by Jay Posey
Three shifted his forearm upwards, where Jackson’s neck met his shoulder. Nerves pinched, blood-flow halted.
“Gah! Get… get off, I’ll explain!”
Three raised up, grabbed a handful of Jackson’s shirt, and hauled him up on to the bed. He didn’t sheathe the blade.
Jackson sat for a moment, rubbing his neck, working his shoulder, swinging his leg. He glanced around like it was the first time he was seeing the room. Pupils dilated. Movement stopped.
“What’re we doin’ here?”
“You tell me.”
“Why’d you bring me here?”
“I didn’t. This is where we found you. This is where you brought Wren.”
Jackson shook his head in disbelief. Then settled back, as if remembering.
“Not me. Whit.”
Three had no idea who Whit was, but nothing about the way the kid said it suggested he was lying. He was telling the truth. Or at least what he believed was true.
“This is Whit’s old room.”
“He still around?”
Jackson chuckled humorlessly. “No. Not anymore.”
There was more to the words than Three understood. He waited, knowing the silence was more likely to get answers than any questions he asked.
“That kid… Wren. What is he?”
“How do you mean?”
“I dunno,” Jackson said with a shrug, shaking his head. “He… something he did. He fixed me.”
“What ‘others’, sweetheart?”
“It wasn’t just him. I mean Jackson was the only one, but there were others. Inside. I think they wanted to hurt us.”
“And they tried? To hurt you?”
“He was right there, when I woke up. Standing there with a pillow. But he felt wrong, Mama. There was something wrong with him. I didn’t want to hurt him. I just wanted the others to go away.”
Wren was starting to get upset again, reliving whatever terror Jackson had put him through. Cass picked him up, pulled him into her lap, rested his head on her chest.
“It’s not your fault, Wren. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He sniffled. Crying, though she could tell he was fighting it. Trying to be brave.
“It’s alright, baby. It’s not your fault.”
“Then why does it keep happening?”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ you,” Jackson said. “They’re gone. The kid did something to me, and they’re all gone.”
Three sheathed his blade, and dropped into the only chair in the room. As far as he could tell, Jackson was telling the truth. Whatever Wren had done had actually been a good thing, hard as it was to believe. Three looked at Jackson, still sitting awkwardly on the bed. Afraid to move too much for fear of what Three might do.
“Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“So you believe me?” Jackson asked, shoulders visibly relaxing.
“Doesn’t make sense. But nothing has, since I met those two.”
Jackson scooted back up the bed, rested his back against the headboard, pulled his feet up under him cross-legged. He placed his hands in his lap, then picked them up again. Looked them over.
“I’m in bad shape, yeah?”
“You could use a bath, sure. We gonna be OK to stay here tonight?”
Down here, underground, with all the activity, Three realized he was losing sense of time. But he guessed there wouldn’t be time enough to pack up and get to a wayhouse in the light they had left.
“Yeah, of course. You can stay as long as you like.”
“Doubt that,” Three said, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna go check on the girl and her kid. Why don’t you take some time, get cleaned up. Gimme a chance to…”
He wasn’t even sure what all he needed a chance to do. Think. Rest. Prepare. He had important work tonight.
“They thought I was dead, yeah?”
“Yeah. Better let me break the news. I think everybody’s had enough shock for the day.”
Jackson nodded, understood.
“I’ll be up later.”
Three nodded in response and then left Jackson to look after himself.
They were sitting together in an oversized Temprafoam chair, cuddling. Cass looked up with anxious eyes when Three entered. He grabbed a chair and dragged it up next to theirs. They’d both been crying.
“You alright?” he asked, though he himself wasn’t even sure who he was talking to. Cass nodded, and he guessed that was good enough.
“So, Wren. Jackson’s alright.”
Mother and child both looked stunned, though Wren seemed more relieved, more hopeful than Cass did.
“You didn’t hurt him. In fact, I think you helped him.”
“He’s… he’s OK?” Wren pressed.
Three nodded.
“Better than OK, kid. Whatever was wrong with him before, you fixed.”
Cass and Wren exchanged a look. Three waited expectantly. Finally Cass explained.
“Wren said there were ‘others’. He thought maybe he’d made them go away.”
“Sounds about right. Whatever happened, Jackson’s up and about down there. Gettin’ cleaned up. And we’ve got some work to do. You remember where the Treasure Room is?”
The last was addressed directly to Wren, who nodded his head emphatically.
“Then why don’t you show me around.”
Wren led the way down the twisting stairs, eager to get another glimpse of the so-called Treasure Room. Cass and Three trailed behind, and as the trio entered a corridor, Cass felt Three’s hand close firmly around her forearm, drawing her close. He leaned in, eyes still on her son.
“We’re not done talking yet,” he said in a low voice.
“I know,” Cass answered, nodding.
“How long till you need to dose again?”
“About negative eighteen hours.”
He grunted a wordless curse. Wren padded ahead oblivious.
“Do you still have any more of your synth?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t sounded so needy.
“Not enough. Your body’s already figured out that ain’t what it really needs. And at the rate you’re burnin’, same dose would be half as effective. Less.”
He let go of her arm, pulled away. Shook his head. He was thinking it through, and it didn’t seem as though he liked the conclusions. But he’d found ways before when there’d been no way. She hoped he could do it again. No. Believed it.
“Here it is,” Wren said.
Three motioned Wren on in. “Lead the way, soldier. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
Wren smiled, puffed up by Three’s words. Cass didn’t understand it, but she couldn’t deny that Wren was reacting differently to Three, now. Normally her son would shrink from attention; with Three, he seemed to revel in it no matter how small.
She moved to follow Wren inside the Treasure Room, but Three stopped her with a hand light on her belly.
“No way we’re gonna find quint between here and Greenstone. Any other chems buy you some time?”
“Duff would work, if it’s just to maintain. I can’t boost off it, though. And Trivex, if the dose is big enough.”
“If we don’t have any luck here, I’ll have to raid medical.”
Cass just nodded. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d already done that. He stared for a too-long moment. Hand still on her stomach.
“We’ll figure it out, girl.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her. She nodded again.
“I know.”
“Oh, cool,” a voice called from inside. “Mama, look at this!”
Three held his hand out in an “after you” motion. Cass slipped in and found Wren standing at one of the many low tables, holding up a clear flexiglass ball, perfectly round, perfectly smooth.
“What is it?” Wren asked.
She’d never seen anything like it before.
“I have no idea, sweetheart.”
“It’s a strobe. Old miltech. T
hing’s probably older than your mom is.”
“How does it work?”
Three walked over to Wren, dropped to a knee. It suddenly struck Cass how often Three did that, and how rarely other adults did. The man making himself the same height as her son. Almost equals. Three held his hand out, and Wren dropped the ball into it.
“You take it like this,” Three said, wrapping one hand horizontally around the ball, as if it were a drink. “Then, you press the top and bottom, like this.” He motioned with the thumb and middle finger of his other hand, pinching the air, but not actually activating the device. Then he handed it back.
“Like this,” Three said. He helped form Wren’s tiny hand around the strobe.
“How do you know what’s the top and what’s the bottom?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Three answered. “It knows how you’re holding it. Then, pinch.”
“Can I try it?”
“Sure, just close your eyes first. If it’s still workin’, it’s bright as a star.”
Wren closed his eyes, and Three guided the boy’s other hand into position, shielding his own eyes with his shoulder.
“Might wanna look away, Mama,” Three said.
Cass had just barely shut her eyes when her lids suddenly flared in white-blue, dazzlingly bright.
“It still works!” Wren shouted, as if trying to be heard over the brightness. The strobe pulsed, a stabbing flash followed by a momentary reprieve. Cass turned her back and was amazed to discover she could still see the flashing reflecting off the walls, even with her eyes closed.
“How do you turn it off?” she called over her shoulder.
There was no verbal response, but a moment later, the pulsing stopped. She turned back, after-images floating in her vision.
“Can I keep it?” Wren beamed.
“Ask your mother.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Jackson might want to hang on to it.”
Wren looked disappointed. Three cocked his head slightly, dipped his eyebrows. Two against one.
“Alright. For now,” she said, relenting. “But let’s make sure Jackson doesn’t mind.”
“Mind what?” Jackson said quietly from the door. Instinctively, Cass stepped to shield Wren from him. She felt Three move beside her, calm, as he stood and smoothly moved to the midpoint between Jackson and her. He faced them both, leaning back against one of those sturdy tables, like a careful negotiator refusing to take sides. Making himself the bridge, Cass thought. Or maybe setting himself in place to be the wall, if it came to that.
Cass could only see half of Jackson sticking into the Treasure Room. He hadn’t committed fully to coming inside yet. From what she could see of him, though, it was clear he’d spent some time getting himself cleaned up. He’d bathed, put on fresh clothes that actually seemed to fit him, maybe even cut his hair. His fingernails were trimmed to a normal length, and for the first time he actually seemed to be standing still. She hadn’t really noticed it earlier, but now that she saw him it occurred to her just how much he had fidgeted before. He lingered in the doorway, seemingly uncertain as to whether or not he was welcome.
“If there’s something you want, you can take it. That’s what it’s here for.”
“How you feelin’?” Three asked, though it sounded more like a statement.
“Good. Real good.”
Cass felt Wren close behind her. He slid up next to her, pushed himself between her hip and arm, so that her hand naturally fell to his shoulder.
“Hey,” Three said, “you have any old blankets?”
“Sure. Most of that type of stuff’s in that back corner.”
“Firebricks?”
That one threw Jackson for a second, and Cass too for that matter. Not a whole lot of use for open flames these days.
“Uh, maybe,” Jackson answered. “If so, probably around the same place as the blankets.”
“You can come in, you know,” Three said. “Your place more than ours.”
Jackson half-smiled at Cass, then looked to the floor as he came in and slowly circled around one of the many tables. He hadn’t cut his hair after all, just pulled it back in a loose knot at the base of his skull. Cass noticed he was careful not to look at Wren.
“If you’re headed to Greenstone, you should probably load up, yeah?” he said. “I don’t think you’ll find too many friendly shops down there.”
“But… you’re coming too, aren’t you?” Wren asked, pulling away from Cass’s side. Jackson glanced at Wren and smiled, though there was no cheer there.
“No, little one, I don’t think so.”
Cass looked to Three, wondering if he’d talked to Jackson about it before, but Three had already moved towards the back of the Treasure Room, and was scanning the various tables laid out there.
“It’s… I mean, is it safe for you to stay?” she asked.
“Safe enough, I would guess. It’s been OK so far.”
Three began rummaging through the scraps on one table, but called back over his shoulder.
“Not sure it’ll stay that way, kid. Might be safer if you move with us.”
“I can’t, Three. The Vault is home. Plus, you never know when some more travelers might come through, yeah? Be a shame if there wasn’t anyone here to let ’em in.”
“Did travelers come through before…?” Cass asked, but trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence without sounding callous.
“Before the attack? Yeah, every few weeks, here and there,” Jackson answered. He picked up a biochem battery off one of the tables, rolled it over in his hand absentmindedly. “The Vault’s out of the way and mostly out of view. It’s always been an OK spot to make a trade, and a good spot to rest.”
“To hide?”
He shrugged. “Nobody asked questions, too much, except Gev.” He went quiet for a moment, and Cass didn’t feel like she should respond. After a moment, Jackson set the battery down and continued. “Always had a good sense for people, you know? He kept this place pretty quiet and calm. Turned away the troublemakers, and kept an eye on the rest of us.”
“Not all the troublemakers, the way he’d tell it,” Three said from his corner. “Used to say you were a handful.”
Jackson cracked a sad smile, remembering.
“More like two.”
Three stopped his rummaging, turned to address Jackson.
“Hey.”
Jackson looked over to him.
“He thought a lot of you, you know. Always called you a good kid.” Jackson nodded, but dropped his gaze. Ashamed of something he’d done, maybe, or overwhelmed by Three’s words; Cass couldn’t tell. “And you said it yourself, Gev had a real good sense of people. You are a good kid, no matter what you may or may not have done.”
“It’s a nice thought, but you don’t know what I’ve done.”
Three returned to his rummaging, but wouldn’t let Jackson have the last word.
“Doing and being are two different things, Jackson.”
Jackson didn’t respond, but Cass saw his shoulders sag, like long-borne tension had suddenly released. He was quiet for a long while.
Cass found Wren sitting cross-legged on the floor, right next to her feet, rolling his new strobe from hand to hand, staring at it as if there were some swirling color and light within it. To her eyes, it was simply a clear ball, but she knew that Wren’s eyes often saw far more than hers.
“What are we looking for?” she finally called.
“Four days to Greenstone. Take what you need.”
They’d spent the better part of the afternoon scouring the Treasure Room for supplies for their trip, which Three organized now. Jackson had led them all to a long-unused apartment; sizeable, furnished with a large bed, a couple of chairs, and its own bathroom facilities, which pretty much made it the honeymoon suite of the Vault. Three’d laid all their supplies out across that bed. Warmer clothes, sturdier shoes, better backpacks, food that would travel well. And as requested, a few old blankets
, and a pair of firebricks, though he wouldn’t be packing those. They’d have to start at first light and travel hard to make it to the next wayhouse, and he didn’t trust the others to pack their own bags.
He’d asked about ammunition, of course, but there’d been none he could use. Of course. A lot of inert shells, which he had plenty of already. A handful of small-time pocket protectors, 1-kJ jobs for back alleys and gamedives. Nothing for serious work. Jackson had offered an 18-kilojoule shell he’d been keeping with him in his “safe place”, but it was too small to fit the chamber on Three’s pistol and wasn’t worth cracking open for parts.
It hadn’t been all bad news, though. Jackson had managed to turn up a single jector of Trivex in an old trauma kit that had fallen down behind one of the tables nearest the wall. The jector’s flexiglass casing was frosted with ages-old dust, and without doubt the chems were past peak potency, but the dose was almost enough to cover the trip to Greenstone. In a stroke of actual good luck, the same kit had contained three minijectors worth of the syntranq Somalin. Three’d run the numbers four separate times to be sure. Full jector of Trivex tonight, let Cass’s system spin up on it while she slept. Mini of Somalin every 18 hours or so to slow the burn. If they kept up the pace, and didn’t have any major shocks along the way, it just might be enough. It was almost enough to make Three think they were getting a little bias from the System. Almost.
Cass had gone with Jackson and Wren back to the Commons to scrounge up some “real” food while Three took care of organizing their packs. Running solo, organizing had never been much of an issue. Wits, water, and weapons. The Essential Three of the open, in proper order. Everything else was fluff. As the saying went, if you’d survived out in the open long enough to get truly hungry, you’d already outlived your life expectancy. But traveling with those two, well… they had a lot of fluff. He loaded as much as he could in his own harness, knowing every extra kilogram he could grit out was one less for the woman and boy to wrestle with. He’d tried to keep everything they might need close at hand, but he realized he had no way to know what they might want close at hand. This wasn’t his way.
