from the back.
“One of the ancient planar races was said to be able to travel through time. Into the minds of others.”
“You think the Megs were built by the Elders themselves?” Jazz asked.
Abby shook his head. “I think the Elders may’ve had some instruction.”
Jazz cringed. “What?” He cocked his shoulder. “If you’ve seen one wall, you’ve seen them all. Stop thinking and enjoy the view. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“The view,” Abby said. He gazed up. “There’s the sky.”
Jazz looked up through the clear canopy. “Not much of one, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Abby didn’t reply. He was still thinking about that ancient race, and what he saw while falling with Leta. What he saw below that full moon wasn’t one of the island’s ziggurats, nor did he recognize the plane. Now, high above the island, with the Planar Plaza across the harbor and the tiny Statue of Liberty far below among the barge city, there was another sudden sense of familiarity. He closed his eyes for a moment to recall the event, what he’d seen. The statue had been there, in the same location, and there wasn’t just a void below them, there were smaller buildings, twentieth-century architecture.
He opened his eyes. Jazz had maneuvered the glider up into an ascending flight path. The world morphed as they soared into the heights of the island. The vast sprawl of the Meg fell away as they followed a queue of other gliders snug above a forest of spotlights, antennae, discs, and exhaust tubes that belched columns of colored gas into the low turbulent ceiling of indigo and fuchsia clouds. In the thin island horizon, legions of white, blue, and red LED lights threaded into long flowing chains, moving north, south, ascending, descending.
Jazz said something.
“What?” Abby asked.
“It’s up here,” Jazz said. “The Marquis.” He rattled his knuckle onto the canopy, then widened his eyes. “I’m gonna set this baby down, or we’re going to have to cycle around.”